New Ideas in Landscape Photography

Has it All Been Done?

“For most of the last century, America’s cultural landscape—its fashion, art, music, design, entertainment—changed dramatically every 20 years or so. But these days, even as technological and scientific leaps have continued to revolutionize life, popular style has been stuck on repeat, consuming the past instead of creating the new.” ~ Kurt Andersen

While indulging in the rabbit hole that is YouTube one recent afternoon I happened upon an interview with Ian Anderson, aka Jethro Tull (apropos of nothing I am a huge progressive rock fan). At one point in the interview he stated his belief that all the breakthroughs and creative epiphanies in rock music happened from its inception in the 1950’s through the mid 1980’s and since then there has been nothing new, that over the last 30 years the trends in rock music have been nothing more than rehashes of past styles. He was not speaking to the originality of contemporary music artists, rather the dearth of new movements within the rock genre (e.g., R&B, progressive rock, heavy metal, punk, new wave, etc.). What about grunge, you say? Well, he argues that grunge is a recycling of the “fairly basic, rugged rock music” from the 70’s with some updates. Surely there are those who disagree with the assertion, and no doubt that disagreement is largely spread along age lines. Still, it naturally had me thinking of creative movements and breakthroughs in landscape photography. Have we seen it all?

Anderson’s belief is that we can’t endlessly expect things to be as creatively new and exciting as they once were. He goes on to say that most of what one can do has been done in rock music and perhaps even jazz and classical music. Sound familiar? With regards to landscape photography, there have been many movements and breakthroughs over the years, from pictorialism to straight photography to the advent of color photography and so on. There are those who believe that everything that could be photographed has been photographed, and I think that’s largely true. On the surface it sounds downright depressing. However, the silver lining is that not everything has been photographed by you. You have the potential of seeing a familiar object in a completely original way. It sounds nice, doesn’t it? But, let’s be honest, aren’t there only so many ways of seeing something? When a million photographers worldwide have photographed the Mesquite Dunes in Death Valley, are there really any new creative epiphanies happening? I don’t mean personal epiphanies, but rather with respect to the genre. As a whole, are we bringing anything new to the conversation, or are we simply seeing things as they’ve been seen before? Painting continued to evolve over centuries, has landscape photography already hit a wall after only 150 years? Will landscape photos look different 50 years from now? It’s difficult to imagine how as they don’t look all that different from 50 years ago when 35mm became the dominant format. Certainly the process of making photos will continue to rapidly evolve as it has thus far in the digital age. But, process doesn’t guarantee new creative epiphanies, just a new and different means to a familiar end.

I realize of course that none of us entered into landscape photography with the goal of inventing a brand new style or movement, to do so would be ludicrous and ultimately futile. It’s not about reinventing the genre, it’s about us, our own personal journey, discovering our own epiphanies. Personally speaking, I consider myself a good photographer. But, in no way am I the most creative photographer out there. I look at my work and wonder, is it just a recycling of the work of those photographers who inspire me? Thinking that gives me something to work toward. I can continue to explore the limits of my potential and work to push past them, hopefully adding something of my own to previously established ideas. It is certainly a challenge. Maybe innovation of the form is not as important as excellence of individual execution. Will I personally invent a heretofore unknown style? Doubtful. I think of the Allman Brothers, blending blues, rock, and jazz into a new and unique “sound,” what became known as Southern Rock. Alas, I am no Duane Allman. Dammit.

I find I am inclined to agree with Anderson, especially considering the myriad innovations in rock music in the 70’s, something we are unlikely to see again. Likewise, it is hard to imagine radically new breakthroughs and big ideas in landscape photography in the years ahead. Again, I am referring to ends, not means. Will the next generation of landscape photographers oversee a revolution in landscape photography? And if not, is that okay? What happens when an art form stagnates? Does it not ultimately die? A question I will continue to ponder while I listen to King Crimson.


In Defense of “Greatest Hits”

I often read about the virtues and benefits of photography projects. Without question they are a very popular way of working for many, if not most, photographers. Brooks Jensen, the editor of LensWork magazine, is a huge proponent, stating that “Random photography is fun, liberating, useful in its own way, but far less motivational than photography that is engaged in for a defined project. Simply said, wandering around the landscape looking for “greatest hits” photographs does not have the potential for success as trying to do a specific project.”  Indeed, the format of LensWork is predicated on the photography project. 

