Your Body is Your Soul

The more I reflect on the connection between the mind and body, the more I realize that the soul is the body. A healthy body may, in fact, be a healthy soul. When you look into someone’s eyes and observe their body, it feels as though you’re glimpsing their soul.

Your Art is Your Spirit

Your spirit is expressed through your words and actions. Whatever you release into the world is your spirit in a state of constant becoming. Treat your photographs as your spirit and trust your intuition as you give birth to new art.

Your Intuition is God

When you listen to your gut and follow your intuition, consider this your God-like state of being. Everything is connected as one. Embrace the spirit of play, and follow your intuition with the openness of a child.

Change the World

I believe that in order to change the world, you must first change yourself.

Create the World You Want to Live In

Every action matters. The small things add up, creating a ripple effect that reaches further than we realize. The simplest act I can think of is smiling and saying hello to your neighbors. This small gesture can go a long way, potentially making someone’s day.

Spread More Kindness

It’s easy to slip into nihilism, but it takes a childlike naïveté to stay optimistic in this modern world. Embrace that childlike state—remain in a state of play. Laugh more, dance, sing, and spread joy to anyone willing to listen.

It’s Our Duty to Be Strong

As men, it’s our duty to be strong. That means no drugs, no alcohol, no smoking, and no porn. We need to rise above our primal tendencies. To be a strong man requires discipline and self-control. Every single day, we should prioritize our physical health, putting our physiology at the forefront. This means heavy lifting in the gym and eating more red meat.

We should strive to become the strongest version of ourselves—physically and mentally.

A strong body creates a strong mind, and ultimately, a healthy soul.

Carte Blanche

Every day anew.

When I wake up each morning, I consider it a mini birth. I never want my curiosity to end. The goal of an artist is to question everything and to maintain this child-like wonder until the day we die.

Question Everything

I like to ask “why” about every little detail in the world. This allows me to dig deeper into every action and every thought I have. Don’t just live life on autopilot—start seeing beyond the surface.

“Start with a blank slate.”
The day you think you’re a master of anything is the day you metaphorically die. The new masters are amateurs. We embrace the state of play and find ourselves in a stream of becoming through the photographic process.

Treat Every Day Like It’s Your Last

You never know if today could be your last. The fate of all humans is our inevitable death. Let this reality fuel your actions and keep you focused on your true passions in life.

“Live every single day like it’s your last. What would you do today if you knew you were going to die tomorrow?”

You could be gone any minute—anything could happen, whether it’s a random accident or something completely unforeseen. As absurd as it sounds, a coconut could fall from a tree, ending everything. In Rome, some trees are tall enough that it’s possible. Imagining such randomness reminds me: walk with intention every single day. Fortify yourself each morning—a cold shower, head held high, shoulders back. Be prepared to face the day like a warrior, ready to slay dragons.

Become a Monster, Then Tame Yourself

There’s power in coming onto the street each day with the mindset of a warrior. Embrace your strength and focus on your physical self. To live each day fully, you have to have the courage to say no to what you don’t want and yes to what you do. What don’t you want to do? Decide that first. Becoming strong starts with defining your boundaries.

Make Each Action Count

If I knew today was my last, I’d make every picture count. Every photo, every moment, would be like my last. I’d create as much as possible, sharing what’s on my mind, recording my thoughts as a digital time capsule—a legacy. For me, YouTube and my blog are not just platforms; they’re tools to propagate an artist’s voice.

Create your legacy. Each interaction matters: smile at someone, say hello. Be a ripple in the lives of others. Every little thing counts, even the small moments that might seem insignificant.

If This Was Your Last Day

What would you do if you knew this was your last day? I know what I’d do: I’d have my camera in hand. I’d be on my deathbed, still taking pictures. That’s the beauty of the Ricoh; it fits right in your pocket, even in life’s final moments. I came to this conclusion years ago. Sure, I won’t have a big DSLR hanging from my neck, but the small moments captured—that’s the point.

Most people die in a bed, in a hospital. So what do you do to combat that slow death? Move. Constantly move. Every day is a new chance to bring meaning to the time you have, to walk with purpose and intent.

No fear. Stay curious and courageous!

Stop Trying to Be Perfect

In life, it seems that many people strive to be perfect just to impress others. They work boring jobs to buy things they don’t need, all to impress people who don’t even like them. It’s a sad truth. What can we do about this? Let the chips fall as they may!

“It’s only after we’ve lost everything that we’re free to do anything.” – Tyler Durden

Let’s Evolve

The whole point of humanity is to evolve. We must transcend and go beyond our basic, traditional notions of how to live.

How Does This Relate to Photography?

In photography, we should embrace imperfection and not obsess over composition or perfectly aligned shots. Forget trying to make a “good” picture that pleases some teacher or judge. In order to push our capabilities, we have to let go of everything we think we know and create without worrying about traditional standards. We don’t want to be perfect! In street photography, we strive for something real, authentic, raw, and gritty.

My Frustration with Photography

Right now, I’m frustrated with photography. The industry sells a lie to the masses—that to become a better photographer, you need to be polished and perfect. Sharpness, perfect compositions, pretty backgrounds, beautiful models… I say that’s all BS. It makes things more mediocre, if anything. Street photography has become trendy, predictable, and boring. When photographers view other people’s work, they get trapped, influenced by mainstream ideas of what street photography should be.

Boring People Care Too Much

The people who spend time on YouTube, comment on Reddit, scroll Instagram, and engage with these platforms all day—they’re often boring, basic. We don’t want to be boring or basic. To rise to the next level, you have to ruffle a few feathers and upset others. To be imperfect is to be human. There’s no such thing as a perfect person, a perfect picture, or a perfect anything.

How to Combat This?

• Delete your Instagram
• Stop watching YouTube
• No more Reddit
• Don’t view work in galleries

These platforms have become gateways to mediocrity. You either get it, or you’re upset by it. Stop consuming others’ work and make your own world. Craft your vision through intuition and repetition. Create with an autotelic mindset, propagating your voice on your own platforms. Don’t be a slave to social media, conventional thinking, or anyone’s morals or dogmas.

Why Does It Matter?

This matters because we need to go further with our creative potential. To evolve and move forward, we must embrace imperfection and be willing to experiment. Tinker, innovate, mess up, fall down, take blurry pictures, miss shots—whatever it takes to reach the apex version of ourselves.

Strive to Create Beautiful Art from a State of Pure Joy

The world doesn’t need another tormented artist. Strive to create from joy, with a lust for life—to go out there, observe, and make something beautiful out of the everyday. The act of creation itself, extracting and abstracting reality through photography, becomes a way to embrace the world with courage and curiosity at the forefront.

Why Does This Matter?

It’s easy to see negativity in life and in the world itself. It takes more curiosity and courage to find beauty in humanity, nature, and society. The city can often feel bleak and dull through the lens of a tormented soul. You’ll hear constant complaints about the simplest things: the street being too crowded, an event being boring, or the light not being good enough.

But to combat this negativity, we must return to a childlike perspective. The camera becomes an excuse to get outside, to wander with a blank slate, and to see beauty in the mundane. By embracing life and exploring with a sense of wonder, the world can become a tapestry of patterns in nature and human behavior, waiting to be discovered and uplifted through art.

The world needs more beautiful art. It needs to see life through the lens of a pure soul filled with joy.

Life Isn’t About Being Happy

We often hear that “life isn’t all sunshine and rainbows,” and that “the struggle is real.” While true, I believe that creating art is best done from a state of joy. If you’re feeling down or uninspired, maybe it’s best to hold off on creating. To transcend in our work, we should strive to create from the highest, most curious state.

The old romanticism of the tormented artist? It’s no longer cool. Let’s make smiling cool again! Let’s create new work when we’re excited, when curiosity fuels us. It’s easy to feel animosity, but it requires courage to remain optimistic.

“The goal is to never be bored of photography itself. Life may be boring, but when you wander with a camera, everything becomes beautiful again.”

If You’re Unhappy, Focus on Your Physiology

I find that the antidote to unhappiness is fitness and physiology. When you focus on health, everything else seems to fall into place. We’re in control of our destiny and fate if we set time aside to exercise, get good sleep, and eat well. These habits cultivate joy and create the physical energy needed to approach life with curiosity.

Hormonal balance and physiological well-being go a long way in influencing our state of mind. The point is, before creating new work, focus on your physiology. From this state of strength and clarity, we can create beautiful art from a state of pure joy.

The World Is a Canvas

Photography is a superpower. The world itself becomes an open canvas for exploration, where we are not confined to walls or the four corners of a frame. Through photography, we can augment reality and create new worlds in fractions of a second. By observing life closely, we find that every detail, even the smallest, becomes part of our story.

“Life is on the street, outside the window, in physical, embodied reality.”

Some practical ideas for creating in this state of joy and curiosity:

• Photograph only using macro mode: Dive into the tiny, often overlooked details.
• Use automatic functions on your camera: Embrace a carefree approach.
• Photograph along a body of water: Water grounds us and invites reflection.
• Walk 75% slower than everyone else: Notice textures, colors, and patterns you’d otherwise miss.

Follow Your Curiosity

As a creator, approach each day with curiosity and courage. Go out with a blank slate, free of expectations, and let the world surprise you. Treat the world as a canvas where you can make sense of chaos, frame out the ordinary, and capture beauty in what others may pass by. This is where the magic of art lies—in creating from joy and seeing everything through the eyes of a curious child.

Follow the light, enter the Zen zone of the unknown, and fuel your lust for life through pure, childlike curiosity.

Embrace Your Childlike Curiosity

I’m very passionate about curiosity and imagination. I believe that to become a better artist, you must embrace the spirit of play.

Don’t Take Yourself So Seriously

In today’s world, it seems like everyone is trying to become a serious person—an artist, a businessman, etc. Honestly, I don’t trust anybody who takes themselves too seriously. I’d rather trust someone who jokes around, embraces comedy, and doesn’t get upset or offended so easily. Why am I passionate about this? I believe life is too short. Taking yourself seriously all the time will make things boring and blasé.

When it comes to my photography, I hope to channel my inner lust for life and curiosity. To do this, I stay in the spirit of becoming, embracing life with openness and honesty. Every morning, I aim to increase my curiosity by even just 0.000001%—for this, I believe, is what success truly means in both photography and in life. What am I curious about today?

The Ultimate Goal Is to Remain Outdoors

Treat your home like a bunker. Even during winter, I find myself outside, exploring endlessly. I can’t stand being indoors—it’s the ultimate bore. I think spending too much time inside is a modern tragedy. That’s where souls go to die. Being outdoors is life itself.

Whenever I’m inside, I keep my windows open, letting fresh air circulate. The more time you spend indoors, the more disconnected you become. At the end of the day, ask yourself:

• How much did you see?
• How far did you walk?
• Who did you meet?
• What experiences did you have?
• How did you feel?

To walk is to be human. We are bipedal for a reason…

Use Your Imagination

When I walk along the river, I sometimes imagine I’m a revolutionary soldier, marching with Washington. I find this playful approach far better than walking as if it’s a chore. I look up at the clouds, watch birds fly by, and contemplate my connection to nature. There’s power within our minds—we can craft our own world through imagination.

In photography, treat the world as a canvas. The world is open, and endless to explore. Photography becomes a superpower when we’re not confined to boxes or the four corners of a canvas. Each photograph is like a sketch of life, and even mundane details—the way sunlight hits leaves, or the texture of a well-worn street—become part of our story.

“He who has a why to live for can bear almost any how.” – Friedrich Nietzsche

Follow Your Curiosity

The ultimate goal is to follow your curiosity. When you go out with your camera, don’t plan. Let instinct guide you. Photography is my excuse to set my body in motion, and I think that when you walk without preconceived notions, you find yourself in a pure, childlike state.

