I don't remember the first photo I ever took. Rather, I remember the first time I became frustrated at my crayons for refusing to act in a mannerly fashion. They just made scribbles instead of doing what I wanted. This impasse between my crayons and I happened on the vinyl-covered kitchen table of my Grandparents' home. Or maybe it was underneath that table on their patterned carpet. Whichever, that moment was the first of many in which I've tried my hand at some sort of expression. I grew up in a farmhouse on five acres, surrounded by fields, cattle, and dusty roads in the eastern hills of Oklahoma. Like many of us born in the seventies, the first cameras I remember fondling were Kodak Ektras and Polaroids. I took my first photography class with an AE-1 when I was twelve. I also made drawings until college. Then I traded the pencil for the welder and table-saw, which were quickly dumped for the idea. I moved to New Orleans in 1999 and returned to drawing as well as carrying a camera again. Photography became part of the job when I took over creative direction for what used to be a cool-ass motorcycle company.

My Leicas and Zeiss weren't tools of choice until the hurricane that took everything except what fit in the car. I've taken photos my whole life, but never because there was some ethereal quality in the world that only a camera could capture. Maybe that was because I could never get a camera to do what I wanted. Or maybe it was just my fault for not being determined enough to push the shutter button every time I saw that perfect moment.