2 of 100

Oddly enough, both of my first portraits came from the same quiet impulse: I would love to take this person’s photo.

I’ve seen Scott many times outside my local Smith’s. He sits in a wheelchair, a cane nearby, a guitar resting close, and a kind, open face that somehow feels familiar even if you’ve never spoken. I’ve walked past him more times than I can count on my way into the grocery store. I’ve heard his music drifting through the parking lot. Folk rock. Songs I’ve known my entire life. Songs that stretch across decades and still seem to belong to everyone.

It feels strange to admit this, but I don’t really know where this project came from or why it arrived now.

I believe artists are antennas for the universe. Ideas don’t originate from us so much as pass through us, asking to be noticed. This project feels like one of those transmissions. Even the questions themselves. I can’t tell you exactly where they came from. What I can tell you is that I believe I have a lot to learn from them, and maybe we all do.

What I’ve already noticed is this:
complete strangers light up when you genuinely listen to them.

When I slow down enough to engage with another human being, something shifts. I can feel parts of my heart pumping warmer blood than they have in years. It’s subtle, but unmistakable. And somewhere deeper, a part of my mind that’s been dormant, dulled by noise and distance, feels like it’s beginning to wake up.

Scott is only my second portrait, but I’m already beginning to hear a pattern emerge. Love is the most important thing we can give one another. In its absence, darkness creeps in, and I believe much of what we call evil takes root there.

This time, I filmed.

This time, I also took a photo after we spoke and connected.

This project isn’t loud.
It isn’t optimized.
It doesn’t scale.

But it feels alive.

And right now, that feels like enough.