Mooney

She photographs to remember—and to ask what memory leaves behind.

Mooney’s work lives in the in-between: between solitude and connection, stillness and motion, light and shadow. She’s drawn to the kinds of moments most people overlook: the quiet geometry of a train station bench, neon flickering in a midnight window, the way snow reorders a city’s rhythm. These are not just images, but memory traces—fragments of mood, architecture, gesture, and light that evoke something half-remembered and wholly felt.

She shoots almost exclusively on her iPhone, not as a constraint, but as a conscious choice to remain close to the world as she finds it—unpolished, intimate, and alive. The act of photographing becomes a way of noticing, of honoring the ordinary as poetic when truly seen.

There is a cinematic stillness to her images, but they do not aim to tell a singular story. Instead, Mooney is interested in presence—in how a certain composition, texture, or slant of light can stir something internal. Whether capturing a quiet sidewalk in snow, the interior hush of an exhibition hall, or the layered history of urban facades, she’s preserving not just place, but feeling.

I discovered Mooney’s work completely by chance—she is my skin client. One evening, over drinks and meaningful conversation, I became enamored with her spirit and sense of adventure. She is gentle, yet carries a strong, steady presence. When she shared her travel photos with me, I was blown away by her natural artistry and the way she sees the world through her lens. She is, without a doubt, a natural.