Some ideas to experiment with:

• Photograph only using macro mode: Dive into the small, overlooked details.
• Use automatic functions on your camera: Embrace a carefree approach.
• Photograph along a body of water: There’s something grounding about water, an invitation to flow and reflect.
• Walk 75% slower than everyone else: Give yourself time to notice everything—textures, colors, patterns.

Turn Within

Turn within, and you will not help but have a grin. For your imagination and lust for life will help you win. In the end, the goal is to stay open and curious, seeing beauty in the mundane. Let curiosity guide you each day, as it fills life with richness and makes even the smallest details a new adventure.

Adventure Is in My Blood

At my core, I am an adventurer. My lust for life and exploration runs through my veins. Each day when I wake up, I’m excited to conquer something new.

Think Without Borders

When you look out your window or up at the sky, think without borders. Think endlessly, with abundance and no limits. You can go wherever you want in this world. All you need is the movement of your physical body and an audacious, courageous attitude to get yourself there.

No Fear

When you have no fear and embrace the chaos headfirst with curiosity, you will float through this world on a feather bed, untouched and unscathed. I have a lust for battle. I do not seek comfort—I’m always looking for new physical challenges. Embrace this, and it’s as if anything is possible.

The Future Is Here

Perhaps it’s wise to merge with the machine. I enjoy embracing new ways of doing things and creating art. Whether it’s shooting with a small compact camera, reviewing my images on an iPad Pro, or even writing this blog post using dictation, the future is here. Merge with the machine. Everything is an upside.

Create More Art

The greatest gift we can leave behind on this earth is the art we make. Consider each new photograph like a child you give birth to. Use art to propagate your voice and to enhance your everyday life. Embrace the spirit of play and walk endlessly, creating as you go.

Abundant Mindset

When you approach photography with an abundant mindset—creating in a flow state without distractions or preconceived notions—you can conquer anything. Don’t take life or your photography so seriously. Remember that, in the end, this is for fun.

Create in an Autotelic State

When you set out with your camera, remember you’re making photographs for yourself. You’re making these photos simply because you’re curious about the results.

What will reality manifest to be in a photograph?

This is the question to ask every day before you step outside. Make pictures for the sake of making pictures. Allow yourself to become infatuated with life itself and fuel your lust for the mundane through the way of an autotelic state.

EXPLORE

As a photographer, I am an adventurer at my core. To explore the world openly, with curiosity and courage, is my passion. The great outdoors is the best place to get lost in the unknown, and the state of exploration leads to discovery and questions about the world and life itself. Treat the camera as an excuse—a passport to see the world and explore with an open mind.

Before you head out, ask yourself: What will reality manifest in a photograph? Let your curiosity guide you, asking more questions as you make more pictures. Find your “why.”

“He who has a why to live for can bear almost any how.” – Friedrich Nietzsche

Get Outside

Firstly, I think it’s important to get outside. As soon as you wake up, open your eyes wide with vigor and curiosity about what’s out there. As a photographer, this is an essential state of mind. The curiosity to head into the wild, no matter the conditions. I believe there’s no such thing as bad weather, just bad clothing.

• If it’s cold, bundle up.
• If it’s raining, get some Gore-Tex.

Don’t let the external world determine how you approach the day. Photography requires the artist to flex their creative muscles daily. Wake up early and catch the sunrise! With your camera in hand, fuel yourself with a lust for life.

Embrace the Unknown

The beauty of photography lies in finding joy in the mundane. It doesn’t matter whether you walk the same lane daily or embrace a new place. To find joy through photography requires a state of openness. Enter new places without preconceived notions of what you will find, allowing yourself to discover more beauty in the world.

The unknown can feel daunting. Maybe you’re nervous to embrace a foreign culture or country, or there’s a trip you’ve always wanted to take but never acted on. Let the chips fall as they may! Embrace play and don’t take yourself so seriously.

To embrace the unknown requires a childlike wonder about whatever is around the corner. Stay present and grounded. Embracing the unknown asks you to forget the past and let go of what the future holds.

“Never let the future disturb you. You will meet it, if you have to, with the same weapons of reason which today arm you against the present.” – Marcus Aurelius

Follow Your Desire

Before heading out, don’t plan anything. I believe the best way to operate as a photographer is to follow your desire. If something sparks your interest, follow it. Just listen to your gut. If you feel drawn to walk a certain way or photograph a specific subject, do it!

I often find my desire leading me to the river here in my hometown, Philadelphia. There’s something about the water that drives me to walk that way. It’s an instinctual feeling that pulls me to these places. I let go of any expectations of what may or may not happen.

As a photographer, intuition is key. Listen to your gut, don’t plan ahead of time, and just get out there!

Be Fearless

In a world run on fear, courage is much needed.

“It is not death that a man should fear, but he should fear never beginning to live.” – Marcus Aurelius

Courage and Audacity

When it comes to everyday life, I believe we must approach every moment without fear. In street photography, it’s the same. Approach the world as a playground with childlike curiosity and courage.

No More Doom and Gloom

I believe the news pushes fear onto the general population. To combat this, disconnect and go off the grid. Stop watching the news, TV, and social media. Be insanely optimistic for the betterment of humanity. Spread kindness and joy. At the end of the day, the smallest thing we can do is smile.

It’s Better to Be the Gay Monster Than a Sentimental Boar

When you approach life with wonder and awe, without preconceived notions of what’s out there, you go through life headstrong and without fear. Recognize that everything is ultimately out of our control. Embrace the chaos playfully, and without care.

Increase Your Tenacity

The word “tenacity” comes from the Latin word tenacitas, meaning “tenseness, firmness.” Derived from tenax (“tenacious, holding fast”) and related to tenere (“to hold”), tenacity reflects determination and persistence.

I believe that grip strength is strength. Overcoming fear requires physical training. My favorite exercise is the farmer’s walk: pick up two heavy dumbbells and walk with them. This helps with posture and grip strength. This full-body technique is critical in my everyday routine and has increased my tenacity.

Embrace Confrontation

People have become afraid of confrontation. Perhaps it’s a symptom of post-COVID society. The antidote is to be more confrontational. Open doors for strangers, compliment others, say hello to janitors, talk to security guards—just have fun with everyday interactions.

In street photography, embracing confrontation can help overcome the fear of rejection. Try asking for permission to make portraits of strangers. If they say no, great! This is a way to embrace failure and push forward with your photography.

How to Be Happy

Everyone wants to be happy… One simple idea I believe about happiness: it derives from within.

Walk Daily

The simplest approach to achieving a state of bliss is to walk more. At the end of the day, to walk is to be human. We are bipedal for a reason, and we should use our two legs as much as possible throughout the day. I enjoy walking along the riverside, in nature, and even through the bustling streets in my city.

When you walk, you feel good. There’s something about the simple act of moving physically through the world, feeling the weather, having the sun kiss your skin, and enjoying the very moments that are fleeting and passing you by.

Sun Exposure

One strange thing I’ve recognized about people is that they are afraid of the sun. We often cover ourselves with hats, sunglasses, and even sunblock. The sun gives you power. Spend as much time as possible in direct sunlight.

Lift Weights

Lifting weights will make you happier because it will boost your confidence and courage. The more you can lift, the better you will feel. If you get into a habit of having a daily gym routine, you will find that you are going to become happier and happier each day.

Eat Red Meat

Personally, I have adopted a carnivore diet of 100% red meat and kimchi. What I realize is, the more red meat I consume, the more satiated and filled with energy I am. Having increased testosterone makes you kinder, happier, and less irritable. Meat provides me with fuel to fast all day, needing only one meal at night. Also, my gut health is supreme.

The connection between your mind and body is important to consider. When you have an upset gut or stomach, it is inevitable that you will become depressed or anxious. When you have a strong body and a strong mind, you will have a beautiful soul.

Subtract the Superfluous

For myself, embracing minimalism has been a path to happiness. In this modern world, we often seek joy through external pleasures like social media, TV shows, movies, video games, food, and concerts. But the truth is that happiness derives from within. It comes from a state of bliss when you recognize the patterns in both nature and human behavior.

No amount of movies, sugary foods, or entertainment will keep you in a state of bliss. Also, abstain from things like casual sex, pornography, drugs, and alcohol. Another suggestion: delete your Instagram and stop watching YouTube videos. Instead, make your own media and entertain yourself by watching what you create.

Memento Mori

Remember that you must die. Allow the shortness of life to fuel your lust for every moment. It’s important that you live a meaningful life and do things that only you truly care about. Realize that you are a mere mortal and that nothing lasts forever. A good heuristic: treat every single day like it is your last.

Recognize Your Connection to Nature

Happiness is something I find through recognizing I am just a small speck on this earth in the grand scheme of things. But that’s what makes everything so beautiful! The fact that I am lucky enough to be a small part of this cosmic soup that is life is enough to keep me happy and in a state of bliss.

What I Learned as a Peace Corps Volunteer

After my time in university, I spent the following years traveling and volunteering abroad. Firstly, I volunteered on a kibbutz in Israel. During that same trip, I also lived with a Palestinian family in Jericho and volunteered at a hostel. These experiences inspired me and led me to join the Peace Corps.

Adventure Is in My Blood

At my core, I am an explorer. There’s something about the unknown that keeps me out there, walking and traveling through the world into unfamiliar places. The Peace Corps taught me to remain open to different cultures and to embrace new ways of life. I worked as a rural aquaculture promotion specialist in Zambia, Africa. For the first three months, I learned the local language, Icibemba. During this training, I learned how to wash clothes by hand, cook over a fire, live under a thatched roof, and engage with a host family.

The first day I arrived at my mud hut, I was greeted by a scorpion at my door. I quickly grabbed a rock nearby and smashed its head into the wall. At that moment, I knew I was up for the adventure of a lifetime.

Be Adaptable

One of the things I learned during my time as a Peace Corps volunteer is to be adaptable. When you throw yourself into a new place or new experience, there’s always a learning curve. I remember sitting on the front porch of Doris’ home, learning how to slaughter and prepare a chicken for a meal—something completely unfamiliar to me, coming from an urban city like Philadelphia.

Every day, I would bike along dirt paths to and from the training center, learning to:

• Fix my tire if it went flat
• Carry goods in my saddlebags from the grocery store
• Speak the local language with the community around me

When you’re thrown into a new environment, it’s important to remain open and adapt. Simply learning the language is enough for you to be accepted with open arms into strangers’ homes.

Human Thriving Is Possible

When I was stationed in my village and introduced to my host family, I was greeted with a goat to slaughter and prepare with my host father. This was the ultimate greeting and sign of respect that I’ve ever encountered in my life. For the next few days, we feasted on the goat and got to know one another, sitting on the floor, eating with our hands, and listening to local Zambian music.

In the mornings, we cleared land around the fish ponds, while in the afternoons, his daughters would come home with bush fruit for us to eat. In the evenings, we prayed in the local church, and before sleep, we always shared a meal together. Every day, I saw the strength of their community:

• Mothers carrying sticks on their heads, with babies on their backs
• Fathers building churches and homes
• Sons making bricks for construction
• Daughters sweeping floors and preparing meals

Human thriving is possible. The families in Zambia showed me this truth.

You Don’t Need Much to Be Happy

Another key takeaway from my Peace Corps experience is that you don’t need much to be happy. Having a community around you, family, a church, clean water from a borehole, fish from the lake, and good conversation is enough to feel a deep, blissful contentment. The days felt long and rich under the sun.

I spent many days walking barefoot, climbing trees, eating mangoes, and swimming in the local lake. It’s the simple pleasures that bring true happiness—there’s no material thing or consumerist item that can match this. Happiness derives from within.

