Four Voices. One Gallery.

 Begin with the Gallery of Professional Photographers: Save Ellis Island Foundation—a credentialed feature drawn from my ten accepted works created on Hard Hat access inside the south-side hospital complex. Then move through the four evolving lenses of my alters: Michael (Quiet Geometry, Architecture), Tate (Sound of Shutter, Concert), Little Chris (City, Underbreath, Street), and Drop Dead Fred (Time Lost, Urban Decay). This hub updates as the story grows—return to see new chapters surface first in Ellis, then ripple across each gallery. 

  I am deeply humbled and thrilled to present this gallery in collaboration with the Save Ellis Island Foundation. This marks my first official accreditation as a Fine Art Photographer, and I am honored that my images are now housed in a museum setting — representing a piece of American history.

Each photograph here is more than just an image; it is a story of memory, legacy, and place. As you visit this collection, I invite you to reflect on the endurance of our shared past, as preserved by the passion and dedication of the Save Ellis Island team.

To the Save Ellis Island Foundation: thank you for entrusting me with this opportunity. Your commitment to restoring and safeguarding this iconic site gives artists like me a rare platform — one I will cherish always.

Visit saveellisisland.org to see my gallery. 

 Light, line, and restraint. This gallery studies how cities organize themselves—glass curving around steel, grids dissolving into reflections, and sunstars that turn hard noon into measured flare. Chicago’s elevated ‘L’ slices the scene in arcs and right angles; towers like Marina City press circles against a skyline of planes and edges. I lean into vanishing lines, negative space, and a minimalist read—paring away clutter so structure can speak. The result isn’t documentation; it’s cadence: geometry, shadow, and reflection held just long enough to feel the order beneath all that motion. These sets will evolve as new cities and forms enter the frame. 

 This is where noise becomes shape. A voice cracks into the mic, a guitar leaves the ground, and the lights cut the air into lines you can feel. I chase those seconds when a crowd inhales together and the stage turns to silhouette—faces disappear, but the story gets louder. Backlight and haze draw the outlines; what’s left out (all that open darkness) is the pause that makes the downbeat hit harder. Every frame is about that surge between artist and audience, the hand raised, the leap mid-flight, the lyric you swear was meant for you. These shows change me, so this gallery will keep changing too—new cities, new stages, same heartbeat: be there when the shutter finds the note. 

 Small human truths, quietly found. A man sleeps with his world packed beside him; a chess hand hovers before the piece lands; a subway breathes between announcements; arches, libraries, and night traffic sketch the city’s pulse while we pass by. I move slowly and stay present, letting moments arrive without asking them to pose—dignity first, story second. The frame is a hush in the noise: a bench, a tile, a window, a fence—each one a soft metronome for ordinary heroics. These pictures aren’t about spectacle; they’re about the pause you feel when a life brushes yours and keeps going. This gallery will keep changing as new blocks, stations, and faces teach me how to listen better to the street—where photographs are made in public spaces and held at the instant a truth reveals itself. 

 This gallery is not about decay for shock. It’s about time—how a room holds sunlight, how a number on a wall points back to hands and voices. I keep scenes true and un-staged so their dignity stays intact; the goal is to honor what was and is, not to sensationalize what’s broken. Out of peeling paint and scratched glass, there’s a quiet kind of beauty: the kind that accepts impermanence and still finds meaning. That’s the invitation—see what remains, not just what’s missing. The series will keep growing as new places surface and old ones change with the seasons and light.