I am not a project-oriented photographer. It’s simply not how I am wired. Ideas for projects don’t naturally come to me as they do other photographers. It would seem this places me in the minority, a fact that causes me a fair degree of anxiety and doubt. I ask myself, am I missing out on something here? Am I holding myself back? To be clear, I am a fan of Brooks’, particularly his writings (his book Letting Go of the Camera is a must have in any photographer’s collection). However, I take umbrage to his views on this topic. To be fair, Jensen is not the only person to hold this view. I recently read an article by another photographer who labeled photos not part of a project as “greatest hits”. Apparently, this definition has taken hold. Why this narrow belief? 

I find the label “greatest hits” inaccurate and insulting. My issue is the rather narrow way in which the topic is defined and the assumptions on which it is based. One assumption is that “greatest hits” images result from being at the right place at the right time, a place we only visit once before moving on. Certainly that is one way of practicing photography, but it is not how I work. When I am in nature with my camera I am not trying to come home with any photos, great or otherwise. I visit familiar places over and over again, becoming intimately familiar with its character and moods. When I am out in nature I simply wander and observe, seeing and listening, and when so moved I make a photo. My approach to making photos is deliberate and with intent. Is that any different from that related to a project? Does one not wander when working on a project? Does one not work with intent? I find the idea of projects antithetical to my preferred way of working. I don’t like having preconceived ideas of what I am to photograph.

An oft stated advantage of project photography is that self-imposed limitations inherent in project work can fuel creativity, a belief with which I agree. However, I find plenty of limitations with my own photography, random or otherwise. The types of images I make, the places I visit, the conditions at hand, all place limitations on what I am to photograph. I also disagree with the notion that random photography is far less motivational. Motivation is entirely dependent on intent. Yes, if I wish to submit a photo essay to LensWork I need a set of 20 high quality images that are unified in theme. If that is not my goal then why does it matter? Communion with nature and self-discovery are my primary motivators when it comes to photography, both of which have little to do with projects.

I agree that projects are a great way to produce a cohesive set of images that explore a specific theme or concept at depth, I’m not refuting that. Moreover, the nature of projects makes them ideal for creating content around our images. A collection of images unified in theme readily lends itself to exhibits, articles, book ideas, the list goes on and on. However, I believe a stand alone image can tell a story and be every bit as expressive as a set of thematically similar photos. In fact, I find a series of photos that are too similar to be very boring, each image being nothing more than a subtle variation on a theme. It is also worthwhile to remember that projects need not be conceived beforehand and can come after the fact simply by reviewing our work and selecting those images that are unified in theme. The question of whether to pursue a project or not ultimately depends on the goal.

Should an idea for a project someday strike I will pursue it. Until that happens I will continue working as I have. Ultimately, I don’t look at my images as stand alone works of art, let alone a collection of “greatest hits”. They are all related in that they represent my vision, a part of a continuum of creative work, each piece building on the learnings from what came before. It could be argued my body of work is one long, ongoing project, united in vision and intent.


November Reflections

“After all, there seems to be no objective meaning in human existence; life has only whatever meaning you choose to give it.” ~ John Keats

Overnight the first snow of the season fell where I live. While only amounting to a heavy dusting it clings to the trees despite the gusty winds. As the dark of night gives way to the drab, gray light of morning I remind myself that we have yet to reach the half-way point of fall. Yesterday I heard Christmas music playing outside a shopping plaza, no doubt intended to fuel the holiday shopping craze. But, it’s still fall, and will be for several more weeks. One of the tragedies of adulthood is our inability to focus on the present, we so often are thinking of tomorrow, or worse, dwelling on the past. It is November 2nd. Winter is coming, but not today.

I hope to return to the mountains sometime this month to experience the woods in transition, “stick” season as some call it. It seems to me an almost vulgar name for such a quietly beautiful time of year. There are trails I have been meaning to explore for years now, this would be an excellent opportunity. Where I would stay is nestled in a quiet valley along a river, well away from the hustle and bustle of the larger towns. I try to encounter as few people as possible when I visit, just as I aim to deprive myself of news from the outside world. It is cathartic in ways I cannot explain.

Photography is easier this time of year, my attention no longer divided by the glitz of the fall foliage. I am reminded of a quote by Erich Fromm, “Creativity requires the courage to let go of certainties.” November offers no such guarantees, and for that I am grateful. I have found that many of my most meaningful images are made under such circumstances. I am sure some photographs will be made, but that is not the point. Wandering the woods with no particular destination, observing and listening, that is what it is all about. I find it difficult to maintain that mindset in the early weeks of fall when trying to make photos in between workshops and other obligations and I believe my photographs suffer for it.

