Auranism Photography - Meditations

Caricature, 2025

I’m thinking back to 2020-2021 when I was deep into composite work. Due to global circumstances, shooting new material became difficult - both logistically and mentally. Thus, I began looking inward, scavenging the archive to form new moments. Without rhyme or reason, I layered and edited and recycled until I felt something made sense.

I will always be proud of the work I made during that time, but what stayed with me more were the lessons I learned on experimentation, risk, intuition and stagnancy - with the latter feeling like the heaviest weight in the world. Eventually I realized that throwing paint at the wall and reading it like a Rorschach allowed for more breakthroughs than I could have imagined.

As I write this, I think about Jerry Uelsmann and how his dreamscapes helped dismantle the limitations that I had placed around photography. I wonder how he dealt with stagnancy. I wonder how we all do.

As I continue exploring and shaping my voice through recent street work, I keep returning to Susan Sontag’s On Photography—specifically her critique of aesthetic voyeurs and the power dynamics behind the lens. What makes a moment or gesture feel “worthy” of documentation? And how consciously or carefully do I wield such power the camera grants?

Though I’ve engaged with street photography over the years, this time feels different. I find myself approaching it with more intention, lingering on questions of ethics and the metaphysical weight of the human condition. While cliche, it feels true. Sonder and Hiraeth, yes—but I can’t shake the sense that I’m searching for something beyond.

Revisiting the writings that once shaped my understanding of photography, I’m finding more questions than answers; and maybe that’s enough for now.

July, 2025

Untitled, Rosary (2022)

13 Years Under a Midnight Sun

Lately, I’ve been meditating on what it means to keep an archive and what it symbolizes in terms of legacy, memory, and “proof of life”. Thirteen years of images become a compendium of moments and movements, offering a deeper reflection on transformation — both internal and external.

Though my archive exists in digital and physical forms, I’ve been thinking more about what it means to be a living archive. To carry versions of yourself through time - to choose mere glimpses to share with the world. Contributing intently; much more than creation and documentation.

While sharing my work has always been fulfilling, I question whether there’s more I can be doing and accomplishing. Ruminating, Risking. Learning that an archive isn’t just about memory - more about devotion.

13 years in and I’m still unsure how or whether it’s possible to truly honor a life lived through my lens, but I’m dedicated to making my truest attempt at it. Always.