I’ve always stopped at great photographs. Not just glanced — stopped. Studied them. Tried to understand what they were doing to me and why. For years, I told myself that one day I’d learn to make images like that.
That day came in 2019, when my wife and I planned a trip to Italy. I bought a camera five months before we left and taught myself how to use it — the mechanics came naturally. What didn’t come as easily was the eye. Knowing how a camera works and knowing how to see are two very different things, and I understood that gap from the beginning.
Italy was a start. I came home with crisp, clear images and enough hunger to keep going. Some of those photographs are in this gallery.
I’ve always stopped at great photographs. Not just glanced — stopped. Studied them. Tried to understand what they were doing to me and why. For years, I told myself that one day I’d learn to make images like that.
That day came in 2019, when my wife and I planned a trip to Italy. I bought a camera five months before we left and taught myself how to use it — the mechanics came naturally. What didn’t come as easily was the eye. Knowing how a camera works and knowing how to see are two very different things, and I understood that gap from the beginning.
Italy was a start. I came home with crisp, clear images and enough hunger to keep going. Some of those photographs are in this gallery.
The real turn came about four years ago, when I walked into a local gallery and spent time in front of printed work for the first time since I began the journey. There’s something a print does that a screen never will — it holds still, it rewards patience, it reveals itself slowly. I stood there longer than I expected to and left knowing that this was what I wanted to make. Not images to scroll past. Images to live with.
I took the advice of a well-known photographer, acquired a large-format printer, and started developing my own work. Everything in this gallery — culled from years of shooting and refined through that lens — was made with a single intention: to enhance the environment it lives in.
There’s one photograph that made me believe I could get there. It’s called Our Bridge. It’s here if you want to find it.
I'm always glad to hear from people who found their way here. grant at grprints dot art
The real turn came about four years ago, when I walked into a local gallery and spent time in front of printed work for the first time since I began the journey. There’s something a print does that a screen never will — it holds still, it rewards patience, it reveals itself slowly. I stood there longer than I expected to and left knowing that this was what I wanted to make. Not images to scroll past. Images to live with.
I took the advice of a well-known photographer, acquired a large-format printer, and started developing my own work. Everything in this gallery — culled from years of shooting and refined through that lens — was made with a single intention: to enhance the environment it lives in.
There’s one photograph that made me believe I could get there. It’s called Our Bridge. It’s here if you want to find it.
I'm always glad to hear from people who found their way here. grant at grprints dot art