Several friends and family have expressed dismay over the coming winter and the isolation it will bring, especially in these times. It may be an overstatement to say I am looking forward to it, but I am certainly not dreading it. Each season brings with it opportunity, and for me winter is a time of reflection and preparation. There is a new presentation in my mind that I would like to put together. I would like to get back to writing. It is November 2nd. Winter is coming. There is time.

Photo Competitions – A Better Way

I am not a fan of photography contests/competitions, especially within camera clubs. A shocker, I know. Anyone familiar with my work or thoughts knows of my disdain for contests in general. I realize it’s a somewhat tired subject, but it came up often in this fall’s workshops from the participants themselves, almost always in a negative way. It has led me to question why this activity continues to exist in the first place. I found myself pleasantly surprised to hear the griping. As an instructor I don’t like to see fellow photographers engaging in habits that inhibit growth. It gives me hope that we may finally move on from this tired and useless activity. It got me thinking that there has to be a better way.

I understand that photo competitions within camera clubs exist as a way of sharing and getting feedback on our work. We view the work of others and learn, not just by observing, but also from the judge’s comments. That’s in an ideal world. There are several problems with this model. Much of the griping centered around the judges. I recall from my tenure in a camera club many years back that finding quality judges is a difficult task at best. Many judges seem to possess no more knowledge of art or photography than the Rule of Thirds or other basic formulas and have little appreciation for creativity or originality. A bigger problem is the intrinsic subjective nature of the entire exercise. One judge’s trash is another’s treasure. Enter the same photo for two judges and get two different opinions. What can one possibly learn from that?

The most dangerous aspect of photo competitions is that they can breed conformity at the cost of personal creative development. In our desire to “win” we create and enter photos designed to appeal to the contest or judge’s tastes, the types of photos that do well in contests. In other words, we create for others rather than ourselves. Nothing could discourage creativity more than relenting to external forces. On more than one occasion I heard workshop participants evaluating a photo they made based on how well it would perform in their club’s competition. Steam was almost literally pouring out of my ears. It’s a mindset that needs to go, to say the least.

The first step in improving the situation is eliminating the competition part entirely. No awards. What is the point? The next step would be to have discourse between the photographer and judge. In my experience the judge evaluates the photos without any comments from the photographers. I believe that a photo can be much better evaluated when the judge knows something of the photographer’s motivation and intent. Of course, all of this assumes a qualified judge, which is anything but a given. A better way is to eliminate the judge entirely. Every camera club has members who range in experience from beginner to expert. Work would be shown and the members would comment in a kind, helpful, and constructive way with the more experienced photographers assuming something of a mentor role. Certainly that would be more rewarding than taking home meaningless ribbons every month. I have no doubt these ideas are nothing new and are in fact being used by groups and clubs already, I would simply like to see them become the rule rather than the exception.

Outside of camera clubs it would seem the primary reason for entering photo contests is that they are a great way of getting “discovered”. I have no doubt that winning a prestigious photo contest has served as a springboard for some photographers’ careers. However, I would argue that if the talent is truly there they would find success regardless. If the goal is to receive feedback on your work I would suggest having a portfolio review with a “professional” photographer with whom you share similar sensibilities, one whose work and philosophies align with your own. Ideally the reviewer would take the time to get to know you, your motivations and objectives. Only then can your work be constructively critiqued. 

My overarching reason for rejecting photo contests is that competition has no place in art. Winning is not the metric by which art should be evaluated. It’s not about who is better, it’s about your own personal development and achieving your potential. The ultimate judge of your work must be you, no one is more qualified. It takes time and practice, but eventually you will learn to critique your own work and evaluate your progress. 

Getting the Most Out of a Workshop

I have been leading photography workshops for four years now and have learned a great deal, most importantly how to express my own voice as an instructor, just as I’ve had as an artist. When I became a workshop instructor I decided the focus of my workshops was going to be on the creative side of photography rather than the technical. This doesn’t mean I am not happy to answer technical questions, but my desire is to help people not only with composition, but also to learn to “see” and express their own vision. It’s a challenge, not only for me, but also the participant because there is no recipe, no blueprint on how to achieve a desired outcome or product. I don’t believe creativity can be taught, at least not in the sense of making it happen. We each have to figure that out for ourselves. What can be taught is how to prepare for creativity and how it can be nurtured. That is my ultimate goal as a workshop instructor, to help other photographers learn to express their individuality.

