The Road
Notes from the road
My studio has wheels. Most weeks it's parked somewhere between Portland and Seattle.
I run this practice out of a van. That's not a gimmick — it's a working decision. The whole kit runs on battery, so I don't need a wall outlet or a rented room to make a dramatic frame. A subject, one light, and somewhere to stand is a studio.
The Pacific Northwest earns its reputation. The light here is moody by default — flat silver overcast that acts like a giant softbox, sodium-vapor parking lots at night, the half hour after the rain stops when everything goes saturated and quiet. I don't fight it. I shape it.
And the people are the reason. This corner of the map is full of folks quietly making things — bands in basement practice rooms, writers nobody's heard of yet, makers covered in sawdust or clay or ink. They don't want a glamour shot. They want a photograph that takes them seriously. That's the work I drove out here to do.
So if I'm parked near you and you're building something, let's make a picture of the person behind it.