Why I Photograph People, Not Just Buildings

For years, the standard for architectural photography was the pristine, empty shot. We were taught to capture buildings as isolated sculptures—perfect forms devoid of human clutter. But as I’ve developed in my career, I’ve found myself pushing against that tradition. I’ve realized that a building’s true story isn't just in its lines and materials; it's in the life that happens within and around it.

My approach today is shaped more by the principles of documentary photography than by traditional architectural photography. I believe a building is not an island. It’s a backdrop for the complex, beautiful, and sometimes messy narrative of everyday life. My goal is to capture that story. What’s the point of a beautifully designed space if we don’t show how people actually use it, adapt to it, and make it their own?

This means stepping back, sometimes literally. Instead of focusing solely on the facade, I pull back to see how the structure breathes within its city, its neighborhood, its community. How does it connect to the urban fabric? How did this specific place, with its unique history and culture, shape the building that stands here today? It’s about finding the "pride of place"—that intangible quality that makes a building belong right where it is, and nowhere else.

I’m fascinated by how architecture evolves. A new building might be a bold statement, but over time, it settles in. It becomes part of the city's living history, its identity shaped by the people who interact with it daily. Whether it's a state-of-the-art museum or a community built from local, available materials, the most powerful images emerge from this interaction.

Ultimately, my work is about telling the story of a place through its architecture. It's about showing not just how a building looks, but how it feels to be there. The human element isn’t a distraction; it’s the entire point. It’s what transforms a structure of glass and steel into a place with a soul.

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