Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming
A delicate underexposure of the sunrise through geyser basin steam in the heart of Yellowstone creates a hopeful, meditative image of light through the darkness, of clarity amidst the chaos. This is my answer to those who ask why I walk in the woods.
ARTIST STATEMENT: LISTEN TO THE WILD
Listen to the Wild is about slowing down and noticing beauty in the world, especially that which is in danger of being lost or taken for granted. I strive for simple, subtle images that capture the intimate experience of nature, not just the striking colors or scenic vistas. I try to pull you into the image, to re-create the essential human experience of being in awe of and in rhythm with the heartbeat of the natural landscape—a fading heartbeat that we must preserve, if not for the planet, then for the soul. Most of all, I want my work to remind you to leave the computer, turn off the television, open a window, and smile at the warm gift of sunlight on your face.
The message of my work also applies to its creation. For every exposure I make, I spend many more days in the field just observing, waiting for that rare moment when season, time, and weather add up to just the right light.
I rely on creative vision, practice, patience, and luck—not digital processing or other gimmicks. I use “old-fashioned” large-format film cameras without electronics. These cameras are much larger, slower, and more difficult to operate than 35mm or digital cameras, but produce incredibly detailed, nuanced images unattainable by any other means. While the world of photography is changing, my goal will always be the same: to inspire people to slow down and appreciate the world around them.
San Juan National Forest, Colorado
This image evokes the feeling of complete immersion in the wilderness, surrounded by trees as far as the eye can see. It makes me want to fill my lungs with cool, crisp autumn air in the Colorado mountains. I used a long lens on my 4x5 view camera to flatten the perspective and emphasize the density of the aspens.
Mohawk Dunes, Arizona
As a thunderstorm clears at twilight, primroses seize the opportunity to open like popcorn across the dunes. The delicate, white blossoms, opening for just one night, seem out of place in this landscape of coarse sand, harsh wind, and blistering heat. Yet sprout and blossom they do, quickly and vigorously, when conditions are just right in the dunes, a reminder of the value of patience and the rare beauty of the present moment.
Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument, Arizona
The desert wildflower bloom varies greatly in both magnitude and duration from year to year. In an exceptionally wet winter, when snow piles to the bottom branches on the high peaks, and wash bottoms that had faded to mere wrinkles in the dust course again with water, seeds that have lain forgotten for years awake to reclaim their ancestral lands. Mountainsides and valleys erupt in fireworks of wildflower celebration. Lupine, brittlebush, ocotillo, and delicate gold poppies cover this hillside in the usually parched Diablo Mountains.
Kofa National Wildlife Refuge, Arizona
The desert wildflower bloom varies greatly in both magnitude and duration from year to year. In an exceptionally wet winter, when snow piles to the bottom branches on the high peaks, and wash bottoms that had faded to mere wrinkles in the dust course again with water, seeds that have lain forgotten for years awake to reclaim their ancestral lands. Mountainsides and valleys erupt in fireworks of wildflower celebration. I shot this photo as a storm was clearing the mountains of the Kofa National Wildlife Refuge, blowing a sea of wildflowers around the stationary, and less ephemeral, chollas.
Zion National Park, Utah
I was drawn to the melody of water across the cobbles, the harmony of blue-green water, pink cliffs, and yellow leaves of this box elder growing in the Virgin River narrows. The river reminded me of change and renewel. A few weeks earlier I had been attracted to this same tree, although the leaves were green, and the water a muddy yellow from a recent flood, which had prevented me from hiking much farther.