I’m becoming more convinced that the most important work we do in life isn’t our job, our craft, or even our calling.

It’s the work we do on ourselves.

Not in a self-help, navel-gazing kind of way—but in a posture of honest self-curiosity.

Who am I, really?
What are my gifts?
Where am I weak?
Where do I still need to grow?

These aren’t just personal development questions. For artists, photographers, and storytellers, they are foundational to creativity itself.

Self-curiosity is not self-criticism

There’s a difference between beating yourself up and being curious about yourself.

Self-curiosity sounds like:

• Why did I react that way?
• What do I bring into a room without realizing it?
• Why does this kind of story pull me in every time?
• Why do I avoid certain subjects—or certain people?

Great artists aren’t just observant of the world.
They’re observant of themselves in the world.

Your lens, your framing, your timing, your choice of subject—none of that is neutral. It all flows from who you are, how you see, and what you’ve wrestled with.

The discipline of honesty in the lows

When things fall apart—creatively, professionally, relationally—it’s easy to blame circumstances, clients, algorithms, budgets, or timing.

But the deeper work is asking:

• How did I get here?
• What patterns do I see repeating?
• What was my role in this—not to assign shame, but to gain clarity?

That kind of honesty hurts a little. But it’s also where growth begins.

Avoiding those questions doesn’t protect your creativity—it slowly suffocates it.

The rarely-discussed work: curiosity in the highs

We talk a lot about reflection after failure. Almost no one talks about reflection after success.

But the highs deserve just as much curiosity.

• Why did this project work?
• What was I fully present for here?
• What part of myself showed up at my best?
• What do I not want to lose the next time things go well?

Unchecked success can harden into ego just as easily as failure can harden into fear. Curiosity keeps both soft. And softness, paradoxically, is where creative strength lives.

A thought on boredom (and why it matters)

I’ve started wondering if boredom isn’t a lack of inspiration—but a lack of self-discovery.

Maybe boredom shows up when:

• We’ve stopped asking new questions of ourselves
• Our work has become technically competent but internally stale
• We’re producing, but not uncovering anything new

Creativity thrives on discovery. And sometimes the next discovery isn’t “out there” in a new location or assignment—it’s in here, waiting for attention.

Why this matters for storytellers

Every meaningful story begins with awareness:

• Awareness of others
• Awareness of power, pain, joy, contradiction
• And awareness of how you interpret all of that

If you don’t understand yourself, your stories flatten.
If you don’t examine your wiring, your blind spots show up in your work.
If you stop being curious about who you are becoming, your creativity eventually starts repeating itself.

Working on yourself isn’t a detour from the work.
It is the work.

A quiet invitation

If you’re feeling stuck, bored, or restless in your creative life, maybe the question isn’t:
What should I make next?

Maybe it’s:

• What haven’t I been honest about?
• What part of myself have I stopped listening to?
• What might I discover if I got curious again?

Your best work has always followed your deepest learning.
That hasn’t changed.

As I look forward to attending the Atlanta Photojournalism Seminar next week, I’ve been reflecting on the role NPPA plays in the lives of visual journalists. These are just some of my thoughts on how the organization supports photographers—especially freelancers—through connection, community, and collaboration.

The National Press Photographers Association has always been more than an organization—it’s a lifeline for storytellers who often work alone in the field. For photographers chasing a story on their own, deadlines looming, and cameras in hand, the work can feel isolating. NPPA provides connection, guidance, and a sense of belonging, reminding every member that their craft matters and that they’re not alone.

Today, NPPA is entering a new chapter. With fewer paid staff than in the past, much of the work is now carried out by volunteers. This shift naturally raises questions: what happens to the community when the people members once relied on for support are no longer on payroll? The answer is nuanced. While the structure changes, the heart of NPPA remains—members supporting members. Volunteer leadership encourages a deeper, more participatory engagement. It invites members to serve, collaborate, and strengthen the community in ways that a purely staff-led model could never fully achieve.

From Staff to Volunteers: Rethinking the Relationship Between Dues, Service & Membership in the National Press Photographers Association (NPPA)

Historically, NPPA relied on a combination of professional staff and volunteers to deliver services to its members. Staff managed membership, advocacy, and communications, while volunteers supported committees, contests, events, and mentoring. Membership dues helped sustain the professional team, and members expected those services to be delivered.

The shift to a primarily volunteer-led model changes this dynamic. Freelancers and independent visual journalists—who now make up a growing portion of the membership—often feel more isolated than staff photographers ever did. They no longer have daily interactions with a newsroom or office colleagues. NPPA, in its volunteer-driven model, becomes not just a service provider but a hub of connection. Members are called upon to participate actively, share experiences, mentor one another, and maintain the sense of camaraderie that paid staff once helped foster. This new model not only asks photographers to receive support but also to contribute to the ongoing health of their professional community.