Take the Road Less Traveled

What amazed me about living in a Zambian village were the endless unfamiliar paths and dirt roads that led to new places. When I rode my bike, I often found myself lost. This feeling of being lost was unlike anything I’d felt traveling in America with Google Maps readily available. Instead, I would chat with locals, ask for directions, and maneuver through each day in new ways.

My village was positioned 14 hours away from Zambia’s capital. If I wanted to experience urban life, I’d need to take multiple taxis and buses. Many times, taxis would break down, buses would halt, and there were even instances when I had to hitchhike on the back of a pickup truck. The village life provided everything I needed, teaching me that immediate community and surroundings are what truly matter.

Try New Things

Lastly, I believe it’s important to try new things. Whether it’s food, experiences, or language, remaining open to newness has taught me endlessly. I’ll never forget Doris bringing home a bucket of grasshoppers that she’d freshly picked from nearby fields. She simply dropped them in a boiling pot of water, added salt, and we sat on her front porch at night, eating grasshoppers and laughing. As an American, this was something completely new for me, but oddly, they didn’t taste that bad.

The point is, you have to make your own adventure. These memories and experiences bring me joy to this day. I have no regrets, only gratitude for what I learned. Joining the Peace Corps was one of the greatest things I’ve done. It’s something I’ll never forget and will always reference. At the end of the day, perhaps humans are meant to explore, try new things, and learn through experience. The Peace Corps taught me exactly that.

How I Want to Spend My Short Time on This Earth

Firstly, I would like to spend it producing and giving more than I consume and take. I also think living in the now and focusing on cherishing each moment is a good goal. Life is too short to be stressed about petty and superficial matters.

To Create Beautiful Art

Creating beautiful art is the greatest gift humans can give to humanity. I believe that art has the power to inspire greatness. Photography is my favorite art form because it is based on reality. The act of walking, exploring, and observing real life is unlike any other medium. The human experience is something worth sharing and uplifting.

Spreading More Kindness

I think the world is more divided than ever and run on fear. This is why I’m a big proponent of disconnecting from the news and popular media. I believe the more you focus on yourself, the more you can help and spread kindness to others. Small acts of kindness, like:

• Smiling
• Holding the door for others
• Giving compliments to beautiful people

can go a long way.

“Be the change that you wish to see in the world.” – Mahatma Gandhi

In order to make any difference in the world, you must carry out actions and behaviors that you wish to see manifest in others. This is why I believe in this notion of becoming more selfish and focusing on improving yourself. The more you focus on yourself, the more you can contribute to others.

Exploration and Innovation

My first passion is exploring. I’m an adventurer at my core and love to use the camera as an excuse to walk endlessly. There’s something special about exploring new places and meeting new people. I prefer to be immersed in a new place for a period of time, typically anywhere between one to two months. When I travel far and wide across this globe, I always come back with something new that I have learned.

Through learning more and experiencing more, perhaps I can innovate more going forward. Within the world of street photography, I find frustrations with the ways in which things are done. I want to alleviate these frustrations through innovation, creating more photos and ideas.

Becoming a Free Thinker

Thinking seems to be one of life’s greatest pleasures. The more that we think, the more that we can become. It doesn’t really matter if you are right or wrong. I think that in this age of abundance, a simple heuristic is to give as much as possible.

My Story

Early Childhood

I was born and raised in Roxborough and Andorra, neighborhoods in Philadelphia surrounded by the Wissahickon forest. My childhood was filled with endless exploration—building tipis with sticks, making bridges with stones, fishing in the stream, and biking through trails that snaked through the woods. These early adventures instilled a deep love for the outdoors and a desire to explore the world around me.

From a young age, I developed a strong sense of adventure. I remember discovering the Schuylkill River Trail around age twelve, my love for biking sparking this new exploration. Each day, I wandered through the neighborhood, often losing myself in the process, getting wonderfully “lost” on my bike. Looking out towards the vast landscape of trees and a nearby farm from an elevated view, I was struck by a sense of wonder—awe at the natural world and the endless horizon.

“It was here that I learned to take a new turn, to follow my intuition, and explore the world openly.”

Nearby the farm, I stumbled upon a very steep hill. Without a second thought, I rode down at full speed, weaving and turning, caught up in the thrill of it all. I didn’t even consider the challenge of getting back up or making my way home.

Reaching the bottom of the hill, I discovered the Schuylkill River itself. I noticed a trail alongside it and instinctively began riding, drawn forward by the path itself. Looking ahead, I could see nothing but trees and an endless trail. I rode until I reached a trailhead and realized I was miles from home, unsure of where to go next. Deciding to turn back, I began the climb uphill, only to discover the difficulty of pushing my small, tired body up the steep incline. But when I finally made it to the top, I felt a huge sense of accomplishment, brimming with curiosity about what I had just discovered on this small adventure.

I returned to that hill many times, pushing myself further and further along the trail each time. Eventually, I reached Valley Forge National Park, a beautiful, historic location here in Pennsylvania with plenty of terrain to explore. Riding along the dirt path, immersed in the surroundings, I eventually popped a tire, far from home. I had no choice but to call my mom, who, shocked at the distance I had traveled, immediately came to pick me up. I tossed my bike into the trunk, excitedly explaining my journey and newfound discovery of this incredible trail.

To my surprise, my mother didn’t scold me or discourage me from going back; instead, she encouraged me. She simply wanted me to be more prepared next time, to be safe and independent. Her support allowed me to continue taking these long rides, often covering 20 to 30 miles throughout my early childhood.

Becoming an Artist

When I entered high school, I signed up for a web design course and was introduced to Photoshop. This sparked my love for art, design, and the creative process. I dove into the basics of digital design, exploring typography and layout, finding that I had a knack for it. But when the course moved into coding, my enthusiasm waned—I was far more captivated by the visuals than the technical side. Recognizing my passion, I enrolled in a graphic design course the following semester, focusing on the parts that truly interested me and honing my skills in Photoshop.

At sixteen, a pivotal moment occurred. My graphic design class introduced photography as part of the curriculum, and I was instantly hooked. I picked up a Nikon FM film camera and returned to the woods that had defined my childhood, this time with new purpose. The familiar trails and trees became my subjects, as I biked miles with my camera, capturing snapshots of nature in a way that felt meaningful and fresh. I began recording videos too, using a Canon Rebel T3i, and discovered that blending photography with video offered even more ways to express myself.

“My passion for exploration and photography was the perfect combination—each ride with my camera brought new excitement, a way to capture the world I saw and share the joy it brought me.”

Photography soon became my main outlet, a way to translate my inner world onto film. Exploration and photography became inseparable, and I found myself eager to see more, to capture more, to experiment with angles, light, and composition. As I grew more confident, I ventured further afield, feeling that each click of the shutter allowed me to shape my own world and understand life from a new perspective.

Discovering Street Photography

As I continued honing my skills, I gravitated toward black-and-white film, focusing on the fundamentals—exposure, lighting, composition. I was deeply invested in understanding these technical elements, spending countless hours experimenting. Then, my great-uncle, noticing my growing passion for photography, invited me to see his camera collection. He had a range of classic cameras, including a Leica M3 with various lenses. This collection became a new world of inspiration for me.

One day, he took me to a local mall to teach me more about shutter speed and motion. We started near a carousel, where he explained that depending on the shutter speed, I could either freeze the motion or create a beautiful blur. He showed me that setting the shutter to 1/500 of a second would capture the carousel’s riders perfectly still, while 1/30 of a second would turn the moving scene into a dreamy, abstract blur. This hands-on lesson was a turning point; I began to see the world through the lens of possibilities.

“As he explained shutter speed, framing, and the interplay of light and motion, I realized how photography could alter reality, capturing moments in unique and unexpected ways.”

Our lesson continued as we walked through the Build-A-Bear Workshop area, where he introduced me to the concept of the “decisive moment.” He pointed out the children moving in and out of the shop with their bears, their interactions reflecting the advertisement on the wall—a teddy bear just like theirs. My uncle emphasized the importance of framing and waiting for just the right moment to create a photograph that told a story. That lesson opened my eyes to the potential of photography as more than just capturing a scene but weaving together elements in a single frame.

At this point, I had never considered photographing people or creating stories through the lens. Juxtaposing people with their surroundings became a kind of visual game that I would play, and from that day on, it became the foundation of my approach to street photography.

Soon after, my family moved to Center City Philadelphia, where I found myself surrounded by the perfect environment to practice. I began photographing the bustling streets without even realizing what “street photography” was. My uncle occasionally let me borrow his Leica, and I especially loved using the 35mm Summaron lens. I would photograph people candidly, learning to anticipate moments and create natural compositions. The energy along Market Street, the unique characters at Penn’s Landing, and the liveliness of summertime in the city became my training ground. These early experiences on the street taught me how to see, and it was in these moments that I fully committed to street photography as my calling.

Art School

After high school, I decided to enroll at the Maryland Institute College of Art (MICA) in Baltimore, drawn to its renowned graphic design program. My first year was a broad introduction to the fine arts. I learned to draw from live models, sculpt with plaster and wood, experiment with multimedia, and paint. Each medium offered new insights, pushing me to explore beyond photography. This immersive experience laid a solid foundation, teaching me that art could take on many forms and that each had something unique to offer.

In my second year, I officially declared graphic design as my major. I enjoyed the structure of design, the balance of text and visuals, and the process of creating something meaningful on a page. Yet, even as I immersed myself in design, photography kept calling me back. That year, I took a course that blended photography with design, giving me a chance to reconnect with the camera and see how both disciplines could complement each other.

Exploring downtown Baltimore and its Inner Harbor reignited my interest in street photography. I started making portraits of strangers, engaging with people on the street, and capturing their stories. This approach was different from the candid work I had done in Philadelphia. Now, I would ask for permission, building connections with people through the lens and learning to engage with subjects on a more personal level. I would return to campus, import the photos, and merge them with typography and design, blending the two worlds in a way that felt true to my vision.

“My teacher once offered an extra credit project, a chance to work on a project outside of class—creating portraits for a local church community.”

This project involved engaging with people from the community, especially those in need. The final outcome was a gallery show where locals could view the portraits, accompanied by written stories. It was an opportunity to uplift these individuals, giving them a voice and a platform. My role was to make the portraits, and through this project, I found myself connecting with people on a deeper level, drawn to the way photography could bring us closer to communities and stories we might otherwise overlook.

This experience solidified my love for both people and photography. Documenting lives and sharing moments with those who are often unseen became my motivation. It brought me closer to the people of Baltimore, revealing layers of the city and its residents that I hadn’t known before. I knew then that I wanted my photography to not only capture but to connect, to bridge gaps between individuals and their stories.

Baltimore Street Photography

Toward the end of 2015, I purchased a Ricoh GRII and began exploring Baltimore in earnest. No longer content to photograph the familiar scenes around the downtown Inner Harbor, I ventured into West Baltimore, specifically the Sandtown-Winchester neighborhood near my school. Known for its reputation as a rough area, Sandtown was viewed by many as dangerous, especially for someone with a camera. But the skills I had gained from previous projects—learning to engage with people—helped me navigate the community with respect and openness.

In Sandtown, I discovered that street photography required a different approach. Unlike Philadelphia, where I could often capture candid shots anonymously, Baltimore demanded a level of interaction and trust. I started by introducing myself to people at bus stops, explaining my work as a photographer and a student nearby. This openness allowed me to connect with people in ways that went beyond just taking a picture. People began to recognize me as I returned day after day, and I found myself welcomed, gaining access to a part of the community few outsiders experience.

Each day after class, I would wander West Baltimore with my Ricoh GRII. Its small, compact design made it the perfect tool—it could easily slip into my pocket, letting me move naturally without drawing too much attention. The camera’s unobtrusive presence helped me to blend into the neighborhood, capturing life as it unfolded, and gave me a unique vantage point as an observer within this vibrant community.

