I’ve always been captivated by the human form—there’s something so intriguing about faces, expressions,

the raw emotion etched in every feature. There’s something endlessly interesting about observing others and 

as a photographer, that fascination deepens. I see these people out in the world, their faces calling out to be 

captured. But as someone living with autism, that simple act of asking—of inviting someone into that intimate 

space—feels like an insurmountable mountain. The thought of approaching a stranger, even for something as 

simple and beautiful as a portrait, sends my anxiety into overdrive. The fear is paralyzing, so much so that I 

simply don’t ask.

 

My photography has often been driven by purpose—projects, assignments, reasons that give me structure

and permission. But as I turned 50, I realized it was time to try and break free from my self-imposed limitations.

It’s time to embrace the raw, unfiltered moments I’ve always wanted to capture. That’s when I conceived Lines of Demarcation, my way of tricking my brain into taking this leap.

 

The goal? To step outside of my comfort zone—everywhere I go, every new place I visit—to ask at least

two strangers if I can photograph them, the amazing faces and characters that intrigue me. To try and show a 

fleeting yet blissful connection. I know it’s going to be terrifying. Each encounter will be a battle with my nerves. To keep myself accountable, I’ll rate each experience on a scale of 1 to 10—just how terrifying was this moment? It’s a personal project, a journey of growth, where every portrait is not just an image captured, but a step forward in conquering fear.