Membership Dues, Staff Services & Shared Ownership: A Story of Transition

The transition from paid staff to volunteers is both practical and symbolic. It acknowledges that the landscape of visual journalism has changed—fewer staff positions, more freelance and independent photographers, and new challenges in sustaining a professional association. Membership dues now serve a dual purpose: supporting the core operations and empowering members to take ownership of the organization’s mission.

Shared ownership transforms the experience of membership. Freelancers who may have felt isolated now have the opportunity to step into leadership, mentor their peers, and actively contribute to the community they value. While the number of staff jobs has decreased, NPPA remains steadfast in its mission: fostering a connected, supportive, and professional community. The organization’s evolution demonstrates that even in a volunteer-driven model, it is possible to provide resources, advocacy, and a sense of belonging to members who need it most—those individuals out in the field, telling stories that no one else can tell.

From Mentorship to Meaningful Relationships: How Experience Shifts What We Seek in a Community

As photographers progress in their careers, the nature of what we need from our professional communities evolves. Early on, mentorship is crucial—guiding your craft, navigating assignments, and learning the unwritten rules of the field. However, as the years pass, the value often shifts from being mentored to building and maintaining meaningful relationships. For me, NPPA has become a place where those relationships thrive. Whether it’s connecting with someone who has faced the same challenging shoot, swapping insights on storytelling, or simply sharing encouragement, these connections sustain both my work and my sense of belonging. Even without a formal mentor, the association reminds me that no matter how experienced you are, the bonds we form with peers are what keep the profession vibrant and connected.

Isolation and Peer Support:
For many freelancers, the day-to-day work is solitary—long hours in the field, tight deadlines, and few colleagues nearby to share the triumphs or frustrations. NPPA helps bridge that gap. Even without staff running every program, the relationships formed through committees, contests, or networking events become lifelines. It’s not mentorship in the traditional sense; it’s peer-to-peer support, advice, and encouragement that reminds you you’re not alone in the work you do.

The Role of Shared Experience:
As you gain experience, formal guidance may matter less, but the value of shared experience grows. Talking through how someone else solved a tricky shoot, how they approached a challenging story, or even just sharing a laugh about the realities of the job—that’s where NPPA shines. These connections keep the craft alive and remind each of us that while the work can be isolating, we are part of a larger, vibrant community.

From Receiving to Giving:
One of the beautiful things about NPPA’s volunteer-driven model is that it encourages experienced members to give back. The relationships aren’t just for personal growth—they’re opportunities to strengthen the profession for others. For me, this means mentoring informally, sharing lessons from decades of assignments, and helping younger or newer photographers navigate the challenges of freelance life. Even without a formal mentor-mentee structure, the community becomes a web of mutual support, sustaining both the individual and the craft.

Finding Your People: Why NPPA Events Are Where Connection Happens
Freelancing in visual journalism can feel like a solitary pursuit. Not everyone you meet in the industry is focused on supporting each other, and sometimes personalities don’t click. That’s where NPPA makes a difference. By attending their events—workshops, contests, networking meetups—you’re stepping into a space full of peers who understand the challenges you face and care about building community. You don’t need to find everyone who “gets you”; even finding one person who becomes a collaborator, a sounding board, or a source of encouragement can transform your work and your confidence. NPPA isn’t just about professional development—it’s about creating the environment where those vital connections are possible, where you can finally find the people who will walk alongside you in your storytelling journey.

Over the years, I’ve photographed students, faculty, and campuses at private high schools nationwide. And I must say—it’s some of the work I love most.

Why? Because private schools aren’t just about academics or athletics—they’re about community, character, and stories waiting to be told. Each student has a journey, each classroom has energy, and every campus has a personality. My job as a photographer isn’t just to “take pictures”—it’s to capture those stories in a way that feels authentic, vibrant, and inviting.

When I photograph private schools, I get to focus on the things that make them unique: the quiet moments of a student engrossed in study, the laughter on the sports field, the camaraderie during arts performances, and even the small details that hint at tradition and culture. These are the visuals prospective families connect with—they want to see what life is like, not just a posed brochure.

I’ve found that recruitment photography is best when everyone on campus feels relaxed and natural. That’s why I take the time to build trust, observe fundamental interactions, and let moments unfold naturally. The result is a gallery that not only looks professional but actually communicates the heart of the school.

Over the years, I’ve worked with many schools to create visuals that elevate their recruitment efforts. From day-in-the-life photo sessions to capturing special events, I aim to tell a story that draws viewers in and makes them feel part of the community before they even set foot on campus.

Below, I’m excited to share a few examples from my work—photos that perfectly capture the essence of the schools I’ve photographed. Each image represents not just a moment frozen in time, but a story waiting to be discovered by future students and families.

Photographing private high schools isn’t just a job—it’s a passion. And nothing excites me more than helping these schools show the world who they are, one authentic, compelling image at a time.