I photograph women.

The longer I do this, the less interested I become in photographing only the version of a woman she already knows — the one she considers flattering, presentable, worth showing. I’m much more curious about what happens when, for a moment, she forgets about getting it right.

I have been photographing women for almost a decade. And somewhere along the way, I became interested in much more than making a woman look beautiful in a photograph. I started noticing what happens in front of the camera.

Most women arrive with an idea of how they should look. They know which side they prefer, what they want to hide, what they think is flattering and what isn’t.

And then, during the shoot, something changes. She laughs in a way she didn’t plan to. She puts on something she would never have chosen for herself. She becomes quieter, bolder, softer, more sensual, more playful. None of these women are different people. They are all her.

That is probably what interests me most about photographing women: not creating a better version of someone, but seeing how much of one person can exist in a single room.