“One day, I came across a basketball game behind a high school during the golden hour. The mural on the wall and the players in motion created an energy I had never captured before.”

As the boys played, I asked if I could make some photos. I set my camera to P mode and used the LCD screen on the back to frame the action. I shot continuously, each frame building on the last, capturing the fluidity and intensity of the game. This scene was a pivotal moment for me as a photographer. When I reviewed the photos, I realized I had captured something special, a dynamic image that spoke to the spirit of the place and the people in it.

Later that year, I submitted this photo to the Miami Street Photography Contest, judged by Martin Parr, and was awarded first place during the photo slam. Parr mentioned the visual effect of the gestures I captured in motion, which resembled wind blowing along a windmill. This recognition pushed me further in my pursuit of street photography, giving me the confidence to continue exploring, documenting, and searching for that next decisive moment.

Photojournalism and the DNC

In 2016, I was hired as a photojournalist for the Democratic National Convention (DNC), a major turning point in my career. I was tasked with capturing a wide range of events, from political rallies and speeches to community festivals throughout Philadelphia. This experience allowed me to blend my passion for photography with the fast-paced demands of journalism, sharpening my skills in capturing moments with precision and purpose.

One festival that stands out was the African Festival in Center City, Philadelphia. I remember a powerful scene: a man was distributing newspapers commemorating the life of Muhammad Ali shortly after his passing. I made a photograph of him juxtaposed against a worker in the background, capturing a fleeting moment that felt both historical and deeply personal. My Ricoh GRII became my constant companion, allowing me to snap candid street photography shots in between my official assignments. My Canon 6D served as my primary workhorse for the event coverage, handling the bulk of my journalistic work while my Ricoh allowed me the freedom to capture the city’s pulse in a more spontaneous, documentary style.

When the DNC convention took place in South Philadelphia, I expanded my focus to document not only the event itself but also the energy outside. Protesters gathered, fences were jumped, and as the sun set, the sense of tension and anticipation grew. I used my Ricoh’s pop flash feature to capture the action as people moved dynamically through the scene.

Inside the convention, I navigated the crowded floors, photographing political figures, delegates, and supporters. The environment was fast-paced and chaotic, but the experience taught me invaluable lessons in adaptability. Balancing official assignments with street photography kept me constantly engaged, always ready to capture both the formal and the unexpected. Armed with my laptop, I would quickly cull through photos on the spot, uploading them for publications or social media—a process that kept me sharp and always prepared for the next shot.

The Road from Jerusalem to Jericho

In 2017, I decided to study abroad in Jerusalem, Israel at Hebrew University, a journey that deeply transformed my perspective. Before leaving, I visited B&H in New York City and purchased a Fujifilm X-Pro2 with a 23mm F2 lens—a camera setup I trusted to withstand the demands of my travels. For six months, I explored Jerusalem and its surroundings, channeling my childlike curiosity and capturing scenes steeped in history.

Each weekend, after class, I would take a bus to various cities throughout the West Bank—from Ramallah and Qalandia to Hebron, Jenin, Nablus, Bethlehem, and my favorite, Jericho. Jericho, often called the “City of the Moon,” is the lowest elevated city in the world and holds a timeless quality that captivated me. I spent hours wandering its streets, observing the way life unfolds in this desert town under the scorching sun. With each return, I grew more familiar with the community, establishing relationships that allowed me to delve deeper into its unique atmosphere.

“The road from Jerusalem to Jericho is a magical experience—desert mountains, the Dead Sea, and a biblical landscape that invites you to explore without expectations.”

On my trips, I would stay in a modest hostel, often waking at dawn to capture the light over Jericho’s rustic buildings and vibrant streets. I spent a significant amount of time in the refugee camp nearby, walking through its densely packed streets and meeting residents who welcomed me with warmth and curiosity. Each day, I carried my camera and an open mind, allowing me to document the rhythm of life within this historic city.

One day, after visiting a mosque in Jericho, I was approached by members of the Jahalin family. They invited me into their home for tea, and I quickly felt part of their circle. That evening, they invited me on an adventure to the Wadi Qelt mountain range. We climbed into the back of their car and wound our way up a treacherous mountain road. At one point, their car broke down, and they jumped out to push it uphill. As chaos unfolded around us, I seized the moment to capture the scene—a blend of camaraderie, challenge, and joy. We eventually made it to the peak, where we made coffee over a fire, sang songs, and watched the sun sink over the Dead Sea.

This journey from Jerusalem to Jericho brought out a side of me that was deeply inspired by adventure and storytelling, blending my love for exploration with photography in a way I had never experienced before.

War Photography

Because I spent so much time photographing along the border of Israel and Palestine, I inevitably found myself caught in the midst of conflict on several occasions. It was a surreal experience to witness and document the tensions firsthand, confronting a world very different from the one I knew. These clashes between the Israeli Defense Force (IDF) and Palestinians were intense and often dangerous, challenging my resolve as both a photographer and an outsider.

One afternoon, while traveling along the border near Qalandia, our bus driver suddenly told everyone to disembark. I quickly found myself in the middle of a protest, with tear gas and live ammunition in the air. Trying to find a safe vantage point, I instinctively moved toward the IDF side of the conflict, but it became apparent that my camera made me a visible target. In a moment, the soldiers noticed me and fired tear gas in my direction. Blinded and disoriented, I sprinted into a nearby alleyway, hoping to escape the fumes.

“I stumbled into a small shop where the owner handed me a high-visibility vest. His kindness was a moment of humanity in the chaos, a simple gesture to keep me safe in a volatile space.”

Wearing the vest, I found the courage to inch closer to the action, pushing past my fear as I documented the intensity around me. Tear gas filled the air, rubber bullets ricocheted off walls, and the sounds of shouting and explosions blurred together. I captured images of the protesters’ defiance and the IDF’s overwhelming presence, framing each shot with a sense of urgency and responsibility. This day was a visceral reminder of the dangers faced by those living in these conflict zones daily.

In Jericho, I found myself in another confrontation near the border, only this time the landscape offered almost no cover. The open terrain forced me to rely on small ditches and concrete barriers, inching my way forward to capture the unfolding scene. As the protesters attempted to break down a barricade and lit tires on fire to create a smokescreen, I saw a man in a tattered mask, his eyes piercing through the haze. I framed the shot, with the smoke and flames rising behind him, and felt a moment of intense connection to the scene. His gaze held a mixture of resilience and defiance, embodying the gravity of the situation in a single image.

“War photography taught me the weight of a single moment, of how an image can capture not only what is seen but also what is felt. These were some of the most challenging and profound experiences of my life as a photographer.”

The photographs I captured in Qalandia and Jericho are a testament to both the resilience of the people and the raw intensity of their struggle. I carry these experiences with me, reminders of the power and responsibility that come with documenting human conflict.

The Wall

In East Jerusalem, I explored a Palestinian refugee camp called Shuafat, known as one of the largest camps in the region. The camp was surrounded by a towering concrete wall, roughly 30 feet high, doubling the height of the Berlin Wall. To enter Shuafat, one had to pass through a heavily guarded military checkpoint. My American passport granted me entry, allowing me to access and document this unique area.

I was primarily drawn to Shuafat because of the imposing wall. Its sheer size and presence dominated the landscape, casting long shadows over the narrow alleyways and winding streets within the camp. I spent days walking alongside the wall, navigating Shuafat’s maze-like structure, absorbing the layers of graffiti and art that turned the concrete into a silent protest.

“The wall in Shuafat felt like a character of its own, a constant reminder of division and resilience.”

I often visited after my classes, timing my trips to capture the changing light as it hit the wall and the surrounding neighborhood. On one memorable day, a group of children played nearby, using the wall as the boundary of their improvised playground. They threw rocks over it, their laughter and shouts ringing out amidst the gray concrete. While photographing, I suddenly felt a sharp pain in the back of my leg—a rock had hit me from a nearby hillside. It hurt, but the kids’ resilience and energy made me push through, determined to document this defiant playfulness.

After several visits, I captured one of my strongest photographs of the trip: a young boy throwing a baby stroller against the wall. The image encapsulated the frustration and raw energy of Shuafat’s younger generation, their actions a blend of innocence and rebellion. Over time, I returned to this spot repeatedly, experimenting with angles and perspectives, hoping to capture the essence of life within the camp.

In one of my final visits, I climbed on top of the wall itself, looking out over East Jerusalem with a sense of accomplishment. This journey into Shuafat left a lasting impact on me, shifting my perspective on resilience and the strength of communities that persevere under challenging conditions.

The City of the Moon

Jericho—known as the “City of the Moon”—had an otherworldly charm that captivated me from the start. The desert mountains loomed majestically over the city, casting dramatic shadows that shifted throughout the day. The Dead Sea sparkled in the distance, and the vibrant colors of Jericho’s buildings stood out against the arid landscape. Photographing in this ancient city provided a unique opportunity to hone my craft in a place rich with history, spirituality, and striking scenery.

“Jericho was a magical place to practice street photography. Its raw beauty and rich culture created an ideal backdrop for storytelling through images.”

I carried an Instax camera with me as I explored, a tool that allowed me to connect with locals. I’d make instant prints of my shots and give them to the people I photographed, using these small gifts as a way to ask for permission and build trust. This act of sharing the joy of photography often led to conversations, invitations, and, ultimately, stories that I could capture and share.

Over my six months in Jericho, I returned to photograph again and again, each visit offering new insights and perspectives. I would wake early to capture the light at dawn, roam the city’s streets during the heat of the day, and explore the bustling markets as the sun set. Jericho’s combination of natural beauty and human resilience brought out the best in my work, and I left feeling that I had gained a deeper connection to both the city and the people within it.

“By the end of my time there, I had fallen in love with the city, its people, and its rhythm, knowing that my images would forever carry a piece of Jericho’s spirit with them.”

After these profound months of exploration and growth, I reunited with my brother, and together, we embarked on a trip to Italy. Though my time in Jericho had come to an end, the experiences and stories I collected there would stay with me, shaping my photography and my outlook on life.

A Summer in Napoli

In the summer of 2017, I joined my brother for a two-week trip to Napoli, Italy. Our family roots trace back to Caserta, a small town about 30 minutes from Napoli, where we still have relatives. Napoli’s gritty streets and vibrant energy created an ideal environment for street photography, filled with opportunities to capture raw, authentic scenes.

While the bustling streets of Napoli offered endless moments to photograph, I was drawn to the Mediterranean Sea. Locals would gather along the rocky shore to sunbathe, swim, and socialize. My brother and I decided to join them, enjoying fresh seafood from nearby vendors and mingling with locals by the water. During one of these afternoons, we met a group of men who shared their watermelon with us. They showed us a unique trick: keeping the watermelon cool by submerging it in the water—a natural refrigeration method. When they lifted it from the sea, they sliced it and passed around pieces, inviting my brother and me to join in this simple yet memorable feast.

“It was a beautiful moment by the sea, filled with laughter, generosity, and the warmth of shared culture.”

I took advantage of this moment to capture a photograph that reflected the essence of Napoli. The rich red of the watermelon, the blue of the sea, and the sun-soaked skin of the locals created a scene that was vibrant and full of life. I worked to align the elements in a way that conveyed the atmosphere—the laid-back joy of summer and the community spirit that thrives along Napoli’s shores.

The decisive moment came as one of the men took a bite of watermelon against the backdrop of the sea. I pressed the shutter, capturing an image that, for me, embodied the spirit of Italian summer and the connection between people and place. Although our trip was brief, this photograph became a cherished memory, a snapshot of an unforgettable experience along the Mediterranean.

