There’s a reason people become so emotional watching old videos.

It’s not just what’s happening on screen, it’s the fact that, somehow, a moment that’s long gone is still alive. You hear voices exactly as they were. You see people as they used to be.

That idea always stayed with me. I was blessed to have parents who captured everything on video growing up, which I can now, with the click of a button, be transported back to that time, place and people.

I think a lot of people are drawn to videography for that reason. It’s a strange, almost surreal thing, the ability to record a memory and replay it back years later, exactly as it was.

Because life moves quickly, and even the most important days eventually become memories we try to piece together. But film holds onto special moments, the tone of a voice, the way someone laughs, the energy in a room. The parts that are irreplaceable once they’re gone.

That’s why I do this.

Not to create something overly polished or staged, but to capture what’s actually there. The real interactions, the imperfect bits, the emotion that sits underneath everything. The things you don’t realise are important until they are.