6,792km:
On Distance and the Absence of Photos
Isn’t it funny how the things we lack often become the things we chase the most?
6,792km (4,220mi). This is the distance between me and my parents and brother.
Growing up as immigrants, we were incredibly close, relying almost entirely on each other. There was no extended family to surprise us on birthdays, no grandparent to secretly slip a $5 bill into a pocket. During the holidays, our "foreignness" felt the loudest. While friends told stories of large family gatherings, I tried to avoid the topic, it was always just the four of us. The hardest part, though, was watching my parents miss their own families, the traditions and people that once filled their lives. Needless to say, there was always a feeling of nostalgia and longing around.
And now, here I am, repeating that history by moving away.
I’ve thought a lot about why I’m drawn to photographing families. In a way, I think I’m trying to bring my own family a little closer. With each session, I’m filling the gap left by those 6,792 kilometers.
When I look for moments that move me, I never look for "perfection" because my own background wasn’t picture-perfect; it was a blend of deep tenderness and a necessary, immigrant strictness. There was an order to our lives, a weight to our traditions, and a certain gravity in how we cared for one another. And certainly, there was a lack of photographs.
I think, this is why I’m drawn to the friction: the quiet discipline of a dad lost in thought, the intensity of siblings looking out for each other, or the sudden, soft surrender of a mom soothing a crying child. These moments aren't just "candid" to me, they are the echoes of my own childhood. They are the moments where life feels most honest, somewhere between the rules we follow and the love that holds us together.
I recently found myself reflecting on this while listening to Tina Barney speak about her photography journey. She photographed wealthy New England families because that was her world, influenced by an uncle who always had a camera ready. For me, it’s the opposite. It was the absence of photographs in my life that pulled me toward this art form. I’ve learned that the lack of images can inspire just as much as being surrounded by them.
What this means for your story:
Every frame I take of you is fueled by that longing to have my own family closer. It is my way of filling the gap. Because I know what it’s like to live with those spaces in an album, I don't want you to just have a "nice" photo for your holiday card. I want you to have the proof that you were there, that you were loved, and that your "boring" Tuesday morning was actually a masterpiece.
I photograph your family with the same intention and love I have when looking at my own small collection of family photos. I’m looking for the things you’ll want to remember in twenty years.
Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned from the 6,792 kilometers, it’s that we don’t take photos for who we are today we take them for who we will miss tomorrow.