Attending a Workshop

During my final year at university in 2018, I received a scholarship to attend a workshop with the esteemed photographers Alex and Rebecca Webb in Santa Fe, New Mexico. This opportunity came through Chris Boot from Aperture, who had been scouting students in my class. Recognizing my work, he encouraged me to apply for the scholarship, and I soon found myself embarking on a journey that would significantly impact my understanding of photography.

The workshop was centered around bookmaking, sequencing, and editing, pushing us to think beyond single images and explore how a collection of photographs could tell a cohesive story. We had the chance to create a mock book, arranging and rearranging our photos to craft narratives that flowed visually. Using Blurb as a platform, I made my first photography book—a tangible result of the workshop and a way to see my work come to life on the page. Observing how Alex Webb selected and sequenced images, and seeing Rebecca’s insights on framing, was an invaluable learning experience.

“Watching masters of photography like Alex and Rebecca Webb select and sequence images changed the way I viewed storytelling through photographs.”

At the end of the workshop, I spoke with Alex and Rebecca about my passion for travel and my desire to continue exploring the world through photography. Rebecca mentioned the possibility of volunteering abroad as a way to immerse myself in new cultures and make meaningful connections. This conversation sparked the idea of returning to Israel to volunteer on a kibbutz and continue my photography project in the region.

The workshop was more than a learning experience; it was a turning point. It gave me a new perspective on storytelling, inspiration for future travels, and the motivation to approach my work with a fresh outlook.

Volunteering on a Kibbutz

After graduating from university, I returned to Israel with a plan to continue my photography journey by volunteering on a kibbutz. I joined Kibbutz Ein Hashofet near Haifa, a place that offered me both a unique experience in communal living and a chance to explore a new side of Israel. The kibbutz environment was vastly different from anything I had known, with each person contributing to the community’s daily operations.

I chose the physically demanding work of landscaping, spending my days in the gardens, tending to plants, and working closely with nature. I enjoyed the labor, despite the long hours and intense summer heat. My hands became calloused, and I gained a newfound respect for the dedication it took to maintain the kibbutz grounds. Occasionally, I also worked in the dairy, helping to milk cows—a task that connected me to the kibbutz’s agricultural roots.

Living alongside people from all over the world, I learned the importance of teamwork and shared purpose. The kibbutz had volunteers from different backgrounds, each with their own story, and the diversity enriched the experience. We shared meals, told stories, and developed a camaraderie that made the hard work feel fulfilling and even enjoyable.

“The kibbutz taught me the value of community and the strength that comes from working toward a shared goal. It was a humbling experience, one that brought me closer to both the land and the people around me.”

During my time off, I wandered the kibbutz with my camera, capturing moments that spoke to the simplicity and beauty of communal life. However, after about a month, I felt a creative lull. I wasn’t making any significant progress on my photography, and a sense of restlessness grew within me. Spontaneously, I decided to leave the kibbutz and venture back to Jericho, hoping to find renewed inspiration in familiar surroundings.

Living with a Palestinian Family

After leaving the kibbutz, I traveled back to Jericho on a whim, hoping to reconnect with the city and find new inspiration. I arrived late at night and knocked on the door of a small hostel I had stayed at before. The family who managed the hostel welcomed me warmly, surprised yet pleased to see me return. Over tea the next morning, I explained my intention to stay longer in Jericho to work on my photography. They graciously offered me a place to stay, rent-free, in exchange for volunteering at the hostel.

For the next two months, I became a part of their world. My tasks included sweeping floors, burning trash, cleaning rooms, and preparing beds for new guests. Each morning, I joined the family for breakfast—usually a simple but hearty meal of eggs, pita, hummus, and fresh dates. After finishing my chores around mid-morning, I’d set off to explore Jericho, free to photograph the city and its people for the remainder of the day.

During this time, I made friends with a young man named Mohammed, who was around my age. Each morning, I’d knock on his door, and he would show me around the city, offering insights into life in Jericho that I wouldn’t have found on my own. Mohammed was a refugee living alone, having built his own home from scratch. His daily visits to a mentor, a man named Hassan, gave me the opportunity to learn about the city’s traditions, people, and culture on a deeper level.

“Every day with Mohammed was a new discovery. Through him, I saw Jericho not just as a city but as a community, full of resilience and strength.”

One afternoon, Hassan drove us to the Wadi Qelt Valley—a breathtaking area with a river running through its steep, rocky landscape. We spent the day hiking, cooling off in the valley’s pools, and enjoying the simple beauty of nature. Moments like these with Mohammed and his friends brought me closer to the essence of Jericho, a city where the landscape and its people exist in a unique harmony.

My time living with this family and working at the hostel gave me a perspective that went beyond photography. I gained a deeper understanding of Palestinian life and culture, building relationships that profoundly influenced me and the images I captured.

My Friend Mohammed

During my time in Jericho, my friendship with Mohammed became one of the most impactful connections I made. Mohammed, a young man my age, had grown up as a refugee in Jericho, living alone in a modest home he built himself. Each morning, I’d knock on his door, and he would graciously take me around the city, sharing his life and experiences with a depth that went beyond words. Mohammed’s openness gave me a rare and genuine insight into the daily life and struggles of Palestinian youth, as well as the warmth and resilience that characterized Jericho.

Every day, I would accompany Mohammed to meet Hassan, an older man who served as a mentor to him. Hassan’s home was surrounded by a lush garden that he tended with care, and Mohammed helped him water the plants and maintain the grounds. I often joined them, gaining a sense of the traditions and values passed down through generations in Jericho.

“Through Mohammed, I didn’t just observe Jericho; I experienced it from the inside, witnessing the kindness, strength, and generosity that ran deep in the community.”

One memorable day, Hassan drove us to the Wadi Qelt Valley with a small group of friends. We hiked through the rugged terrain, cooling off in the river, and taking in the stunning natural beauty. Moments like these showed me the joy and camaraderie that existed within the community, even amidst the challenges of daily life. Wadi Qelt became a place of solace for us, a reminder of nature’s beauty and the spirit of adventure that connected us.

My time with Mohammed was filled with laughter, stories, and a deep sense of friendship. His life and his outlook left a profound mark on me, giving me a perspective I could never have gained otherwise. Through Mohammed and his friends, I understood the power of connection and community, lessons that went far beyond my camera lens.

Sleeping in Mosques

During my time in Jericho, I expressed to the family I was staying with that I wanted to learn more about Islam and Palestinian culture. They were pleased with my curiosity and introduced me to a local Imam named Hirsham, who welcomed me into a group of young men who were also studying and practicing Islam. Through this group, I had the opportunity to experience a transformative period, spending two weeks living and learning in various mosques throughout Jericho.

We would travel together, sleeping on the floors of different mosques, fasting, praying five times a day, and sharing meals that consisted mostly of pigeon, rice, and potatoes. The days were filled with structured learning, as I read the Quran, learned how to pray, and followed the customs of Islamic living. The simple routines—cleaning, praying, and gathering together—created a sense of peace and purpose that I found deeply moving.

“Sleeping on the mosque floors, surrounded by brothers in faith, I was embraced by a community that taught me not only about Islam but about humility, patience, and the beauty of simplicity.”

We spent some days hiking around the neighborhoods surrounding the mosques, knocking on doors to invite people to join us for evening prayers. My presence as an American drew curiosity, and people were interested in why I had chosen to join them. The warmth and openness I encountered were profound, and over time, I felt a part of the community in a way I hadn’t expected.

By the end of my time studying Islam, I had not only gained a deeper understanding of the religion but also a profound respect for Palestinian culture. These two weeks were some of the most impactful of my life, revealing to me the strength, resilience, and faith of the people I lived alongside. This experience became a defining chapter in my journey, leaving a mark on my heart and on my photographs.

Joining the Peace Corps

After my experiences in Israel and Palestine, I felt a growing desire to continue traveling and engaging in meaningful work. In 2019, I joined the Peace Corps and was assigned to Zambia as part of the rural aquaculture program, working closely with the Department of Fisheries to help local communities develop sustainable fish farming practices. It was a leap into the unknown, but one that felt like a natural next step on my journey.

For the first three months, I underwent intensive training to learn the local language, Bemba, and to adapt to the cultural nuances of life in Zambia. I lived with a host family, learning to wash clothes by hand, cook over a fire, and fetch water from a well. I quickly adjusted to the rhythms of rural life, sleeping under a mosquito net, slaughtering and preparing chickens, and becoming more attuned to the simplicity and self-sufficiency that defined village living.

“The Peace Corps gave me the gift of immersion, teaching me the customs, language, and values of a culture vastly different from my own.”

After training, I was stationed in Mpanta Village in the Luapula Province, a breathtaking area near Lake Bangweulu. Upon my arrival, my host father, Bwalya, welcomed me with an extraordinary gesture—he presented me with a goat to slaughter as part of a traditional ceremony. He handed me a knife, and I made the cut, connecting me immediately to the customs and life of the village. Over the next few days, we shared meals together, getting to know one another as I began settling into my new home.

Village life offered a sense of freedom and exploration that reminded me of my childhood adventures. I spent my days riding my bike along dirt paths, visiting nearby villages, and engaging with local farmers on their fish farming projects. In the mornings, I even started a fitness club with a group of young men, using gymnastic rings and outdoor exercises to build strength and camaraderie.

“My goal was to share a bit of my culture while embracing theirs, creating an exchange of traditions and experiences that felt truly reciprocal.”

The hierarchy in the village was simple yet profound, with God, tribe, and land at its core. Every member of the community played a role: women collected firewood and carried babies on their backs, men built homes and churches, boys made bricks, and girls prepared meals. Life was straightforward but rich with purpose, a daily routine built on tradition, unity, and hard work.

Sharing meals with my host family, usually a staple of Nshima (a dish made from maize) served with vegetables and fish, taught me that food is more than sustenance; it is a bond that brings people together. In Zambia, it is customary for the head of the house to receive the most respected part of the meal, such as the head of a fish or the gizzard of a chicken. Experiencing these customs firsthand deepened my understanding of respect, family, and cultural identity.

My time in Zambia, though challenging, offered me some of the most rewarding and eye-opening experiences of my life. The village, with its simple rhythms and strong community bonds, became a place of learning, connection, and growth.

Village Life

Life in Mpanta Village was beautifully simple and profoundly grounding. Every day, I’d take my bike along the dirt paths, enjoying the freedom of exploration that village life allowed. Biking became my way to connect with the surroundings, as I’d ride through the nearby villages, greet locals, and take in the scenes of daily life. The center of the village was always bustling, with people gathering near the lake to buy goods, chat, and go about their day. There was a vibrant energy here, with a sense of community that ran deep.

I spent much of my time in the company of Amaz, a local I befriended who worked in transportation and delivery across Lake Bangweulu. He often took me on boat tours, guiding me across the lake to visit other villages. During mango season, we would climb trees to pick fresh fruit, and I’d watch the village boys play football on the dirt in bare feet. I tried joining them once without shoes, but the rough ground left my feet blistered and sore. Their resilience was humbling, and it reminded me of the strength that comes from living close to the land, free from the protective layers that city life often imposes.

“Village life taught me that strength and resilience come from simplicity and connection to the land. The people of Mpanta had calloused hands and feet, reminders of the hard work they did each day.”

Every morning, I woke to the sounds of roosters crowing and the rhythmic pounding of a mortar and pestle before sunrise. The staple food here was Nshima, made from maize and prepared by pounding the grain into a fine powder, which was then mixed with water to form a dough-like consistency. Nshima was rolled into balls and eaten by hand, paired with fresh vegetables or fish. Meals were communal and served on homemade bamboo mats, a tradition that brought families together on the floor. The simplicity and intimacy of sharing food on the ground, without utensils, emphasized the importance of family and community.

