My Substack: In Pursuit of Seeing

Alongside publishing articles here, I’ve started writing on Substack.

I wanted a space that allows for a different pace, where longer-form writing and images can live together more meaningfully. On Substack, I write about visual storytelling, filmmaking, photography, and creative practice, with a focus on learning through making and staying connected to the human side of the work.

The publication is called In Pursuit of Seeing.

There is a lot of pressure on creatives right now to be visible, productive, and constantly outputting. More content, more speed, more certainty. In the middle of all that, I’ve felt a growing need for a slower space, one that allows for thought, reflection, and work that unfolds rather than performs.

My Substack exists for that reason.

I’ve spent over a decade working as a filmmaker, photographer, and creative director across commercial, documentary, and narrative projects. Along the way, I’ve learned that the most meaningful progress rarely comes from chasing what’s next. It comes from paying closer attention to craft, to story, and to the human elements that sit underneath the work.

Writing helps me slow down and articulate those lessons, not as rules, but as lived experience. It’s a way of making sense of what I’m learning, what I’m unlearning, and what I’m still trying to figure out.

When I talk about craft, I’m not just talking about technique. Craft, to me, is the ability to make clear decisions. Knowing what matters in a scene, a frame, or a moment, and having the confidence to let go of the rest. With experience, the focus shifts. Away from tools and complexity, toward performance, feeling, and narrative. Toward work that feels considered rather than busy.

Story has become the thread that runs through everything I do. Not story as structure alone, but story as meaning. As a way of holding uncertainty, asking questions, and exploring what it means to be human right now. I’m drawn to short films and smaller forms because they allow space for intuition, ambiguity, and emotional honesty. Often, the strongest moments aren’t explained. They’re felt.

At the same time, it’s impossible to ignore the wider context we’re creating in. Automation, algorithms, and constant comparison have reshaped what creative work looks like, and how it’s valued. More often than not, the output of your creative work, the thing that took an enormous amount of effort, care, and emotional energy to make, is quickly buried by an algorithm and seen by very few people. That can be deeply disheartening, especially when the work itself mattered.

Over time, I’ve learned that slowing down has made my work stronger. It’s helped me listen more carefully, trust my instincts, and separate the value of the work from its immediate visibility. Staying connected to why I make things has become more important than how widely they travel.

My Substack will be a place for notes rather than declarations. I’ll write about visual storytelling, photography, short filmmaking, and creative process, but also about doubt, confidence, and the motivations behind the work that often go unspoken. Some pieces will be practical, others more reflective. Many will sit somewhere in between.

I don’t have finished answers to offer. What I do have is experience, curiosity, and a belief that thoughtful work still matters. If you care about craft, story, and staying human while you make your way through creative life, you’re very welcome to my articles.