It started as a question
I came to photography the way I come to most things — through something I couldn't stop thinking about. Not how do I look, but what is actually true about me that I haven't been able to see?
I started with self-portraits. My own face, my own body, my own willingness to sit with whatever appeared.
It was never about aesthetics. It was about meeting myself without the filter of other people's expectations — without the "should" that follows women through every room they enter.
What I found surprised me.
The camera didn't show me what I looked like. That I obviously knew before. But it showed me what I was carrying — my doubts, my fears, my strength — the things I hadn't said. It showed me my relationship with the self.
And since then, it became a kind of mirror I didn't know I needed.
From design to philosophy & camera
For over twenty years, I've worked in design — building systems, interfaces, and strategies for others. But the work I kept returning to on my own time was more fundamental: what happens when a person stops performing their life and starts authoring it? Building it from scratch, regardless of societal patterns?
I have roughly a thousand pages of philosophical writing on that question.
On innate worth. On internal authority. On what it means to live from yourself rather than from a script.
Photography became the place where all of that thinking found a body — literally.
The camera gave me a way to show what I'd been writing about: that who you are is not an idea. It's something visible, if you're willing to look honestly.
What I'm actually doing
I'm not interested in producing beautiful images for their own sake. I'm not interested in showing you a version of yourself borrowed from someone else's aesthetic.
I'm interested in the moment a person sees a photograph of themselves and feels — maybe for the first time — that they've been truly seen.
Not the surface. Not the form. The person living inside it.
Whether that happens through a portrait session built around honest conversation, or through the vulnerability of the body itself, the intention is the same: to give you a record of who you actually are, in a moment when you stopped hiding it.
“I am not interested in how a body should look. I am interested in the honesty that's always present. This work is not for someone else's validation. It is for you to finally see yourself.”
Anna Li
This might be for you
If something here resonated — even if you can't fully explain what — that's enough. Book a short call and we'll figure out the rest together.