Meanwhile, Here in Austin is a seasonal portrait of a city becoming home, blending intimate essays and photography to capture the quiet beauty, chaos, and heart of everyday life in Austin. Did you begin this project knowing it would become a book, or did it grow organically?

It grew organically. When we first moved to Austin, every weekend felt like a vacation. I’d grab my camera and head out to explore our new home. Over the years, I built up a large collection of photos, but I eventually wanted to do more with them than let them sit in an online gallery. My first thought was a photography book. But some of the images needed context. A line or two didn’t seem to be enough.

The first time I started writing longer pieces was after a storm, when I realized a single photo couldn’t capture its intensity. We had previously lived in Los Angeles, where unplugging devices during a storm never even crossed my mind. In Austin, though, after hearing a few horror stories about fried electronics, I decided to play it safe. That experience needed explanation beyond the image itself.

Then came the winter storm. Photos of icicles alone couldn’t accurately explain what we went through. The images needed my experience alongside them so readers could understand what photographing those icicles really meant and how they fit into the larger context.

As a result, the book expanded to become a fusion of essays and photos. But I still wanted to “lead” with photos and have the essays serve as a larger explanation. I think the only instance where I wrote an essay purely for the sake of written content was when a shooting occurred at our favorite slushie café. This was part of my discovery of Austin, and it felt necessary to include it.

What does photography allow you to express that writing alone cannot?

For me, photography is purely about feeling and capturing a mood. While it’s true that I can describe those feelings with words, photos are more universal. You don’t need language, a translator, or an explanation of cultural differences. You see it, you feel it, you get it… within seconds. Photography allows me to share what I saw and exactly how I felt in that moment with a much wider audience.

Many of the book’s most powerful moments come from everyday scenes—storms, deer, swimming holes. Why do small moments matter so much to you?

That’s a two-part answer, I guess. From a photography perspective, I usually notice the larger elements first: the people, the architecture, and the landscape. But when I return to the same place a second or third time, I start to see the smaller moments. Those details matter because photographers are always searching for a unique way to capture a scene. You have to train your eye to find new angles or fresh perspectives. That process teaches you to notice everything, because you’re always looking for that something that will make your photos feel different.

The second part of that answer is that a city’s character, or even a neighborhood’s character, is often defined by smaller moments. It’s the subtle cultural differences that stand out. When comparing what makes Austin unique versus a larger city like L.A. or New York, it comes down to the people, of course, and what I usually call “the little things,” or those small details that give the city its character.

What aspects of the city surprised you most once you started paying close attention?

How much Austin is changing right before my eyes. It’s a lot like raising children. When you see them every day, the changes aren’t obvious. It’s only when a friend visits after a couple of years and says, “Your kid has changed so much!” that it really hits you, because you didn’t notice it happening.

Austin feels the same way. I didn’t truly see the changes until I started comparing my downtown cityscape photos. That’s when it became clear just how quickly the city is expanding and evolving. It’s going through real growing pains.

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