With some detailed direction AI can create an image, but it can’t sense the subtle shift in your dogs expression that tells me they've finally relaxed in front of the lens.

AI can fabricate a background, but it can’t capture the way the air smelled after that unexpected rain during golden hour, or the chaos of the dogs running around enjoying their time out, or the wind that kept catching your hair.
AI can polish a scene, but it can’t know when to press the shutter to preserve that fleeting moment—the one you’ll still smile at ten years from now.

That’s why I believe so strongly that portraits should come from lived experience. Yes, I use modern tools—including AI—for the polish: removing a leash, cleaning up a distracting element, or designing wall mockups so you can see how your art will look at home. But I don’t use it to replace the truth of what happened in front of my lens.

Because the truth is enough.

I’ve spent years photographing families, pets, and professionals. With that comes something AI can’t mimic: an instinct for guiding you through the experience, anticipating the unscripted, and knowing when to step back and let the magic unfold. My job isn’t to create perfection—it’s to create presence, connection, and art that feels like you.

When you hang that portrait on your wall, you’re not just hanging pixels. You’re hanging a memory, a story, and a reminder of who you ( or your pets) were in that season of life. That’s something technology can’t manufacture.

This isn’t the last time I’ll talk about this. The conversation about authenticity versus AI is just beginning, and it matters—especially for photography, legacy, and how we want to be remembered. Over the next while, I’ll be sharing more thoughts on what makes an image timeless, what “imperfections” actually make portraits more meaningful, and how technology can support (but not replace) the art of connection.

Because when it comes to portraits, the human experience isn’t just part of the process—it is the process.