Workshops provide a unique learning experience in that one has access not only to an experienced photographer, but fellow participants as well. For many photographers (myself included) it is a rare opportunity to socialize and learn from each other. However, workshops are not inexpensive. Over the past four years I have observed behaviors which I believe prevent participants from realizing the full potential a workshop offers. What follows are some ideas that I believe will make the workshop experience more productive and help make you a better photographer.

Have a Clear Objective(s)

During the introductions at the beginning of a workshop I ask each participant what it is they wish to learn or work on during our time together. Most will have an idea, which is good. I urge you to carefully consider beforehand what it is you wish to accomplish. From my perspective, my primary goal for you is not to come away with fabulous new images, but rather new learnings that you can apply on your own after the workshop. This is the difference between a workshop and a photo tour. I understand the desire to return home with a collection of wonderful new images, but that is something you can do on your own at any time. Use the workshop to learn, not only from me but the other participants as well. Good photos will happen in due course, but it should be viewed as a consequence, not a goal. We visit beautiful locations in a workshop, if you photograph nothing but the obvious you will undoubtedly come away with good photos, but you will have learned little. Embrace the unique opportunity for learning that a workshop offers. If you arrive with well-defined expectations the better I will be able to adapt the workshop to your needs. To that end…

Utilize the Instructor

Presumably (hopefully), the main reason you’re interested in a particular workshop is a connection you feel with the instructor’s work. At least, that’s what I tell myself. However, unless the instructor is a big name I realize that location also plays a role. Regardless of your reasons for attending, be sure to utilize the instructor to the fullest extent. In a recent workshop I admitted to often feeling bored when we are out in the field during a workshop. After a brief introduction to the location the participants do their thing and often ask few questions or request help. Some will go off on their own, and while I applaud their independence it means that I will have difficulty being present for them during the shoot. 

For several reasons I rarely make my own photos during a workshop. First and foremost I am there for you. I don’t wish for participants to feel as if they can’t disturb me. Second, I have photographed these places countless times, it is rare that I will encounter conditions I haven’t seen before. Finally, in order to make meaningful photos I have to truly see, which is impossible for me with other people around as I am easily distracted. The bottom line is that I am there to help you at all times. You are paying good money to attend a workshop, let me help you make it worth your while. 

Know Your Gear

Many participants use a workshop as a time to learn (or relearn) their gear. The problem is, unless I have the same camera (or a similar model by the same manufacturer) I can’t be of much help. I may know a good deal about photography, but there are far too many cameras on the market with which to be familiar. Learning your equipment is completely up to you. Too often I see students wasting precious time fumbling with their equipment (including the tripod) when they should be focused on much more important tasks like seeing and composition. I urge you to do a lot of shooting in the weeks or days leading up to the workshop so that you become intimately familiar with your camera and associated gear. This can be done anywhere, do it from your backyard. The goal of such an exercise is not to make beautiful images, but to become familiar enough with your gear so that you can make the most of your time in the upcoming workshop. I like to say that your camera should be so familiar to you that it’s almost like an extension of your hand. Shooting a good deal before a workshop will also have the added benefit of helping you identify issues that you would like to address with the instructor.

And finally…

Bring the Instructor Cookies

Lots of cookies. Preferably chocolate chip. A happy instructor makes for a happy workshop.


Please allow me a few moments to rant. I realize this is well-trodden territory, but I feel compelled. I will make it as entertaining as possible.

As an artist sharing his work I’ve always had a tolerate/hate relationship with social media. It certainly has never been love. The reasons are numerous and familiar to any photographer who is active on Facebook or Instagram. The ever increasing limited reach, the competition with thousands (if not millions) of photos posted every day, the far too-small photos, the lack of engagement from viewers beyond a cursory glance before moving on to the next post in their feed, the list goes on and on. 

Out of curiosity I read an article on how to outsmart the latest Instagram algorithm. I quickly learned that I’m screwed. Among the steps the article recommended taking were more frequent posting (um, no, I can’t stand when photographers post every day. You don’t have that much compelling work. You truly don’t), making videos (not gonna happen), creating Stories (I hate the Stories feature with a passion), and finally, and this is straight from the article, posting photos with “Bold colors. Breathtaking landscapes. The sort of stuff that gets people to stop in their tracks and smash “Like.””. Which anyone who is familiar with my work will realize is exactly NOT the type of photographs I produce. Subtlety and nuance? Black-and-white? Sorry, pal, no smashing “Like” for you!

