So, if you’re not familiar with the Hawaiian language, my name usually poses a challenge. Keao. Say the letter “K” and then say “ow,” you know, like someone just suckerpunched you. Kay-ow. Perfect. It’s a little tricky and frankly, it’s actually my middle name. You have to have known me for at least fifteen years and can name my five most embarassing life moments before I would ever divulge my first name. I have only my father to blame. My father who may have married a local girl but never quite let go of his West Virginia hippie tendencies. Thanks, Dad. Recess in elementary school was real fun. If you’re a natural at ‘olelo Hawaii, then you might know that my middle name keao describes the day or the light. And photography is all about light. Grandma gave me the name keao. Thanks, grams.
I’m your basic crime scene tech during the day, pastor’s wife on the weekends, and a crazy camera-loving photographer every other second of the day. My grandpa gave my family a subscription to National Geographic when I was little. I think it was his loving attempt to inject some culture and a larger world-view into a family where our town boasted a Rodeo week but couldn’t yet claim to have a traffic signal or stop light of any kind. I wore down the pages of those magazines just astounded by the stunning images and glimpses into lives and cultures everywhere. The pictures hummed with life. I think I just never lost that fascination with trying to peek into a person’s joys and emotions with the click of a shutter.