about

Three decades ago an earthquake shook Southern California. Meanwhile, in Upstate New York, a woman was giving birth.

This story has little to do with either of those facts, but is much more invested in that baby, who now encompasses the age and aesthetic of a young lady herself. This story is about a girl who knows little about that day, even though she was there. 

Memory fails.

Who knows if the two were related. Not the woman and the baby, but the earthquake and the birth. I think I like to believe that they were. Just like I like to believe that when people say, “small world” they actually mean it. But in reality, it’s all just one big coincidence. It’s a coincidence that you were born too. It’s a coincidence that you know me, or maybe that you don't. 

But it's not a coincidence that you found me here. This is where I live. In between the clicks and shutters of images; moving through pasts and dreams and capturing moments that may have otherwise been forgotten. 

But I was born with an earthquake. That was no coincidence. 

Brooklyn, New York