I am aware that most of my disdain is personal and that for some people social media is very useful. We all have our own objectives and our satisfaction with it is based on our expectations. And I would be lying if I said nothing good has come from it. The issue is, it simply doesn’t jive with my values. The decision to not participate in the strategies or tactics to increase the eyes on my work is on me. I simply find the strategies abhorrent.   

So, what’s a photographer to do? Despite my misgivings I’m not going to quit social media, at least not yet (aren’t you relieved?). Why not? Well, I’m chicken. What I am going to do is start sharing photos via my newsletter. No more than two a month, I don’t wish to inundate people with more emails than they already receive. There will be no marketing, no agenda, just me sharing my work with those who have shown interest in my photography. Which means now is a great time to subscribe to my newsletter if you already haven’t. 

Rant over.


Called Out

In my workshops the focus is on making creative and personally expressive photos that go beyond merely literal recordings. To that end I discuss the rewards of photographing ordinary subjects and elevating the mundane. During a workshop of mine last year we were photographing one morning at one of the most iconic locations in the Adirondack Park. I observed that one of my students seemed a little displeased, and when I approached her about it she politely called me out for essentially “talking the talk, but not walking the walk.” She found visiting such a grand and iconic locale to be incongruous with my teachings. The nerve! Actually, I had to hand it to her, it was a fair and shrewd observation. It also made for a wonderful learning opportunity.

One of the most important and at times difficult tasks of a workshop instructor is dealing with expectations. The objectives of those attending workshops can vary greatly. Some are there for trophy hunting and look to the instructor to take them to places that offer the biggest bang for their buck, reducing the role of instructor to that of a tour guide. For others the focus is on learning, although there is still an expectation of visiting iconic locales and the hope of returning home with at least a few very high quality images. In time I hope to cultivate a reputation such that people who attend my workshops understand that it is more about the creative experience in nature and expressing oneself through their images. If they go home with a handful of great images to boot then that is a bonus, but not the objective. For the time being I try to manage expectations as best I can.

I explained this to her, but more than that I pointed out that just because we were visiting an iconic location doesn’t mean that one is obligated to get the iconic shot. In fact, seeing beyond the obvious first (or second, or even third) impression can be a great exercise in learning to not settle for the first thing you see. Often the first thing that catches our attention doesn’t make for the most creative or expressive photograph because it’s not the thing that makes us feel. Art is more about feeling than it is seeing. If you stand at Zabriskie Point in Death Valley the first thing you will see is what everyone who visits there sees. Brooks Jensen, artist and editor of Lenswork Magazine, advocates for first capturing the iconic shot just to get it out of your system so that you can begin to see other things. Whatever your way of working the important thing is to see and consider multiple opportunities for photo making and not be blinded by the glitz of the obvious. The best photographs are made with our heart, not our eyes.


The Brett Effect

I am still trying to figure out the kind of photographer I want to be. I’m not talking about my photos, that I’ve worked out. I’m talking about my identity as an artist. Do I want to be the sage, the photographer who speaks of all things related to creativity and living that life? Think … Continue reading “The Brett Effect”

I am still trying to figure out the kind of photographer I want to be. I’m not talking about my photos, that I’ve worked out. I’m talking about my identity as an artist. Do I want to be the sage, the photographer who speaks of all things related to creativity and living that life? Think of Guy Tal. Or, do I want to speak solely through my photos and embrace the nonverbal? Photography is a visual medium after all. Have you ever noticed that? For those who have been following me the last few years it would seem I’ve chosen the former. I suppose I have, but I’m not certain it’s truly me. I admire the photographers who have taken that role, but is it who I am?

I recently read the book Interviews With Master Photographers, which was published in the mid-1970s. It was fascinating to learn of the differences in philosophies between several extremely talented and accomplished artists. In particular I was struck by Brett Weston’s complete and utter refusal to discuss symbolism and philosophy when it came to his work, repeatedly stating that “I’m just a photographer, I’m not too verbal.” In this way he was the polar opposite of Minor White (also interviewed) and his Zen approach to photography and belief in Equivalence. And yet, Weston’s photographs clearly speak to his own unique vision. Why talk about that which can be so clearly seen? Here were two incredibly talented and unique artists who in certain ways couldn’t be more different. The lesson here obviously is that there is no right or wrong, only what is right for the individual. Which is precisely the point of this piece. Which is right for me? Which is right for you?