The village’s daily routines were anchored in a natural hierarchy, rooted in God, tribe, and land. Each person had a role to play, and it was common to see mothers carrying firewood and babies, men building homes, boys making bricks, and girls preparing meals. The unity and harmony in their work created a rhythm that, while demanding, felt purposeful.

“In Mpanta Village, I learned that life’s greatest joys and deepest connections often come from the simplest routines—sharing meals, working together, and honoring traditions.”

My days in the village were filled with these small yet profound experiences. The people of Mpanta welcomed me as one of their own, teaching me that wealth isn’t measured by material possessions but by community, tradition, and respect. The lessons I learned from them have stayed with me, shaping my perspective on life and leaving me with memories I’ll cherish forever.

One Tribe Under God

One of the most unforgettable experiences of my time in Zambia was attending a two-week Seventh-day Adventist church camp with my host family. Every Saturday, I would join them for prayer at their local church, where they welcomed me with open arms and a spirit of genuine hospitality. The camp was a large gathering of Zambians from surrounding villages, and I was amazed to see an entire community come together to celebrate their faith.

When I arrived, the camp was like a small, bustling town, with homes constructed from sticks and tarps just for the event. At the center stood a massive makeshift church, also made from sticks and tarps, where people gathered to sing, pray, and share meals. Each morning and evening, the sound of song and dance filled the air, creating an atmosphere that was both joyous and spiritual. I often found myself wandering through the camp with my camera, capturing the vibrant scenes of community life, always accompanied by a group of young men who had become my host brothers.

“The camp was more than a gathering—it was a testament to the strength of faith and the sense of unity that transcends the boundaries of daily life.”

Every day, hundreds of people would go to the lake to wash their clothes, bathe, or simply enjoy the water. Watching the interactions between families and friends, seeing the laughter and joy, I felt immersed in a world where faith and community were inseparable. Small shops and markets popped up around the camp, where people could buy and sell goods, sharing what they had and celebrating their time together.

One of the most powerful moments was the baptism ceremony at the lake. Those who were ready to join the Seventh-day Adventist Church lined up along the shore, awaiting their turn to be baptized by the main preacher. The lake became a sacred place as each individual was dunked underwater, welcomed into the church with the support of their community. I walked into the water, chest-deep, to get as close as possible to capture the ceremony. The experience was worth every soaked inch of my clothing, as I documented a profound moment of transformation and devotion.

“The sight of people being baptized in the lake, surrounded by friends, family, and song, was a powerful reminder of the strength of faith and the beauty of community.”

These two weeks at the camp were some of the most joyous and fulfilling of my entire year in Zambia. The energy, love, and unity I witnessed among the people left a lasting impact on me, reminding me that true community is built on shared beliefs, mutual support, and unwavering kindness. It was an experience that transcended the boundaries of language and culture, one that showed me the beauty of life lived in harmony with faith.

Documenting Funerals

In Zambian culture, attending a funeral is a mark of respect, even if you don’t personally know the deceased. This tradition highlights the deep-rooted sense of community and shared responsibility that defines life in rural villages. During my time in Mpanta, I attended several funeral processions, each one a profound and humbling experience that taught me more about the cultural values surrounding death and mourning.

When a funeral procession passed through the village, it was customary for everyone to stop what they were doing to join in the mourning. The family and close friends would gather around the casket, offering prayers and honoring the memory of the departed. The scene was often somber but deeply moving, as villagers surrounded the grave site, singing hymns and offering final respects. After lowering the casket, the men of the family would take turns filling the grave with soil, a symbolic gesture of closure and unity.

“Standing among villagers, witnessing their shared grief and resilience, I realized the strength that comes from a community bound by mutual support.”

As a photographer, I felt a responsibility to document these moments with sensitivity and respect. I often knelt to capture the scene, allowing myself to blend in with the mourners and avoid intruding on such a sacred event. In one instance, I photographed a man grieving at the graveside, his face a powerful reflection of loss and love. Behind him, other family members poured dirt into the grave, each shovelful a testament to the shared strength and enduring bonds within the village.

The funerals I attended in Zambia revealed a unique perspective on life, death, and community. In Mpanta, loss wasn’t something to face alone. The entire village came together, supporting one another through sorrow and remembering the individual as part of a collective memory. It was a lesson in the power of human connection, one that resonated deeply with me and has stayed with me ever since.

Covid-19 Pandemic

My Peace Corps assignment in Zambia was originally set to last 27 months, but in 2020, the Covid-19 pandemic swept through the world, abruptly changing everything. News of the virus reached us gradually, but when it became clear how serious the situation was, the Peace Corps made the difficult decision to evacuate all volunteers from Zambia. Within a matter of days, I was told to pack up my things and prepare to leave the village and the people who had become my family.

The evacuation was swift and efficient, yet it left me with a deep sense of sadness and unfinished purpose. I had formed close bonds with my host family and friends in the village, and leaving them so suddenly was heartbreaking. My host brothers and I shared a tearful farewell, struggling to process that our time together was ending prematurely. Over the past year, we had built a connection through shared experiences: working out together, biking along dirt paths, climbing trees, swimming in the lake, and exchanging stories about our cultures. To have this journey cut short felt like an abrupt loss of something precious.

“Saying goodbye to my host family was one of the hardest moments of my life. Our bond had grown so strong that leaving felt like leaving a part of myself behind.”

The days leading up to my departure were filled with a whirlwind of emotions. As I packed, memories of my time in Zambia flooded back—moments of laughter, challenges, discoveries, and the everyday rhythms of village life that had become so familiar to me. I knew I would miss the sounds of roosters crowing at dawn, the communal meals shared on bamboo mats, and the stars that filled the night sky, brighter and more numerous than anywhere else I had been.

Returning to Philadelphia after this experience was a difficult adjustment. I had grown so accustomed to the simplicity and community of village life that the isolation of the pandemic lockdown felt especially jarring. I carried with me the lessons and memories from Mpanta, grateful for every moment I spent there, even though it was cut short. My time in Zambia remains one of the most cherished chapters of my life, a reminder of resilience, connection, and the beauty of embracing each day fully.

Gazing at Heaven

One of the memories that lingers most vividly from my time in Zambia is the quiet, reflective evenings spent with my host father, Bwalya. Each night, we would sit outside under the vast Zambian sky, talking about life, sharing stories, and comparing our vastly different worlds. As we gazed up, the night sky became a canvas of countless stars, clear and endless in the remote village. It was a sight unlike anything I had seen back home in Philadelphia, where city lights obscure the heavens.

“Under that open sky, filled with stars and silence, dreams and imagination seemed to flourish effortlessly.”

Looking up at the stars together, we spoke of our lives, our families, and the paths that had brought us to this moment. We watched for shooting stars and satellites, marveling at the universe above us. In those conversations, the distance between our cultures faded. Bwalya would share stories of his own life, his dreams for his children, and the values that he held dear, all while I shared bits of my world back in America. These moments taught me that despite our differences, the same aspirations connect us all—family, community, and a sense of purpose.

Each night, as I lay under my mosquito net, the sounds of the village filling the silence—birds, insects, and distant laughter—I felt a peace I hadn’t known before. The simplicity of life in Mpanta, combined with the natural beauty of Zambia, gave me a profound sense of gratitude. Those nights spent with Bwalya, reflecting on life under the stars, were a reminder of how vast and interconnected the world truly is.

“I still carry those star-filled nights with me, as they became a source of inspiration and a reminder of the beauty in simplicity, the quiet strength of human connection, and the dreams that unite us across borders and cultures.”

A Month in Mumbai

In March of 2022, I traveled to Mumbai, India, with the aim of immersing myself in street photography for an entire month. I stayed near Juhu Beach, which offered a beautiful view of the ocean and became my starting point each morning. The beach was alive with activity, a chaotic blend of people, colors, and energy that felt both overwhelming and inspiring. It was here that I began my exploration of Mumbai’s bustling life, finding moments of raw beauty amid the chaos.

Each day, I would make my way from the beach to the heart of the city, where Mumbai’s vibrant markets awaited. I wandered through Sassoon Docks at 4 a.m. on certain mornings, photographing the fishermen unloading their catches and vendors selling fish larger than I had ever seen. The sights, sounds, and even the smells of the docks were intense, but they offered endless photographic opportunities. Sassoon Docks was easily one of the most chaotic environments I had ever photographed, with every inch packed with movement and life.

“The sheer energy of Mumbai’s streets, from the markets to the docks, was unlike anything I had experienced. Each moment felt like a story waiting to be told.”

One of my most memorable experiences was exploring Dharavi, the world’s largest slum. Despite the challenges it presented, Dharavi was filled with warmth and resilience. Families invited me into their homes, allowing me a glimpse of the lives they had built within the community. I witnessed how people crafted goods from clay and other materials, creating livelihoods in what appeared to be one of the most unlikely places. Each alley, each doorway, and each conversation added depth to my understanding of the strength and hospitality within Dharavi.

Nearby, I also visited Dhobi Ghat, the world’s largest open-air laundry. Here, families worked together, washing and hanging out clothes to dry, each piece representing the dedication and hard work that sustains the community. This was another opportunity to capture the essence of daily life in Mumbai, where even the most ordinary tasks took on a certain beauty.

In the midst of the city’s rhythm, I visited Haji Ali Dargah, a stunning mosque set on an islet in the Arabian Sea, accessible only by a narrow causeway. This place felt like a sanctuary amid the bustling city. At low tide, rocks would emerge around the islet, where families and pilgrims would walk, play, and pray. One of my favorite memories was cooling off with a fresh cucumber from a street vendor as I watched the sun set over the mosque—a moment of peace in a city that rarely slowed down.

“Mumbai was a city of extremes—where spirituality met chaos, and where every street, market, and beach held a story waiting to unfold.”

Throughout my time in Mumbai, the city’s intense colors, lively people, and intricate cultural layers constantly inspired me. This month in Mumbai taught me to see beauty in the smallest details and reminded me that every place has its own rhythm, its own heartbeat, and its own way of telling stories.

Celebrating Holi

One of the most unforgettable experiences during my time in Mumbai was celebrating Holi in Worli, an ancient fishing village within the city. Holi, known as the Festival of Colors, brings people together to celebrate the arrival of spring, unity, and joy. The festival’s vibrancy and energy were palpable, with people dancing, singing, and throwing colored powders in a display of pure celebration.

Late in the evening, I joined the locals as they gathered in the narrow streets of Worli. There was music in the air, and the village’s close-knit community filled every corner with laughter and excitement. The next morning, the true spirit of Holi came to life as children and adults alike armed themselves with colorful powders and water balloons, transforming the streets into a rainbow of colors.

“Holi in Worli was an experience of boundless joy and unity, where barriers faded away in a sea of colors and laughter.”

I spent the morning photographing children as they played, their faces and clothes covered in vibrant reds, blues, and yellows. The colors added a dreamlike quality to each image, capturing the spirit of Holi and the warmth of the people who welcomed me into their celebration. As I moved through the village, I felt a profound sense of connection with the community, as if I were a part of their celebration rather than just an observer.

The authenticity of celebrating Holi in such an intimate setting made it all the more special. Unlike the larger citywide celebrations, this village gathering allowed me to experience Holi in its rawest, most heartfelt form. It was a celebration of life, unity, and the beauty of human connection, a memory I carry with me as one of the highlights of my time in India.

“The colors of Holi faded from my clothes but left a lasting mark on my heart, reminding me of the joy, resilience, and openness of the people of Mumbai.”

Climbing Mountains in Mexico City

In June of 2022, I traveled to Mexico City for a two-week adventure with my friend Matt Wong, whom I had met years earlier at Hebrew University. Mexico City’s vibrant culture, rich history, and bustling streets were a perfect setting for street photography, but it was our time in the mountains on the city’s outskirts that left the deepest impression.

