I am a cancer survivor. I know it is a cliché, but it’s the kind of experience that truly changes you.
I am eternally grateful to be here, but surviving came with a price: long-term therapeutic drugs left me cognitively drained. To be frank, the treatment robbed me of the creative and spiritual energy needed to be an artist. It left me feeling disconnected from life.
In 2013, I decided to stop taking the anti-cancer medications—which were part of a long-term trial thought to be necessary for remission. Shortly after, I took a trip to Alaska and hiked to the top of a glacier, where everything changed. The arctic environment made me excited to be alive again. In that moment, I knew that stopping the medication was the right choice for me.
Since then, my artistic process has evolved into a singular obsession with the photographic landscape. It is where I feel most connected, rooted in the belief that being in nature heals.
The land, the mountains, and the trees help me tap into a primal part of myself. I feel as if I truly belong in the images I create. When it comes to the landscape, I see no distinction between the icebergs of the Arctic and the deserts of California; I feel a deep affinity for environments that struggle to survive, just as I did. I feel connected to these places in ways words can never fully describe.
While I am grateful to be many years out of the cancer experience, the shadow of recurrence still lingers. Living with that fear—trying not to look back, but rather to move forward and inhabit the present—is an ongoing challenge. My art allows me to channel that overwhelming energy into something transformative: the act of creating what’s important to me.