I grew up with a camera around before I ever understood what it did.

My dad was the first photographer in my life, and his Minolta XG-7 was always nearby. Most of my childhood exists because of that camera…birthdays, holidays, ordinary afternoons that only became important later. Back then, photography wasn’t a performance or a craft I was conscious of. It was just how things were recorded.

I started shooting film myself as soon as I could make sense of it. Early on, that meant 110 film, small cameras, smaller negatives, and magically imperfect. I remember dropping rolls off at Kmart and waiting for the prints like they were messages from the future. You didn’t know what you had until you held it in your hands. Sometimes the photos were bad. Sometimes they were unintentionally perfect.

Like everyone else, I eventually moved to digital. Then back to film. Then, inevitably, to both. I stopped believing there was a correct answer somewhere along the way. Tools change. Curiosity doesn’t.

These days I shoot Fuji, largely because it gets out of my way and oh those jpgs. Over the years I’ve spent a lot of time with Sony systems, Leica rangefinders, and earlier on, Canon and Nikon. I’ve owned and shot hundreds, possibly thousands of film cameras. Rollei. Hasselblad. Leica. Some were extraordinary. Some were terrible. All of them taught me something, usually patience.

I still love developing my own film when time allows. There’s something about the chemistry, the quiet, the moment an image finally appears. Scanning, however, remains a chore I endure rather than enjoy. I firmly believe that anyone who claims to love scanning is either lying or has tendencies that should be monitored.

My approach has always been documentary. I’m not interested in directing moments or manufacturing expressions. I hate posed photographs. A natural smile, a missed glance, an awkward half-second where someone forgets the camera exists, that’s where things get honest. Those moments last longer than perfection ever does.

NoPixel Artistry exists because I wanted a place where all of this could live together…images, writing, memory, and the occasional quiet obsession. This isn’t a portfolio in the traditional sense, and it’s not a guidebook. It’s a record of looking carefully, over time, with a camera that was never optional.

Somewhere along the way, I stopped worrying about whether the work fit into a category. I just kept noticing things and bringing a camera.