The Beauty of Imperfection
Perfection is something I used to chase. For most of my life, excellence meant precision - getting every detail right, every time. In the military, perfection wasn’t optional. Operations had to be “no fail,” executed within a margin of seconds. Lives depended on attention to detail.
That mindset became second nature - plan, rehearse, verify, execute. And for years, I carried that same discipline into everything I did. But over time, especially through photography, I’ve learned that perfection and meaning aren’t always the same thing.
When I photograph, I try to be deliberate - steady tripod, fine-tuned settings, studied composition. But every so often, a moment unfolds that refuses to wait for perfection. The sun aligns just right behind the towers of the Bridge of Lions, or light spills across the Matanzas River for only a few seconds before the clouds close in. I can’t control it - I can only respond.
Sometimes, that means accepting imperfection. A breath of wind may blur a leaf. A slow shutter may soften a moving boat. The result might not be flawless, but it’s real - a record of a moment that might not come again for six months, or maybe never.
There’s a kind of honesty in that. In those imperfect frames, there’s movement, life, and something human. A reminder that art isn’t meant to be judged - it’s meant to be interpreted.
Two people can look at the same photograph and see entirely different things. That’s the beauty of it. Art doesn’t demand agreement; it invites reflection.
In the field, I’ve learned that discipline and surrender can coexist. Preparation gives me the tools to respond well - but awareness tells me when to let go. When the scene, the light, and the emotion align, the photograph doesn’t need to be perfect. It just needs to be true.
That’s what I hope my work reflects: not control, but connection. Not flawlessness, but feeling. Because sometimes the most meaningful beauty lives not in the absence of imperfection - but in our willingness to embrace it.