Never without
A notebook, a good olive oil, and at least three backup batteries.
Rive-Nord, QC
I didn't set out to become a food photographer. I set out to understand why certain meals stay with you long after the plate is cleared — and somewhere along the way, the camera became my way of holding onto that feeling.
Today, I help brands and creators tell stories that taste as good as they look. One project at a time, one conversation at a time.
01 / The Journey
I grew up in a house where the kitchen was never quiet. My grandmother's hands moved through dough and spices with a rhythm I didn't understand then, but I felt it in every bite. Sunday dinners weren't just meals — they were the reason everyone showed up.
Years later, after a career that had nothing to do with food, I found myself back at that same table. Only this time, I was the one documenting it. A borrowed camera, a bowl of soup, and the light coming through the window at exactly the right angle. That was the moment everything clicked.
What started as a personal project — photographing the meals I cooked for friends — turned into something I couldn't walk away from. Brands started reaching out. Restaurants wanted their stories told. I left the office job, picked up the camera full-time, and never looked back.
02 / The Craft
Every shoot begins with a conversation — not a shot list. I want to know what your dish means to you, what memory it carries, what feeling you want someone to have when they see it for the first time.
From there, it's a collaboration. I handle the lighting, the composition, the styling details you didn't know mattered. You handle being present, trusting the process, and letting the food speak for itself.
"I don't just photograph food. I photograph intention."
03 / Beyond the Lens
I'm not always behind a lens. Most days, you'll find me somewhere between a farmers market and my own kitchen — testing recipes, chasing good light on a hike, or sitting on the porch with too much coffee and a notebook full of half-formed ideas.
04 / A Few Things About Me
A notebook, a good olive oil, and at least three backup batteries.
Hands at work — kneading, pouring, plating. The human part of food.
French jazz, low volume. Loud enough to feel it, quiet enough to focus.
A perfectly laminated croissant. Or any croissant, honestly.
Whether you have a full campaign in mind or just a question about how I work — I'd love to hear from you. No pressure, no pitch deck required.
Get in Touch