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This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Graeme Kennedy, a Canadian photographer based in Shanghai. His words have been edited for length and clarity.

I grew up in a small town in the Canadian Rockies in the kind of place where you help your neighbor shovel snow off their sidewalk just because. My childhood was spent climbing trees, biking, and skiing.

Sadly, the nature that drew in tourists year-round was lost on me. I wanted to get out of that 4,000-person town.

At 18, I moved to Thailand to work in a school’s marketing department, then to London for two years, and finally, in a bold leap, to Shanghai in 2014. Despite my narrow understanding of China, fueled by the politically-charged headlines that often painted a gray picture, I bought a one-way ticket.

Landing in China

My first five years in Shanghai were spent in marketing and creative direction for a British international school and a luxury hospitality company. It was stable work, but I felt a growing discontent. The allure of China’s vastness extended far beyond the confines of a 9-to-6 office desk.

Photography had always been my passion, a key that opened doors and offered glimpses into the lives of others. It had provided me with an excuse to travel with purpose and engage with the world more deeply. Whether photographing mushroom harvesting in Lishui or documenting cacao production in Tanzania, each click of the shutter drew me closer to understanding life’s complexities.

My motto, “Just say yes,” became a guiding principle.

No formal training

I never studied photography; I taught myself. Whether I was shooting for a school newspaper or creating day-to-day content for a marketing department, photography was always connected to the work I was doing. I just never thought it could be a career.

During my last full-time job, I started taking on photography work on the side to make some extra money. I’d done a few shoots on weekends and evenings, but without a business, I couldn’t legally accept payments. Starting a company felt daunting, but I eventually realized the rewards outweighed the risks.

In 2019, I launched my own photography company. I made very little at first, but once everything was set up, I could finally accept payments from clients who had been waiting to pay me. That gave me enough to get through the first couple of months.

At first, I was earning less than 20,000 RMB a month — barely enough to cover rent, food, and new camera gear. I took almost any project I could get, often for free, shooting friends’ restaurants, events, gyms, and bars. The goal wasn’t to make a lot of money right away. It was to build a portfolio, stay busy, and earn referrals.

Within a year, those connections and the work I put in led to bigger jobs.

Working for myself has meant slow months, expensive months, and windfall months. There were anxious nights waiting for payments so I could pay my staff, but it was never just about making money. The chaos is mine to be proud of. I get to travel, set my own schedule, and know that the effort I put in benefits me directly.

Finding stories through food

Even though I’m more involved in the business side these days, I still love being a photographer. Food has become a big focus of my work.

My mom was a dietitian, so I grew up appreciating the stories behind what we eat. To me, food isn’t just something you consume — it says a lot about a culture and a community.

I’m fascinated by everything that goes into making local dishes, from the people growing the ingredients to the kitchens where they’re prepared. That’s what motivates my photography.

I recently co-started the “SaintCavish” YouTube documentary series with a writer, Christopher St. Cavish, which, despite bootstrapping on a tight budget with a crew of under five people, got nominated for a James Beard Award. People in the West are curious about China. When our first season got 15 million views, we knew we were onto something.

Where is Home?

Looking back, I’ve realized that home isn’t as straightforward as I once thought.

For people who live overseas, it’s shaped by the experiences you have, the people around you, and how you change over time. When I first moved to Shanghai, I thought I’d only stay for a year.

Yet a decade later, I still have the keys to an apartment in Shanghai. I’ve put down roots here, surrounded by a community of creatives and entrepreneurs who have become like family.

I visit my family in Canada from time to time, but Shanghai is where I feel most at home.