I’ll admit: I never aspired to be who I am today. I never planned on it, nor did I even fathom that I would ever become a photographer when I was younger. It just happened.
My childhood was filled with things that were just like any other boy; days filled with Legos, playing in the streets, video games, Robotech, the Disney Afternoon, orange creamsicles, purple drink, dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets, and of course, knee scrapes aplenty. But interspersed between normal kid-dom was a creative flair that never faded away. I drew–a lot. I took so many sheets of paper from my father’s printer that my buttocks already knew the sting of his bamboo stick before it was even unleashed. My dear mother never seemed to be able to supply me with enough coloring books as each new black and white book would instantly be introduced to the world of color. Teachers would always send me home with notes saying that I doodled when I wasn’t supposed to, on things like essay margins, standardized tests, math homework, my desk, and fellow classmates’ bare arms all fell victim to my creative fervor. More »