I think growing up in a small village gave me two fundamental understandings. First, it made me curious about what existed beyond my town. When a place is no bigger than 1200 people, a natural curiosity about what is beyond has been deeply instilled in me. Thus, I’ve always known that I had to work with something that would allow me to experience and understand the broader scope of the world. Secondly, it has taught me to appreciate simplicity. In a small community, you notice people and life isn’t moving very fast.

These two things still influence how I work. I love New York for its pace and energy, but I’m just as drawn to a small village in Ethiopia. I’m always searching for the same thing: how people build their lives, no matter where they are.

There's something very liberating about carrying very little. I don’t really like it when I look too much like a photographer. It’s much easier to blend in with very little.

Traveling alone also changes things. You become more approachable because you rely on others. You accept invitations and often stay longer than you expected. Some of my favorite experiences have come from these unplanned moments.

Being alone isn't always comfortable, but I think discomfort often leads to curiosity.

I've become much better at appreciating home. Earlier in my life, I was always looking toward the next trip; I was quite addicted to it, but now I’m slowly realizing that the good work also depends on having periods when nothing happens.

Travel is incredibly stimulating, but it's also mentally demanding. When I'm home, I try to simplify things. I cook, work on my printing, spend time with friends, and get quality sleep. It’s really where everything resets. My work only begins to make sense once I've returned home and take time to reflect on it.

I think, again, it’s my curiosity about people. An excuse to get to know someone a little bit by catching a flinch of their personality. It can be quite intimate taking someone's picture, so it’s about the relationship that exists in that moment.

I'm always seeking authenticity. You know those small moments in between a pose or something staged are where the unexpected and authentic appear. Capturing familiar moments while preserving the mystery of the unknown is the suspense I’m looking for. I like when things are kept unanswered in a photograph.

Portraits also become markers of time. I've gone back to communities nearly ten years later and looked at old portraits together with the people in them. Teenagers have become parents, faces have changed, children have grown up. The photographs become part of a shared memory rather than just my own.

I'm not sure I always find the balance. It's something I'm still learning.

Travel fills me with new experiences, but if I never stop moving, everything starts blending together. Rest gives those experiences time to settle. That's often where my best ideas appear.

I wouldn't say it's a strategy as much as a preference.My work is actually very personal. It reflects who I am, how I see the world, what I pay attention to, and what I value. If you've followed my work over time, I think you've already met me.What I'm less interested in is making myself the central subject. Photography has given me access to incredible people and places, and I'd rather use that privilege to tell stories that extend beyond myself.That doesn’t mean I’m trying to hide. My experiences shape everything I create. The places I revisit and the people I’m drawn to all reflect who I am. I just prefer to show these things through my work instead of always explaining them.

I don't have a particular routine, actually.

When home, I'll usually read a little and avoid looking at my phone too much. That sort of thing. I've reached a point in life where I'm okay with leaving problems unresolved until the next morning.

Lately I've been thinking a lot about returning rather than discovering.

I used to be fascinated by places that felt totally unfamiliar. Now I’m more interested in what changes over time and what stays the same. Returning to communities I photographed years ago has been very meaningful. The photos become less about first impressions and more about relationships.

That idea has shaped my current work more than any particular visual reference.

Lately I've been listening a lot to Rai music from Algeria from the 80s and 90s. Especially artists like Cheb Hasni. I find it really powerful. Particularly because it wasn’t political in an obvious sense.

His songs were often about love and longing, but in the 80s Algeria, expressing emotional and romantic freedom was itself a radical act. Thus, he was killed by fundamentalists at age 26. Yet his music and spirit lives on, like a photo from a different time.