While wandering without a plan, I followed a highway sign that led me to Champion, Wisconsin, and to a quiet graveyard where time seemed to pause. Beneath the shade of a tree, I met a young man named Kory who had just prayed for a photographer to appear. I had my gear in the car. What followed was more than a photoshootit was a divine appointment, a moment of stillness and connection that felt like it came from somewhere beyond. This is the story of the boy under the tree, and how faith, light, and an unexpected detour brought two strangers into a sacred moment.

I shared my story with someone I respected. I thought she’d understand—because she talks often about emotional intelligence and safe communication.

What I got instead was her final response:
“Men need to unlearn with other men. Best of luck.”

In that moment, the very point I wrote about became real.
I wasn’t asking to be fixed. I wasn’t asking for agreement.
I was asking to be seen. And instead, I was told to disappear.

This blog isn’t about blame. It’s about truth.
This is what happens when a man tries to speak from the heart—and the world refuses to hear it.

You want men to open up. But do you really know what it looks like when we do?
Has anyone ever taught you how to be a safe place for a man’s emotions?
I wrote this for the women who’ve never been shown how.
And for the men who are still holding it all inside.

A letter to Chef Mike Balistrieri—my former instructor at FVTC—who gave me the space to imagine, create, and grow. What started in a classroom has now become a business built on passion, purpose, and a mobile studio like no other.

On a quiet summer evening in Oshkosh, photographer Nathaniel Flauger set out on a spontaneous kayak trip—and left his camera behind. What followed was a surreal, storm-soaked journey through stillness, spirit, and unexpected beauty. This story captures the moment when presence became the picture, and a photographer let go to receive something deeper.

This blog shares the story behind my first newborn and family shoot, a session filled with gear issues, fading light, and unexpected reflection. What began as a moment of pride became a deeper conversation about experience, growth, and what it really means to be present behind the camera. Sometimes, the best lessons don’t come from perfect conditions, they come from how we adapt, reflect, and keep creating.

And that’s where the joke lands. Integrity Farms. A reference from South Park—Randy Marsh’s pot farm—but somehow it still hits home. In the show, it's satire. But beneath it, there's this desperate reach for authenticity in a world that’s gone hollow. That’s what I’m doing too—just with a camera instead of cannabis. Because that’s exactly what I’m doing. Cultivating integrity. Growing something real. Building a life that reflects who I am, without splitting myself to survive.

I didn’t leave work. I left servitude.
I didn’t quit. I claimed.

Now I walk the world as myself—no longer braced for survival, but grounded in purpose.
My photography is more than a job. It’s how I pray with my eyes open.”

"This mobile studio isn’t just gear in a trunk. It’s the result of every yes I whispered to myself when the world wasn’t looking."

"This journey has had its failures, uncertainty, and quiet victories. But every step brought me closer to my voice."