I'm drawn to the beauty hiding in plain sight – the things most people walk past without a second look: paint chipped down to bare metal, the grain of old worn wood, the specific way light catches a texture that took someone real time and skill to create. I come from a family of tradesmen, so craftsmanship isn't just something I admire – it's something I feel a kind of reverence for. Every rivet, every carving, every hand-laid brick was forged by someone whose name I'll never know. I want my photos to hold onto their story a little longer than the world usually does.

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It started in Siena in 2010, on a quiet morning before the tourists arrived. I looked up through an old stone archway and watched sunbeams trickle into the alley, warming every crevice like they'd been waiting all morning just for that moment. I only had my phone, but I knew I had to try to hold onto what I was feeling, not just what I was seeing.

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That's still what I'm chasing. Not documentation – the feeling underneath it. A bridge, a doorway, a rusted hinge nobody else noticed. If it has history and someone's craftsmanship, I want to find the angle that helps you feel that too.