How I Fell in Love with Photography (and Why I Now “Cook” My Film)

Some of my tools

If you’ve ever held a photograph that felt like a memory and a dream at the same time—soft edges, unexpected color, a little wild around the corners—you already know why I make the work I do. I didn’t set out to become an artist who “cooks” film in citrus, saltwater, and botanicals (yes, really). But like most good stories, mine started with curiosity, a camera, and an urge to slow time.

Where It Began: A Camera, A City, A Longing to Keep What’s Beautiful

I grew up in the Bay Area surrounded by fog that turns streets into watercolor and coastlines that insist on being photographed. My first love was the everyday: the way light pools on a kitchen table, the geometry of a bridge, a flower that bloomed like it had something to say. I learned on film before I ever touched a digital camera, and that early education stamped something permanent on me: patience, presence, and the thrill of not knowing exactly what I’d get back from the lab.

Over the years, I photographed families, women in business, interiors and architecture—always chasing that intersection of beauty and truth. But the artist in me kept whispering: what else could a photograph be?

The Leap to “Film Soup”

My first film soup experiment didn’t happen on a whim—it began after I stumbled across an article on the blog of the lab I use, Film Lab 135. The process sounded so fascinating that I couldn’t resist trying it. At the time, I had a handful of unused 35mm rolls collecting dust, and I hadn’t picked up my film camera in far too long. It also came at a moment when I was craving something personal—I’d been so immersed in client work, photographing fashion, families, and interiors, that I needed to create a project just for me. This felt like the perfect excuse to slow down, play, and make something without rules.

Living in Tiburon, a coastal town in Northern California, I’m surrounded daily by breathtaking views of the San Francisco Bay, the Golden Gate Bridge, and rolling stretches of natural beauty. Inspired, I quickly shot through a couple of rolls, then mixed up my very first “soup” using recipe ideas from the Film Lab 135 blog. After soaking and waiting through the agonizingly long two-week drying period, I finally sent the film off to be developed.

When the scans came back, I was floored. The colors, textures, and unexpected magic that appeared on those frames were beyond anything I had imagined. It felt like nature itself had collaborated with me. From that moment, I was hooked—obsessed, even. What started as a simple personal project quickly became the foundation for a whole new body of work, and it continues to shape my art today.Why Analog? (And Why I Still Reach for Film)

Digital is fast and flexible (I use it plenty), but film is a conversation. It slows me down in the best way. With a vintage 35mm camera in hand, I compose with intention, meter for shadow and highlight, and trust my instincts. There’s no instant playback, which means the moment owns itself. It’s the difference between collecting and listening.

Analog also carries a physicality I adore: the weight of the camera, the sound of the shutter, the ritual of loading a roll. In a world that moves at the speed of swipes and pings, film insists on wonder and patience. It makes room for surprise—and surprise is where art often lives.

My Process (A Peek Behind the Curtain)

Every series begins the same way: with a walk. I look for rhythm—repeating lines in a wharf, the way wild grasses lean, a hillside dotted with blooms. I shoot with intention, imagining how certain hues might bloom or bend later in the soup. Some frames I know I’ll leave “clean,” others I earmark in my mind as candidates for alchemy.

Back in the studio, I create small-batch solutions with simple, safe ingredients. I test, I wait, I document. Timing, temperature, and dilution all matter. So does the story of the roll—did it taste ocean air, touch eucalyptus, catch sun through rose petals? The conversation continues in development, where the film’s chemistry meets the choices I made in the field.

Then comes the reveal. When the scans arrive, I treat each image like a painting: some pieces are left raw, some get gentle tonal work to honor what the film gave me, and a select few become the anchors for a series. I print on museum-quality fine-art papers to preserve detail and color, and I hand-inspect each piece before it leaves my studio.

Example of ingredients I might add to my film soup, and a few 35 mm film rolls (Kodak and FujiFilm).

Safety note for fellow experimenters: please do not send your souped film to a lab unless you know they process film that has been exposed to water, or other liquids. I use “Film Lab 135” for all of my film soup developing, they process each film roll by hand and with loving care.

What Makes This Work Unique

1) It’s truly one-of-one. Unlike digital overlays or presets, these effects aren’t pasted on—they’re born in the emulsion. Even when I repeat a method, the results change with the weather, the source material, and the roll itself. Each piece is a little meteorological event in color.

2) It’s place-based. Much of my work is made in and around Northern California—shorelines, hills, architected spaces, wildflower edges. The film often “soaks up” elements from the day: sea salt mist, botanical whispers, golden hour haze. The print becomes a record of both the picture and the place. I love creating when I travel as well, so a few of my pieces are photographed in Florida (palm tree series), San Diego (more palms, the ocean and the beach) and Charlston, South Carolina (Spanish moss and Palmetto trees).

3) It’s emotion-forward. I create photographs that feel like memory: not air-tight and clinical, but textured, prismatic, and honest. The film soup doesn’t replace reality; it reveals the feeling beneath it.

4) It bridges photography and painting. Collectors often tell me they’re drawn to my work because it lives in the middle—recognizably photographic, yet painterly in color and gesture. You can hang it as a bold statement piece, or live with it quietly and discover new details over time.

Why I Keep Choosing This Path

Because it keeps me awake to the world. Because it’s meditative. Because it respects mystery. And because every time I lift the camera, I’m reminded that beauty isn’t fragile—it’s resilient, curious, and ever-becoming. Film, with all its quirks and delays, lets me chase that truth with both hands.

For Collectors & the Curious

If you’re here because a particular piece tugged at your sleeve—welcome. Many works are available in limited editions with certificates of authenticity. I’m also open to site-specific commissions (think: you back yard, a favorite beach, a view that inspires you). If you want to talk about a space you’re designing or a story you’d like a piece to hold, reach out. I’d love to create something just for you.

Until then, may you catch the light where you are—and may it surprise you.

Quick FAQ

Do you shoot digital too? Yes. For my art prints, I only shoot 35mm film. For client work, I start with digital but offer film soup as an add on.

Are the colors “real”? They’re real to the emulsion—the chemistry creates them organically. I make light tonal edits to honor what the film produced.

Can I commission a piece from a specific location? Absolutely. I offer custom sessions where we plan a route, choose a palette, and create a bespoke print (or series).