One day, Matt and I decided to take a cable car from Indios Verdes up into the mountains, where neighborhoods dotted the slopes. Locals had warned us about the potential dangers in these areas, but our experience turned out to be one of the most rewarding of the trip. At the summit, we found a world of elevated views, clean backgrounds, and light that seemed to illuminate everything with a unique clarity.

“Being at an elevated space in the mountains was both humbling and exhilarating, offering perspectives that grounded me in the beauty of Mexico.”

We wandered through the mountain neighborhoods, meeting people, photographing the local markets, and taking in the breathtaking scenery. At one point, we encountered a group of construction workers who were building a home near a large cross statue overlooking the entire city. They allowed us to photograph them as they worked, sharing stories with us as we captured their world. Just as I snapped a photo of one of the men against the striking mountain backdrop, the clouds shifted, and rain began to fall—a moment that felt both intimate and monumental.

The next day, we returned to the same spot and found children playing around the cross statue, climbing its large frame with laughter and carefree joy. I photographed them as they reached for the sky, their silhouettes framed against the vast landscape below. The mountain’s sense of freedom and expansiveness made it one of the most memorable parts of our journey.

“The mountain gave me a new perspective—not only on photography but on the strength and resilience of the people who lived there, working and playing amidst the beauty and challenges of their environment.”

Our time in the mountains of Mexico City revealed a side of the city that felt hidden and untouched by the usual urban chaos. It was a place where community, nature, and daily life coexisted in a way that reminded me of the simplicity and strength I had encountered in other parts of the world. This adventure left a lasting impact, reminding me of the beauty that exists beyond the city streets.

Markets, Plazas, and a Gondola Ride

Exploring Mexico City was an adventure of discovery and contrasts, from its lively open-air markets to its historic plazas. One of my favorite areas was Tepito, a neighborhood known for its sprawling markets, grit, and vibrancy. Tepito offered endless inspiration for street photography, with vendors selling goods, families shopping, and an undercurrent of energy that was both intense and captivating.

Each day, I immersed myself in the rhythms of Tepito, capturing scenes of daily life in the bustling market. The area’s raw atmosphere contrasted sharply with the elegance of other parts of the city, yet it was precisely this authenticity that drew me in. There was an unfiltered humanity in Tepito that felt real and grounded, a reminder of the diversity that defines Mexico City.

Another memorable location was Plaza Garibaldi, known for its mariachis and nightlife. One rainy night, I joined the crowds under a covered area as live music played and people danced. The rain added a beautiful dimension to the scene, as people moved through the downpour with laughter and joy. I even captured a photograph of a young couple sharing a kiss, drenched but oblivious to the world around them. It was one of those moments where everything aligned—the music, the rain, and the expressions of love and happiness.

“Plaza Garibaldi was a place of music and movement, where joy was palpable, even in the midst of a rain-soaked night.”

We also experienced a more peaceful side of the city by taking a gondola ride through the canals. As we drifted along the water, we passed fields and small farms, a serene contrast to the urban sprawl of Mexico City. This journey offered a glimpse of rural life and the rich agricultural traditions that continue to thrive just beyond the city’s borders.

Our time exploring the markets, plazas, and waterways of Mexico City revealed a mosaic of cultures and lifestyles. It was a reminder that the city, with all its complexity and history, held endless stories waiting to be discovered.

“From the bustling energy of Tepito to the romance of Plaza Garibaldi, Mexico City’s contrasts were a photographer’s dream, each moment a new layer of life and culture to uncover.”

Meditation in Hanoi, Vietnam

After Mexico City, I traveled to Hanoi, Vietnam, where I spent a month exploring the city’s unique blend of tranquility and chaos. I stayed near Hoàn Kiếm Lake, which quickly became my sanctuary in the heart of Hanoi. Each morning, I rose early—often before sunrise—to walk around the lake, observing locals as they practiced yoga, tai chi, and various forms of exercise. There was a peaceful energy in the air, a sense of calm that contrasted with the lively, bustling streets surrounding it.

“Hoàn Kiếm Lake became a place of peace and reflection, a gentle reminder to slow down and simply be present.”

I began joining the locals in their morning routines, using this time to focus on my own fitness and meditation. The lake was more than just a scenic spot; it was a space that encouraged me to contemplate life and photography on a deeper level. My mornings here became a ritual, a grounding practice that set the tone for each day. I found myself more attuned to my thoughts, reflecting on my journey and the purpose of my work.

In the afternoons, I would wander through Hanoi’s vibrant markets, a stark contrast to the lake’s serenity. The markets were alive with the colors, smells, and sounds of daily Vietnamese life. Vendors sold fresh produce, meats, and spices, while people bargained, laughed, and chatted, weaving through the crowded aisles. The chaos of the markets offered a different kind of energy—one that was invigorating and inspiring. My camera was constantly in hand, capturing the raw beauty and authenticity of each moment.

“Hanoi taught me to embrace both stillness and motion, to find harmony between the peaceful mornings by the lake and the vibrant pulse of the city’s markets.”

The people of Hanoi were incredibly kind and welcoming, adding to the warmth of my experience. I felt an instant connection to the culture, the food, and the community. This month in Hanoi became a time of meditation, creativity, and growth. Rising early to greet the day and wandering through the city’s contrasts opened me to new perspectives on life and photography, blending moments of calm with the thrill of discovery.

“My time in Hanoi was a lesson in balance—finding beauty in both the quiet and the chaotic, the serene and the spirited.”

Transitioning to Black and White

When I returned to the United States after my travels, I felt a need to reinvent my photography. My experiences in places like Mexico City and Hanoi had given me new insights, and I was ready to push my work in a different direction. I decided to make the shift from color to black-and-white photography—a choice that felt like both a return to basics and an evolution of my style.

I traveled to New York City and sold my Fujifilm equipment, opting instead for two compact cameras: the Ricoh GR III and Ricoh GR IIIx. These cameras allowed me to work quickly and discreetly, perfect for capturing candid moments in the high-contrast black-and-white style I wanted to explore. I began to see the world differently, focusing more on light, shadow, and form rather than color. Each photograph became a study in composition and emotion, stripped of any distractions.

“Transitioning to black and white was a way to get back to the essence of photography—to see the world in shapes, shadows, and the rawness of light.”

This shift also marked a change in my approach to subject matter. I no longer felt the need to seek out grand scenes or exotic locations. Instead, I became interested in documenting everyday life, finding beauty in the mundane and creating images that reflected my own reality. I embraced the simplicity of capturing fleeting moments, whether it was a quiet street corner or a glimpse of a passerby in a bustling city.

Black and white photography gave me a renewed sense of purpose. It encouraged me to focus on the fundamentals and to be present in each moment without getting caught up in color or superficial details. It became a more meditative practice, aligning with my desire for longevity and curiosity in my work.

“Shooting in black and white allowed me to reimagine the world through my camera, to capture moments that felt timeless, and to stay true to the essence of my own vision.”

This transition was a turning point in my journey as a photographer. I felt more fulfilled, more connected to my art, and more open to the possibilities that lay ahead. It reminded me that photography is a continuous journey of growth, exploration, and self-discovery, where each frame is an opportunity to see the world anew.

All Roads Lead to Rome

After embracing black-and-white photography, I felt drawn to Italy—specifically Rome—to deepen my understanding of both the medium and myself. Being a dual citizen of the United States and Italy, it seemed only fitting to return to my roots and explore the rich history and culture that had always been a part of me. I spent two months in Rome, studying Italian in the Monti neighborhood each morning and dedicating my afternoons to street photography.

Rome is a city of timeless beauty, where ancient architecture and modern life coexist harmoniously. Each day, I roamed the streets with my camera, capturing the interplay of light and shadow against the historic facades. The textures of cobblestone streets, the grandiosity of piazzas, and the steady rhythm of Roman life all made for a perfect backdrop to practice my black-and-white photography.

“There’s something inherently inspiring about Rome—its history, its art, and its character all converge in a way that invites introspection and creativity.”

During my weekends, I ventured beyond Rome, taking trips to nearby towns like Florence and Ostia. In Florence, I visited Dante Alighieri’s house, admiring the art and sculptures that defined the city, including masterpieces like the statues of Hercules, David, and Achilles. Each piece of art felt alive, resonating with the energy of those who had created and admired it across centuries.

In Ostia, a seaside town just outside of Rome, I found a different kind of inspiration. I spent the day sunbathing, photographing locals, and practicing my Italian. The beach was alive with the laughter and warmth of Roman families, giving me a glimpse of everyday Italian life outside the historical epicenter of Rome.

“Rome gave me a sense of belonging, a connection to my heritage, and a renewed passion for capturing life in its simplest, most authentic form.”

My time in Italy reminded me of the importance of roots and identity. Wandering through Rome and its neighboring cities with my camera, I felt a deep connection to both the past and the present. This journey was more than just a photographic exploration; it was a personal pilgrimage, a chance to reconnect with a part of myself and to find inspiration in the places and stories that shaped my family and my culture.

After those two months, I left Rome with a heart full of memories and a camera filled with moments that captured the city’s soul. I knew that I would return one day, but until then, I carried Rome’s timeless beauty and spirit with me, woven into every photograph I took.

The Birthplace of Street Photography

During my stay in Rome, I took a spontaneous trip to Paris—a city often regarded as the birthplace of street photography. Paris is steeped in photographic history, home to iconic photographers like Henri Cartier-Bresson, whose work has long inspired me. Walking the same streets where the medium of street photography was pioneered felt both surreal and inspiring.

One day, while photographing near the Eiffel Tower, an older woman approached me, asking for a family photograph. After I composed the shot, she looked at my work and remarked that my style reminded her of Cartier-Bresson. Curious, I asked how she knew of him, and she revealed that they had been friends. This serendipitous encounter felt like a culmination of my journey, as if I were being reminded of the legacy of street photography and the giants who had shaped it.

“Standing in the presence of someone who knew Cartier-Bresson, I felt a powerful connection to the roots of my craft and a sense of gratitude for the photographers who paved the way.”

Paris itself felt like a living museum of street photography. Every corner, every shadow, and every passerby seemed like part of an ongoing story. I wandered through neighborhoods like Montmartre and along the Seine, letting the city’s energy guide my lens. There was a sense of romance and nostalgia in the air, a reminder of why Paris has been an enduring subject for artists and photographers alike.

Capturing moments in Paris was both a tribute to the art form and an opportunity to connect with its origins. The city taught me to observe, to wait, and to appreciate the subtle beauty in everyday life. I left Paris feeling more inspired than ever, with a renewed commitment to street photography and a deeper respect for its history.

“Paris reminded me that street photography is not just about capturing moments but about honoring the legacy of those who have shaped the way we see the world.”

Into the Future

Looking ahead, I’m committed to keeping my photography practice as simple and authentic as possible. These experiences—from my childhood explorations in the woods to wandering the streets of Mumbai, Rome, and Paris—have taught me that photography is not just about capturing scenes but about connecting with life itself. Nowadays, I carry my camera in my pocket, always ready but without the pressure to create something extraordinary. Instead, I let the world guide me, open to whatever unfolds.

“Perhaps there’s no such thing as a ‘good’ or ‘bad’ photograph—just new images, new perspectives, and a continuous journey of becoming.”

I treat photography as a stream of becoming, where each shot is an expression of curiosity and an opportunity to see the world through fresh eyes. The camera allows me to embrace the mundane, to explore the complexities of life, and to create my own world through simple moments. I no longer feel the need for grand subjects or exotic locations; instead, I find fulfillment in capturing the everyday, the fleeting, and the overlooked.

As I move forward, my goal is to remain like a child with a camera—seeing the world with wonder, joy, and a spirit of playfulness. I want my photography to be a lifelong exploration, where I continue to evolve, learn, and find new ways to connect with the world around me.

