People often ask me how I find the places where I shoot. Sometimes they assume I have a secret map or a list handed down from some mystical photographer's guild. I wish it were that simple. The truth is, location scouting for me is a blend of intuition, patience, curiosity, and just a lot of wandering around with my camera slung over my shoulder and my eyes wide open.

It almost always starts with a feeling.

I don’t usually begin with a fixed idea of a location. I start with the vibe I want to create—the mood, the light, the emotion. Am I looking for something moody and cinematic? Light and airy? Urban and gritty? That emotional compass is what guides me. The location has to support the story I’m trying to tell. So, even before I type a single place into Google Maps or pack up my gear, I sit with the creative direction I’m chasing.

That said, yes—I do a lot of digital scouting. Google Street View is honestly one of my best friends. I’ll drop into different neighborhoods or park areas virtually, looking at angles, checking where the sun falls at certain times of day, and imagining what it might look like through my lens. But digital scouting can only go so far. You don’t feel the wind there. You don’t hear the quiet rustle of trees or see how the golden hour light slices through a broken fence. That part only happens when I show up.

I walk. A lot. And sometimes I drive aimlessly, usually around golden hour, letting the world show me something unexpected. It’s during those moments—when I’m not actively “looking” for the perfect spot—that the best locations reveal themselves. An old greenhouse hidden behind a coffee shop. A graffitied underpass with light pouring in at the perfect diagonal. A cracked tennis court with faded paint and ivy creeping over the fence. The kind of places you’d miss if you blinked or drove by too fast.

There’s also a huge difference between seeing a spot and feeling it. I’ll return to a location multiple times just to watch how the light moves through it. I’ll walk it during different times of day, see how busy it gets, how the shadows fall, whether the mood changes from morning to dusk. Sometimes, a location I thought was going to be perfect ends up feeling sterile or too staged once I’m actually there with my camera. Other times, a random corner of a field or an alley I stumbled into on a rainy day becomes the most magical backdrop for a portrait.

I pay attention to texture. A good location for me isn’t just about a nice view—it’s about layers. Peeling paint, wild grasses, brick walls, reflections in puddles, dappled light coming through leaves. These details add depth and dimension to a photo that you just can’t fake. I love contrast—hard against soft, urban against nature, warm light against cool tones. When I find a place that gives me that tension, it’s usually a winner.

Sometimes the best locations are the least obvious ones. I’ve done full portrait sessions in parking garages, in front of dumpsters (strategically framed, of course), and on random sidewalks with light bouncing off a nearby window. It’s not always about grandeur. It’s about how the space interacts with the subject. It’s about light, lines, emotion. It’s about creating a story that feels real.

One of my favorite shoots to date happened in a patch of overgrown weeds behind an abandoned strip mall. There was something about the way the sunset hit the tall grass, the sense of forgotten space—it fit the exact melancholic tone we were going for. It wasn’t planned. We just stumbled across it and something clicked.

I also talk to people. A lot of great locations have come from chatting with friends, other creatives, or even strangers who say, “Hey, have you ever been to this old bridge outside of town?” or “There’s a flower field that blooms around this time every year.” I keep a running list of spots in my phone, and anytime someone mentions something interesting, I drop a pin and make a plan to check it out.

More recently, I’ve started revisiting old locations with fresh eyes. Just because I’ve shot somewhere before doesn’t mean it’s done giving. Sometimes, coming back in a different season or with a new subject reveals something completely new. A tree that was bare now bursts with color. A building that felt lifeless in winter becomes radiant in spring. Familiar places evolve—just like we do—and I love rediscovering them.

There’s no science to how I scout the perfect location. It’s more like a dance between planning and spontaneity, between knowing what I want and being open to what I find. It’s driven by a desire to make each shoot feel unique and personal—not just for me, but for the people I’m photographing. Because when the location feels right, everything else falls into place. The connection deepens. The images breathe.

And those are the shoots that stay with me.