My relationship with José Navas began through a collaboration initiated by a Montreal art gallery. The exhibition, Mouvements Focalisés (Focused Movements), paired photographers with contemporary dance choreographers to create new work inspired by movement. During that project, José and I met on three occasions, and I photographed him using long exposures while he responded to and escaped from various restraints. It was an intense and intimate creative process that built a strong foundation of trust between us.

That trust ultimately led José to give me complete creative freedom when photographing the promotional image for his choreography "Anatomies." Before the shoot, he shared the concepts behind the work and invited me to attend rehearsals. Rather than documenting a specific moment audiences would later see on stage, I wanted to create an image that distilled the essence of the performance.

I approached the project almost as a still life. My inspiration came in part from Rembrandt’s "The Anatomy Lesson of Dr. Nicolaes Tulp." I wanted to create the opposite emotional response: replacing the clinical and grotesque of Rembrandt’s painting with something intimate, beautiful, and human, while still referencing the study of anatomy through the arrangement of bodies.

My years working in advertising also influenced the composition. I intentionally created an image with generous negative space, knowing that graphic designers appreciate photographs that allow room for typography and layout. That decision proved successful: the image was ultimately selected as the primary visual for numerous festival venues across Europe, giving significant visibility to José’s company, Flak.

José was exceptionally generous with both his time and his trust. He gave me complete creative freedom while ensuring I understood the heart of the work. Before the shoot, he walked me through the ideas behind "Anatomies" and invited me to attend rehearsals so I could absorb the choreography and the relationships between the dancers.

That immersion was important because I wasn’t interested in simply photographing a performance. I wanted to understand the emotional and conceptual core of the piece. Once I had that understanding, José allowed me to interpret it through my own visual language. The resulting image is very much a collaboration: rooted in his artistic vision but expressed through my photographic perspective.

Interestingly, I chose not to focus on a specific choreographic moment at all.

Promotional dance photography often aims to capture a dramatic instant from the performance itself—something audiences will later recognize on stage. With "Anatomies," I wanted to move beyond documentation and create an image that represented the spirit of the work rather than a particular scene.

By arranging the dancers in a way that emphasized form, connection, and physical presence, I sought to capture the collective essence of the choreography. The photograph isn't a frozen moment from the performance; it's a visual interpretation of its themes. In that sense, the image functions more like a portrait of the work than a record of it.

I would describe it as a convergence.

Some of the most rewarding commissions of my career have occurred when a client's needs align naturally with my personal point of view. This project was one of those rare moments. While the image served a specific purpose for José and his company, it also allowed me to explore themes that have long interested me: identity, the body, and human connection.

I experienced something similar while creating campaigns for the Canadian Opera Company. Because many productions were still in development, there were often no completed sets or costumes available to photograph. That created opportunities to contribute my own visual interpretation of the stories and themes behind the operas.

Those experiences are quite different from much of my commercial work for clients such as McDonald's, Dove's Real Beauty campaign, and American Express, where creativity is often focused on solving communication challenges rather than developing original visual concepts. Projects like "Anatomies" offer a rare opportunity for those two worlds to meet.

Creating personal work is both liberating and intimidating.

Commercial photography provides structure and clear objectives. Personal work offers complete freedom, but with that freedom comes responsibility. When you're creating for yourself, you have to ask whether you have something meaningful to say.

At this stage in my life, I feel more willing to put my own ideas and experiences forward. For years, it was easy to hide behind successful campaigns and high-profile assignments. Personal work requires a different kind of vulnerability.

What's changed most is my patience. I'm currently developing a new body of work that is still in its earliest stages. I know what I want to communicate, but I don't yet know exactly what the final images will look like. Earlier in my career, I would have rushed toward the aesthetic solution. Today, I'm more interested in understanding the message first and allowing the visual language to emerge from it. The process itself has become more important than the outcome.

When I was studying fine art, seeing an Irving Penn exhibition at MoMA in New York was a defining moment. It confirmed for me that photography was what I wanted to pursue. Penn, along with Richard Avedon and other pioneering editorial and advertising photographers, demonstrated how the ordinary could be elevated into something extraordinary.

Sarah Moon's work encouraged me to explore a more painterly aesthetic, while Joyce Tenneson's early work influenced my softer, more tonal approach to portraiture.

That said, I've always drawn as much inspiration from painters as from photographers. Music, dance, literature, and other art forms continue to shape the way I think about image-making.

Today, we're surrounded by remarkable photography online, and platforms like Instagram provide endless visual stimulation. But I often encourage my students to resist the temptation to simply search for inspiration online. Instead, I suggest becoming careful observers of their own lives. Authentic inspiration comes from paying attention—to people, experiences, emotions, and everyday moments. That's where meaningful visual storytelling begins.