Why I Obsess Over Details

People often ask me why I'm so demanding with micro-adjustments, why I fix what “no one will notice,” why I spend hours on nuances that disappear on a phone screen.

The answer is brutally simple:

My portraits are meant to be printed, not consumed and discarded.

A screen forgives everything.

A print forgives nothing.

But there’s something deeper: a portrait is an act of respect toward the person.

It becomes part of their family narrative, not just part of their camera roll.

I owe them the dignity of precision.

A Print Is Not an Image, It Is a Presence

A printed portrait lives in physical space.

On a wall.

In a frame.

In a drawer that will be opened decades later.

In the hands of someone who was not even born at the time of the photograph.

A print has weight, texture, smell, sound, it enters a home and becomes part of the emotional architecture of that space.

A file on a phone? It dies the moment you upgrade your device.

This is why details matter.

Detail Is an Act of Respect

When I photograph someone, I’m not just creating something for them, I’m creating something for the people who will remember them.

A printed portrait is a message to the future:

“This person existed. This is how they looked when they were still breathing their truth.”

If that portrait will one day be held by a grandchild or a great-grandchild, how can I be careless with the details?

Every nuance becomes part of their story.

A portrait is not a picture for a photo album.

It is an artifact of identity.

Digital Images Are Fast. Printed Images Are Forever.

On a phone, everything looks acceptable.

Small.

Compressed.

Forgiven.

But in print:

a micro-expression becomes important,

a shadow becomes a narrative,

a texture becomes history,

a small mistake becomes permanent.

Printing exposes everything and so does time.

A portrait that survives decades must be built for decades.

Detail Is the Language of Legacy

What survives through generations is not the pose.

Not the lighting.

Not the clothes.

Not the background.

What survives are the details:

the eyes,

the trace of emotion,

the tension in the mouth,

the softness in the cheeks,

the vulnerability that was visible for one second and captured forever.

Details are the fingerprints of presence.

Without them, the portrait is empty.

Why I Refuse to Work for Screens

Screens make us lazy.

They reward speed, not depth.

They celebrate quantity, not quality.

They create the illusion that every image is equal.

But a portrait is not equal to a selfie.

A printed legacy is not equal to a post.

A moment of truth is not equal to a pose.

I don’t create for likes.

I create for posterity.

This is why detail matters.

This is why I obsess.

This is why I take longer.

This is why I refuse shortcuts.

Because someone, one day, will hold this portrait and feel the presence of the person I photographed as if they were still here.

That is my responsibility.

Final Reflection

A portrait is not decoration.

It is memory made visible.

And memory deserves respect in the light,

in the shadows,

in the details,

in the truth.

I obsess because I care.

I obsess because I know what survives.

I obsess because a portrait, when done with dignity, is the only form of immortality we can offer each other.