When it comes to composition, one approach has always worked well for me. This method is failproof for me—it always brings me back to storytelling. Before I even line up my shot, I ask myself: Who or what is the subject? Who is the hero of this photograph? Just like in a novel or a film, there's a hero —the main character, the lead role. Your subject could be a person, a building, a flower, a mountain range, a statue—anything that serves as the anchor of your image. It’s what tells the viewer, “This is what this photo is about.”

Light is often the main character in every story I tell with my camera. It’s the first thing I notice before I even pick up my camera. Sometimes, the way sunlight touches the ocean or how a deep blue sky highlights a golden field stops me in my tracks. Before I even think about composition, I'm watching what the light is doing, its direction, intensity, and color. The magic often lies in the subtleties: noticing how side light at a 45-degree angle reveals texture or how light behind an object makes it look like it glows from within. Observing light and its interactions in the natural world is key to visual storytelling.

Try this: observe light at three different times of day—morning, noon, and late afternoon—and see how its mood and story change each time.

We all wrestle with the same things: What gear do I really need? How do I find my style? How do I deal with self-doubt?

I’ve gathered some of the most common questions people ask me about photography, along with my honest and personal answers. I hope these bring you clarity, encouragement, and remind you that you’re not alone in your journey.

And remember, these are just my personal perspectives, shaped by my own experiences as a photographer. There isn’t one “right” way to approach photography. Take what feels helpful, try things out for yourself, and leave the rest. What matters most is finding what feels true and sustainable for you.

I never attended photography school; my journey began with pure enthusiasm and passion. The only education I had was a summer astrophotography workshop, where I realized how much I needed to learn. My early attempts to capture the Milky Way were underwhelming, with fuzzy stars and underexposed photos. Lacking formal training, I often felt that I was hiding, not fully expressing myself, and questioned whether I was "worthy" of the title of photographer. This even led me to hide my amateur camera in embarrassment. Imposter syndrome settled in and stayed.

I don’t think anyone seeking a linear, clearly defined career would choose a creative one. There’s no blueprint and no sure ending. There is no precise roadmap or set of steps. Those drawn to a creative path, I think, must possess a spirit of adventure. At the very least, they show a tolerance for discomfort and the uncontrollable. For photographers, this is especially true. On a clear, crisp December night in Vermont, I realized that photography was an integral part of my identity. My phone read -17 degrees. The sky, etched with stars, made its mark. The cold was sharp enough to shatter. My stinging cheeks and numb fingers fumbled with my basic camera, my eyes being the only part of me exposed.