My very first camera was a Kodak Instamatic X-15F, a gift from my mom in the late 1960s. I carried it everywhere, capturing the world as I saw it through its simple lens. To this day, it still sits on my desk—not just as a relic of the past, but as a daily reminder of the greatest gift my mother ever gave me: the gift of photography.

That’s me in Italy, sometime in the late ’80s or early ’90s—surrounded by cameras, bags of film, tripods, reflectors, and light meters. Photographing there was a dream come true. The people, the cobblestone streets, the hidden alleyways, the fog drifting over majestic valleys, and the rolling hills that looked as if they had been painted by hand—it was pure magic.

Back in New York, from the mid-’80s through the early 2000s, my days were spent selling wine, while my nights belonged to photography. I freelanced for a few photo studios, rushed out for news wire assignments whenever my beeper buzzed, and poured my heart into street photography and personal art projects. That world gave me access to incredible events—celebrities, iconic moments, and some of New York’s most unforgettable characters.

Photography was more than a passion in those years—it was my way of seeing. I viewed the world through my lens, intent on capturing every fleeting moment, every story unfolding in the light and shadows around me.