WENDY
A story about light, legacy, and one unforgettable friend.
Life moves fast.
One minute, you’re prepping gear and sketching out a street photography workshop. You’re focused on exposure, camera settings, maybe wondering if anyone will even sign up. And the next? You’re in the middle of a story that stops you in your tracks.
Let me take you back in time. Less than a year ago, I launched my first street photography workshop here in Milwaukee. No huge expectations, no corporate sponsors—just me, some cameras, and the hope that people would show up ready to shoot and see differently. I wanted to create something accessible. Something rooted in real-life, a real boots-on-the-sidewalk experience for anyone who was interested.
The turnout surprised me in the best way. A mix of nervous beginners and seasoned hobbyists, all carrying some blend of curiosity and courage.
But before the workshop even began, one email stood out.
It was from a girl named Wendy. Now I didn’t know it yet but Wendy would make a huge impact on my life.
She told me she’d been following my street photography for a while. She had this quiet dream of making an impact through her own lens—but admitted she was nervous about photographing strangers. Totally understandable. Most people are. But there was something in her message—a kind of emotional honesty—that stuck with me. She wasn’t just looking for photography tips. She was searching for something deeper. So, I convinced her to sign up for the workshop and we could talk in person about how I could help her out.
The morning of the workshop, I walked up to Impulse Cameras and spotted a young woman sitting on a bench, camera ready, wrapped in a patterned headscarf. Graceful, poised, and quietly observing. Now, if you’ve ever been close to someone fighting cancer, you recognize those details immediately. I did.
I walked up and said, “Hey, I see you’ve got a camera—are you here for the workshop?”
She smiled and in the softest voice I’ve ever heard said, “Hello, I’m Wendy.”
From that moment on, I felt a deep need to give her everything I could. Not just as a photographer, but as a fellow human. She had something in her—something rare. A purpose. A calling. And I wanted to help her chase it.
We became fast friends. She asked great questions. Took feedback like a pro. We’d talk about exposure, sure—but we also talked about life. About meaning. About time. And through it all, her enthusiasm never dimmed. Even as her body was clearly in a battle, her spirit was unshakable.
Months later, she called me with a request.
Her health had taken a turn, and she wanted to schedule a portrait session with her family. Not for “just in case” reasons. She wasn’t interested in sadness or crying. She wanted joy. She wanted presence. She wanted to give her daughters—two radiant, whip-smart, full-of-fire girls—a memory of this exact moment in their lives, of being together and happy.
Of course, I said yes.
When I met her husband, Chris, and their girls, I understood instantly what she meant by impact. Chris had this warmth about him that made the entire session feel like hanging out with an old friend, and the dad jokes! I thought I had some real stinker punch lines but he might be the king! The girls were pure a pure joy, happy, smiling, laughing. Wendy and Chris raised two incredible young girls.
That session became one of the most meaningful projects I’ve ever shot.
Then came the part of the story that still gives me chills.
Just a few months later, I got a message from Wendy. She had gone to New York City and she brought her camera. She sent me the gallery and to say I was impressed wouldn’t do it justice. When we first met she was afraid to photograph strangers, yet just a few months later here she was walking the streets she’d once been scared to photograph—and captured absolute magic. SThey looked like something out of the golden age of NYC street photography—gritty, cinematic, poetic.
This woman, who had once worried she’d never feel confident with a camera in public, was now channeling Helen Levitt and Joel Meyerowitz. I immediately asked to buy prints of my favorites.
Wendy didn’t just “learn photography.”
She lived it.
She made art.
She made impact.
And she did it with grace, grit, and so much soul.
It’s not about gear. Or algorithms. Or “how to go viral with street photography.”
It’s about people. It’s about legacy. It’s about freezing time in a way that matters.
In a world that never stops moving, the camera gives us a way to hold onto what’s real. Every time I raise mine, I think about people like Wendy. People who choose to create despite fear. People who see photography not just as an art form, but as a way to connect, to tell the truth, to say “This mattered.”
As an editorial photographer based in Milwaukee, this story sharpened my mission in ways I can’t unsee. The portraits I shoot aren’t just for today. They’re for tomorrow’s memories. They’re the images your kids will hold in their hands when they want to feel close to you. They’re the photographs that will hang in the hallway long after our phones have been upgraded a dozen times over.
If you’ve ever considered investing in photography—not just for your brand, but for your story—do it. Not just with me, but with someone you deeply trust. Someone who sees you. Someone who knows what’s at stake when you press the shutter.
Wendy, thank you. For your trust. For your bravery. For your friendship.
And as for that impact… you made it.
We’ll miss you deeply.
These are the Images Wendy sent me from New York. My hope in sharing these is that you not only enjoy them as much as I did but they inspire you to go out and chase what you have a passion for
