"The Story Behind the Photograph"

"A photograph catches a moment, but a portrait reveals the soul. Beyond lighting and technique lies the quiet truth of a person’s story."

Recently, I had a conversation that made me look at my life differently. At this stage of my journey, I’ve found myself increasingly drawn to portrait photography and heirloom photo restoration. At first glance, it might seem like a sharp departure from a 30-year career in technology sales. But I don't think it's a departure at all. It feels more like a culmination.

I’ve realized something fundamental about myself: I am far more interested in the story behind the photograph than I am in the photograph itself. And suddenly, a lot of things in my life began to make complete sense.

Ecclesiastes has always challenged the notion that wealth, status, accomplishment, and possessions can ultimately satisfy us. After decades in sales, I’ve had a front-row seat to the machinery of commerce. There is nothing wrong with business or ambition, but I have become far more interested in what exists beneath the surface.

When I photograph a person, I want to see the human being—not just the professional facade. When I photograph a business, I want to understand the hearts of the people behind it. And when I restore an old family photograph, I’m not simply repairing pixels on a screen. I am rescuing a piece of someone’s history from being forgotten.

That purpose connects deeply with my Orthodox Christian faith. In the Orthodox tradition, an icon is not merely an image—it points beyond itself to a deeper spiritual reality. Photography can do that too. A camera records light, but a great photograph reveals truth. Every person sitting in front of my lens is made in the image and likeness of God. That turns a portrait into far more than a headshot; it becomes a sacred opportunity to encounter another human being.

Carl Jung spoke often of ancestry, archetypes, memory, and the power of what lies beneath the surface. An old photograph sitting in a dusty box may look like a damaged piece of paper. But in reality, it is someone’s mother, someone’s grandfather, a long-lost son, a wedding day, or a family whose story is on the verge of slipping away. Restoring that photograph isn't just about technical cleanup—it's about bringing a piece of that story back into the light.

Stoicism reminds me that I cannot control the ultimate outcome. I can’t control whether someone loves my work, whether a client hires me, or whether a photograph becomes deeply meaningful to someone else. What I can control is whether I show up. Whether I learn, whether I practice, whether I do the work with integrity, and whether I keep swinging the bat. That is what I’m doing in this chapter.

I am not particularly interested in making photographs that simply look polished. I am interested in photographs that make us stop and ask: What’s the story here? Who is this person? What did they love? What did they overcome? Why does this moment matter, and what would be lost if this story disappeared?

Maybe my photography isn’t a new direction after all. Maybe it is the quiet place where everything I’ve spent my entire life learning finally gets to converge. I’m not just interested in taking pictures—I’m interested in seeing, and helping others see, the truth behind them.

So, I keep swinging the bat. There are still stories worth telling.