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Each day I take the same slow walk through my small town, camera in hand, chasing the kind of scenes most people pass without a second thought—the sun-faded soda sign in a diner window, a plastic chair left crooked on a porch, the strange poetry of a half-empty parking lot at noon. I’ve always been drawn to the way William Eggleston could turn the ordinary into something quietly electric, and how Martin Parr finds humor and honesty in the everyday mess of life. Somewhere between their worlds, I’ve carved out my own—shooting through a custom VSCO preset I built from trial, error, and instinct, bending color just enough to feel like memory but not quite nostalgia. The walk itself never changes much, but the light does, the details shift, and the mundane reveals itself differently each time, like it’s waiting to be noticed.
