Biography

Dale was born on Friday the 13th and raised in a home shaped by generational absence and the quiet strength of women. His earliest memories are filled with the weight of religious devotion, the silence of unanswered prayers, and the looming specter of judgment. He believed in angels. He feared hell. Church was both sanctuary and theater—until it wasn’t. As the institution began to fracture under moral contradiction, Dale left, but its symbols stayed lodged in his subconscious. That rupture—between belief and the right to think for oneself—still echoes through his work.

He learned early how to sit with silence, how to find meaning in shadows. Photography didn’t arrive as a hobby, but as a purge. He began by documenting joy—faces at parties, glimpses of laughter—but it never felt honest. It wasn’t until he turned his lens toward isolation, toward what is scarred, discarded, or quietly enduring, that his vision took shape. Beneath it all hums a spiritual angst—a tension between reverence and rejection that gives the work its pulse.

His work often explores subjects suspended in emotional or spiritual tension—whether solitary figures, weathered relics, or fragments of decay. These elements do not pose; they confess. His work feels less like documentation and more like a parable—an offering for what has been lost, buried, or forgotten. There’s a quiet holiness in the way it holds space—for grief, for mystery, for the unspoken. It resists spectacle and perfection, favoring instead a confrontation with what lingers: pain, silence, and resilience.

Working with photographic and collage-based media, Dale constructs visual altars to the unseen—intimate spaces where vulnerability, memory, and spiritual dissonance quietly converge. Through his work, he holds space for fragility, contradiction, and the sacred discomfort of being alive.