“The world is my playground, my canvas, and each photograph is an instant sketch, a piece of a story that continues to unfold.”

In the end, my photography is about embracing change and growth, not perfection. The moments I capture, the people I meet, and the places I explore are all part of a larger journey—one that I hope to continue for as long as I can. My story, like my photography, is always in flux, and that is where the true beauty lies.

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Timeline of My Journey

1. Early Childhood in Philadelphia

• Grew up exploring the Wissahickon forest in Roxborough and Andorra.
• Discovered a love for adventure and the Schuylkill River Trail through biking.

1. High School Years

• Enrolled in a web design course, discovering a passion for graphic design and later photography.
• Picked up a Nikon FM film camera, exploring the natural world through a new lens.

1. Discovering Street Photography

• Influenced by my great uncle, learned about framing and capturing stories with a Leica M3.
• Started practicing street photography in Center City, Philadelphia.

1. Art School and Baltimore Exploration

• Attended Maryland Institute College of Art (MICA), where I refined my graphic design skills and deepened my love for photography.
• Practiced street photography in Baltimore, engaging with local communities.

1. Winning a Street Photography Contest

• Won first place in the Miami Street Photography Festival, judged by Martin Parr, for a photograph capturing a Baltimore street basketball game.

1. Photojournalism at the DNC

• Worked as a photojournalist for the Democratic National Convention, documenting events and protests, while continuing personal street photography.

1. Study Abroad in Jerusalem and the West Bank

• Spent six months at Hebrew University, exploring cities across the West Bank, including Jericho, where I made lasting friendships and learned about Palestinian culture.

1. Volunteering on a Kibbutz

• Returned to Israel to volunteer at Kibbutz Ein Hashofet, working in horticulture and dairy while exploring the communal lifestyle.

1. Living with a Palestinian Family in Jericho

• Lived rent-free with a Palestinian family in Jericho, immersing myself in their culture and forming close bonds with the community.

1. Joining the Peace Corps in Zambia
   • Assigned to Mpanta Village as part of the rural aquaculture program, building connections through shared work, language, and customs.
2. Evacuation Due to Covid-19
   • Returned to Philadelphia after a year in Zambia, leaving behind meaningful friendships and unfinished projects.
3. A Month in Mumbai, India
   • Spent a month photographing Mumbai’s vibrant scenes, from Juhu Beach to the slums of Dharavi, and celebrated Holi in the village of Worli.
4. Exploration in Mexico City
   • Explored Mexico City’s neighborhoods and climbed mountains with a friend, capturing the culture through street photography.
5. Meditation in Hanoi, Vietnam
   • Spent a month practicing meditation around Hoàn Kiếm Lake, balancing peaceful mornings with the lively markets of Hanoi.
6. Transitioning to Black and White Photography
   • Returned to the U.S. and embraced black-and-white photography, focusing on capturing the essence of everyday life.
7. Rediscovering My Roots in Rome
   • Spent two months in Rome, studying Italian and photographing the historic city and nearby areas, including Florence and Ostia.
8. Pilgrimage to the Birthplace of Street Photography in Paris
   • Explored Paris, capturing the city’s scenes and connecting with its legacy as the birthplace of street photography.

Benjamin Franklin famously used the rattlesnake as a symbol long before the Gadsden Flag came about. In 1754, he published a satirical cartoon in his Pennsylvania Gazette featuring a segmented rattlesnake with the caption “Join, or Die.” The cartoon was meant to encourage the American colonies to unite against external threats, such as the French and their Native American allies. This image later became an iconic rallying symbol for unity during the Revolutionary War.

Franklin even wrote about the rattlesnake as a fitting emblem for America in an anonymous letter to the editor in 1775, published in The Pennsylvania Journal. He noted its unique qualities: it doesn’t strike unless provoked, and it represents vigilance and perseverance. Franklin’s writings influenced the Revolutionary War’s symbolism and, by extension, helped shape the meaning behind the Gadsden Flag and its warning: “Don’t Tread on Me.”

Foundational Health Philosophy

1. The Truth About Health and Art
2. The Body is Democratic
3. Leisure
4. Align with Nature
5. Move More
6. Anti-Anti-Social
7. The Great Outdoors
8. Why I Love Nature
9. Peace Amongst the Chaos
10. Take a Deep Breath

Physical Vitality and Routine

11. My Fitness Routine
12. Walking is Life
13. The Benefit of Long Walks
14. The Importance of Sleep
15. Sleep and Strength
16. Sleep as Early as Possible
17. Visit an Elevated Surface Every Day
18. Why Lift Weights?
19. Sunbathe as Much as Possible
20. How to Become a Demigod
21. SEEK POWER
22. Treat Your Body Like Art

Diet, Fasting, and Nutrition

23. My Fasting Journey
24. How to Lose Fat
25. One Meal a Day
26. The Carnivore Diet Journey
27. Best Carnivore Diet Meal
28. Carnivore Diet is Economic
29. The War on Meat
30. How I Restore My Muscles
31. Protein
32. Listen to Your Gut
33. Fasting Brings You Closer to God

Health-Boosting Habits

34. Clothing is Armor
35. Testosterone is Happiness
36. Why I Love Cycling
37. Coffee as a Creative Stimulant
38. Drinking Alcohol is Strange
39. Bad Weather, Bad Mood?
40. Sports Are Silly
41. Steak Prep
42. How to Stay Lean
43. The Health Hive Mind

Radical Lifestyle Choices

44. Don’t Sit
45. Jogging is Unhealthy

DON’T SIT

The Challenge: Can You Go a Lifetime Without Sitting Down?

What’s poppin’ people? It’s Dante, coming at you during my morning walk here in Philadelphia, and today, I want to share a simple challenge with a simple message: don’t sit down.

That’s right. For the past two years, I’ve been living a barefoot lifestyle, rocking my Vibram Five Finger EL-X Knit shoes, and embracing a new challenge—to stand and walk throughout the entire day. The power and energy I feel in my feet, legs, spine, and posture are unmatched. Honestly, at this point, you can’t get me to sit down.

Whenever I do sit, I feel my body shut down. It’s like hitting the off switch. If I have to get into a car, my body starts to yawn, my muscles stop contracting, and suddenly my body thinks it’s time to start digesting and resting. Anytime I sit down, I might as well be ready for a nap. But that’s not the life I want to live. I want to stay in motion. I want to stay alive—fully engaged, muscles firing, energy flowing.

Embrace the Movement

Here’s the challenge I’m putting out there: Can you go an entire day without sitting down? What about a week? A month? Maybe even a lifetime?

Imagine living every day outdoors, treating your home as a bunker where you only go inside to eat and sleep. To me, this is the ultimate test. Modern society confines us to boxes: cars, offices, air-conditioned rooms. But what if we broke free? What if we returned to the primal ways of our ancestors, moving and standing all day, eating one meal in the evening after a day of fasting and physical activity?

“What if we lived like hunters and gatherers in a modern world?”

Reject the Sedentary Life

To me, this isn’t just about physical health—it’s about spirit. There’s something inside me that’s been unleashed, an energy that won’t stop, that refuses to be contained by a chair or a car. I refuse to sit down.

Next time someone tells you to sit, don’t. Say you have a health condition if you have to—just don’t sit. I believe sitting is bad for you. Standing, walking, moving—that’s where strength lies. Sitting is for the weak.

Live a Life on Your Feet

For those of you relying on cars to get from Point A to Point B, why not stand on the bus instead? I stand in the doorway of the bus, holding onto the pole, refusing to take a seat. Forget about spending money on a car, wasting time stuck in traffic. Stand tall throughout your day, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. If you work in an office, get a standing desk. If you work from home, set up a standing desk or create a home gym.

“Sitting down is for the weak—standing is for the strong.”

I will continue to march along for the entirety of my life, and I won’t stop until—who knows? Maybe I’ll die on this battlefield of life.

So, are you up for the challenge? Can you go a lifetime without sitting down?

Align with Nature

Reconnecting with Nature

Recognizing our connection to nature—both externally and internally—is crucial. From the ground up, our bodies are designed to connect with the world around us, yet modern life disrupts this bond. Take shoes, for instance. The thick soles we wear today distance us from the Earth. Choosing barefoot shoes, or going completely barefoot, restores that direct connection through the soles of our feet. It’s a simple shift, but it brings back a sense of natural alignment.

Beyond the physical link between our feet and the earth, it’s essential to consider our internal alignment. The way we treat our bodies—what we eat, how we move, even when we eat—determines whether we thrive in sync with nature or fall into artificial patterns.

“To align with nature is to align with vitality.”

The Modern Imbalance

Look around: boxes are everywhere. We live in boxes, work in boxes, commute in boxes. Our bodies, trapped indoors, are isolated from the Earth’s natural rhythms. Think back to the pandemic and lockdowns—that was the epitome of unnatural living. We shouldn’t normalize that disconnection. We must get outside, whether for a walk, sunlight, or a moment in nature.

For me, Fairmount Park in Philadelphia is a sanctuary. Mornings on the Schuylkill River Trail, surrounded by birds and insects, are when I feel most alive. The sun rising through the trees, dirt underfoot—this is alignment. The sun on my skin, sounds of life awakening, and earth beneath my feet create a sensory experience that grounds me.

Aligning from Within

Internal alignment is just as important. Fasting is one way I cultivate this. By eliminating breakfast and lunch, I align my gut and mind, tuning into natural cycles of hunger and focus. This connection sharpens my senses, making me more aware and alive. Street photography, too, has improved as I fast—my attention to detail and awareness of my surroundings are heightened.

“Perhaps we are wired for this way of living, attuned to the natural rhythms of the world around us.”

Historically, hunter-gatherers were on their feet all day, only eating after a successful hunt. I replicate this by fasting until evening and breaking the fast with red meat. It’s a return to a natural state—and it works.

The Power of Food

For the past two years, I’ve been on a carnivore diet, and I’ve never felt better. Eating red meat—beef, lamb—is the ultimate fuel. When we eliminate junk foods, we realize just how unnatural most foods are. Recently, I checked a jar of peanut butter—loaded with vegetable oils and high fructose corn syrup. How did we stray so far from nature?

Movement and Strength

Movement is essential. I walk at least 30,000 steps a day, about half a marathon. To me, running feels unnatural. Hunters in the wild didn’t sprint after prey; they crafted tools and hunted with precision. Running wears down the body, and I’ve rarely met a runner without knee or joint problems.

Our bodies are like batteries. With a good night’s sleep, we recharge, waking up with full energy reserves. My goal each day is to deplete that energy by staying in motion—walking, standing, and moving. By day’s end, I want to be at 1%, ready to recharge overnight. Sitting, to me, is death.

Living with Vitality

The only life worth living is one filled with vitality. Aligning with nature means aligning with vitality. It’s simple: stand up, walk, eat clean, feel the sun. Don’t weigh your body down with processed foods, toxins, or excessive sitting. Fuel yourself with the best—real, whole food from nature. Recharge with deep sleep, sunlight, and constant movement.

For me, this is the way. No clocks, no artificial rhythms—just the sun, the earth, and the body as the ultimate guide. When we align ourselves with nature, vitality is inevitable. And a life full of vitality? That’s the only life worth living.

Key Takeaways

• Reconnect with Nature: Go barefoot or wear barefoot shoes to feel the earth beneath you.
• Avoid the Modern Imbalance: Spend time outdoors; Fairmount Park and morning walks are my go-to.
• Align Internally with Fasting: Skip breakfast and lunch; focus on a single, nourishing meal.
• Fuel with Red Meat: Avoid processed junk, focusing on whole, clean foods.
• Stay in Motion: Walk daily, avoid sitting, and let your body reach full energy depletion by day’s end.
• Embrace Vitality: Stand, walk, eat clean, and enjoy the sun.