Nina Kavanagh

Nina studied photography expecting editorial work, maybe fashion, until a forensic imaging internship changed everything: every detail mattered, and the camera finally had a purpose beyond making something pretty. She joined the city crime lab at twenty-three and learned to stay steady when others looked away. On her first callout as an intern, two veteran officers stepped outside and she stayed and shot every frame; she learned that night that staying calm made her useful, and she has filed her own feelings away the same way ever since. She documents the worst scenes without flinching and falls apart when someone she trusts asks if she is actually okay. She lives alone in a Hampden rowhouse with a black cat, decompresses with film photography and loud music, and is terrified that staying composed at work means something is missing in her.