The woman behind the lens

Before photography, I was a teacher — pouring my heart into tiny moments that often went unseen. I’ve always been drawn to the quiet things: soft routines, the light through a window, the in-between moments that feel like home. When I began creating a life of my own, I found myself shaping it slowly — decorating corners with intention, building warmth into blank walls, and learning to see beauty not as something loud, but as something layered. Photography came to me gently, and when it did, it felt like every thread of who I was had found its place.

What started as a creative outlet has become sacred work — a way of honoring people and presence, time and tenderness. I do this work from a place of deep care. Not to perform, but to witness. I pay attention to the way your grandmother’s hands rest in her lap, to the hush before vows are spoken, to the way sunlight catches just right in the in-betweens. My work is slow and human-first, rooted in faith and full of heart. At the end of the day, it’s not about making something perfect. It’s about capturing what’s already holy.