The first person to tell me not to be a photographer was Dean Conger — one of National Geographic's most celebrated photographers of the 20th century. He documented the Soviet space race with virtually unlimited access to the USSR, photographed JFK with John Glenn, and was there when Alan Shepard climbed out of his capsule after America's first manned spaceflight. We're family, and we both went to Casper College. When I called him and told him I wanted to make my photography dream a career, he told me pretty directly not to bother.

I did it anyway.

My path here wasn't a straight line. I grew up in Wyoming, chased a career in advertising photography, landed jobs at large creative agencies, and discovered I was miserable — waiting months for committees to sign off on work. It burnt me out. I almost walked away from photography entirely.

So I moved to Colorado, took a real estate photography job as a holdover, and told myself I'd figure out the rest later. And then something funny happened: I got good at it. Getting good at something has a way of making you want to push further.

The moment things shifted was an industrial modern house on a hill outside Loveland — black metal siding, a metal roof, concrete floors, exposed I-beams, and windows looking straight at Longs Peak. I kept coming back to it, thinking about it, and wanted it badly enough to reach out cold to the notoriously private owner and his high-power Denver real estate agent, who had every reason to say no. I volunteered my time, knowing this was a passion project. When the owner saw the original composition that caught my eye, he said: “This is exactly what I have been looking for”. Fast forward a few months, and that image ended up pinned to the top of a stranger's Instagram page with over 100,000 followers. No credit. I've decided to take that as a compliment.

Now, after 10 years in this industry, I've learned that the work is always better when I stop trying to shoot like someone else and start trusting what my gut is telling me. I'm still figuring it out — but I'm figuring it out in Colorado, with a camera, doing exactly what I was told not to do.

If you've made it this far, we're probably a good fit.