There’s something about me I’ve noticed over the years that never fails to strike a chord deep within. A certain pleasure I take in feeling both wonder and wander—two words that, at times, live in harmony, and at others, seem worlds apart.
Let’s talk about wonder first, because it’s where I live, breathe, and make art. Wonder isn’t some curiosity-driven, intellectual exercise; it’s a feeling—a visceral rush that strikes me when I encounter something beautiful, unexpected, or downright inexplicable.
It’s that sharp intake of breath when I see a scene or a moment that makes me question how the hell I was fortunate enough to witness it.
It’s awe, admiration, astonishment, and, honestly, it’s the very thing that keeps me alive.
As a photographer, a poet, and an artist, I see the world through a lens of wonder. It’s the lens I use to capture the everyday, the extraordinary, and the raw. Life is overflowing with it if you choose to look at it from the right angle.
I’m not talking about perfection here—fuck perfection.
No. I’m talking about the honest, real, authentic kind of wonder—the kind that sneaks up on you when you least expect it. When a patch of sunlight catches a pile of rusted metal in the perfect light, or when a glance at an old, weathered building feels like a window into someone else’s life. The kind of wonder that can’t be staged or fabricated.
Click.
But then there’s wander.
Wander isn’t about aimless drifting for the sake of distraction—it’s about breaking free from the shackles of the expected. It’s about veering off the main road, digging a little deeper, getting sidetracked, and allowing my mind and body to stray into places that aren’t on the map.
Sometimes wander leads to wonder, and sometimes it’s the other way around. Wander feeds wonder, and wonder frees wander.
The two are bound together in a way that is unique to each of us, like an ongoing dance between discipline and freedom.
You see, wander isn’t just physical; it’s mental. It’s about giving myself permission to explore, not just the world around me, but the thoughts that swirl in my mind.
I’ve always been the kind to stray off the beaten path, both in life and in my art.
And, truth be told, I’ve often wondered whether this wandering nature of mine came from my family, or if I’m the fucking outlier.
My parents, my siblings—they don’t have that same creative restlessness.
They don’t chase that same spark of wonder in everything they see. Maybe I’m the son of a milkman, who knows? Or maybe I’m just wired differently.
But that’s the thing about wonder and wander—they’re what fuel my work and my sense of self. Without them, I’d feel trapped.
Stifled.
They allow me to find meaning in the mundane, to capture fleeting moments that others might miss.
And without them, I wouldn’t be me. This journey of wonder and wander—it’s what keeps me going, both as a person and as a photographer.
It’s the messy, glorious, unpredictable ride of life, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Click.
Jack.