The good thing is I know who I am not. I know I have little interest in talking about the technical side of photography. That’s what Youtube is for. The are a million different ways to do this and that, and just as many photographers willing to tell you how. I am grateful for them for I too have benefitted from their knowledge. But, I have nothing new to offer that conversation.

Lately I have found myself growing weary of inspiring quotes and other reflective prose that accompanies many photos on social media. I have been one of the prime offenders. Are we intellectualizing too much, making all this out to be something more than it is? Taking it all so seriously? I still believe that the right text and image combination can elevate the whole to something greater than either of its parts. When it comes to all things creative I believe less is often more. Perhaps it’s simply the cycle of things or mood these days, but I find myself attracted to Brett Weston’s way of thinking. Stop saying so much and let the photograph do the talking. 



This was the scene recently outside my kitchen window. I was feeding the cats when I noticed it. I was not looking to make a photograph or even consciously thinking about photography at the time. And yet, I saw it. The contrast between the soft, scalloped curves of the snow and the hard, vertical lines of the fence as well as in tonality riveted me. I threw on my boots, grabbed the camera, and made the 10 foot trek out the back door into the wildness of my backyard. It occurred to me afterward that the experience is a perfect example of always living and thinking creatively.

Living the life of an artist is just that. It is a lifestyle, something that we live and breathe on a daily basis. It cannot be something we do on occasion, when conditions or time allows, otherwise being relegated to the back of our mind. The weekend warrior mentality does not work if we wish to grow creatively. We must always be thinking photographically. This doesn’t mean we have to make photos on a daily basis, which of course is unrealistic. Thinking creatively is a mindset that goes beyond the act of making pictures, although that is obviously an important component. Reading about art, reflecting on our own art, looking at the work of other artists, all of it is part and parcel of the creative lifestyle. The more we engage a creative mindset the more we train ourselves to think and see like an artist. In time seeing and thinking photographically will always at the forefront of our brains, even if we are not actively engaged in it at the time. 

It is doubtful I would have noticed this scene a few years ago, especially given that it is a departure from my usual “style”. (A man-made object in one of my photographs? Horrors!) That I did notice it at a time I was involved with other tasks is a direct consequence of having trained myself to always be open and receptive to things that stir an emotion within me. It is rare than an hour will pass that I do not at some point think about something related to photography and the act of creating. I used to think of it as an obsession, I now regard it more as an immersion into a creative mindset that allows me to always be seeing and feeling.  



This year marks 25 years that I have been passionately practicing photography. 25 years! Right now you’re probably thinking, “Really, and he’s not any better than this?!” On the wall in my home office is the first photo I made that was worthy of framing, a sunset over Lake Murray (no relation) in South Carolina. It’s actually not a bad photo. Good job, Mr. Murray. But, I digress. The first twelve years of picture making for me was a very on/of venture. Due to the limited vacation that comes with entering the corporate world and living in a place that was less than inspiring (save for two months of the year) weeks and often months would pass without the click of the shutter. My camera was very lonely then. Still, I thought about photography often. I subscribed to the major outdoor photography magazines of the day, gazed longingly at the beautiful photos wishing they were mine, and practiced when time allowed. Each spring as the wildflowers were blooming in the rolling ranch lands an hour outside of Houston I would mysteriously become ill with “bluebonnet fever”. After calling in sick to work (cough, cough) I would head out the door with camera in hand to spend the day in photographic bliss. I cut my teeth photographing the wildflowers those few years. I was not, however, a model corporate employee.

It wasn’t until my wife and I moved back to our home state of New York in 2007 that I began to make images in earnest. Two years prior I had quit my corporate job (I could maintain the charade for only so long) and began to work part-time as a consultant, an important step on my path to eventually becoming a full-time artist. It was also when I switched from film to digital (I was a late bloomer). My photos began to look better, a consequence of practice and digital technology. Still, after a few years I felt I was stagnating. Four years ago Guy Tal swept me off my feet and my photography changed forever. I haven’t looked back. 

I have now been a full-time photographer for almost three years, a culmination of a dream that began 25 years ago. And to think, it only took me 22 years! (Let that be a lesson for all you kids out there!). The past three years have seen many challenges, some expected, others not. Fortunately, I can say with all honesty that those challenges have been surpassed by the rewards. I am interested in seeing what the months and years ahead will bring. Will my photography continue to evolve as it has these last few years? Will the Dolphins ever win another Super Bowl? Will my cats grow up to become upstanding members of society? Time will tell.