On Beauty

I create and share experiences that make people feel seen, heard, and connected. The table is my medium, and beauty is my language—not to impress, but to open people up to one another. My focus is on how to create depth in a gathering.

I create and share beauty in ways that feel human, not staged — beauty that feeds connection, not intimidation.

For me, beauty is not a sterile, polished thing that exists only behind glass. It’s the feel of a linen napkin that’s been washed a hundred times, soft against your cheek. It’s the light catching a crystal glass, not because I’ve arranged it just so, but because the conversation at the table made me forget the camera entirely. I want people to sense the life in my settings — to see a scene and feel invited in, not held at arm’s length.

My gatherings are never about impressing for the sake of it. I don’t set a table to prove I can — I set a table because I want the people sitting at it to feel honored, delighted, and at ease. That’s why I love the tension between refinement and looseness: a Baccarat coupe holding a simple scoop of homemade ice cream, or a silver tray bearing toast topped with jam from the farmers’ market. The contrast makes the scene feel alive. It says, this is for us, right now, not for a magazine spread.

There’s a temptation, especially in the world of “luxury” and social media, to let beauty slide into performance — to iron out every wrinkle, to style every plate until it could live in a showroom. But I’ve learned that perfection is the quickest way to make beauty feel distant. A slightly crooked candle, a slice of cake already missing, the petals that fall onto the tablecloth — these are not flaws, they’re proof that something is happening here. That people are present. That life is unfolding.

My background means my settings often look extraordinary — grand rooms, sweeping views, a table that could belong in a film. I don’t shy away from that. But I work to keep the human heartbeat in every frame. Beauty, to me, is not just an object or a backdrop; it’s the feeling of belonging in a space that could have been intimidating, and realizing it’s not.

When I share beauty, I want people to think, I could sit there. I could be part of that. I want the image to whisper not, “Look what I have,” but, “Imagine what we could experience together.” That’s why I resist staging to the point of sterility. I’d rather a photograph hold the warmth of a half-empty wine glass, a laugh caught mid-breath, or the moment someone reaches across the table to pass the bread.

In the end, my work isn’t about creating perfect images; it’s about creating moments where beauty exists as a bridge, not a wall. I create beauty to invite, not to separate. And if someone walks away from my table remembering not just how it looked, but how they felt — seen, welcomed, and part of something — then I’ve done what I set out to do.

I live in beautiful spaces and I care deeply about connection. The table for me is a place where the visual and the human meet

And after all that, I have to say, that 99% of my days are catching fallen pasta on the floor and eating without a tablecloth. I make an extra effort when I have strangers coming, but I don't even tidy up for friends. I don't have the energy. Maybe some day.