The Why of My Photography

For as long as I can remember, my instinct in the world has been to understand how things came to be. When I look at a glacier, my mind naturally begins calculating the deep time locked in its ice—how many miles it spans, how many seasons of snowfall built its mass, and how slowly it carves the earth beneath it. When I travel, ancient ruins leave me quiet, but tasting a regional dish sparks an urgent curiosity about the land, the soil, and the cultural necessity that shaped it. Wonder, for me, has never been a passive state; it is an active inquiry fueled by lifelong learning and creativity.

For decades, my camera was simply a record keeper of these travels and family milestones. When I took it underwater while scuba diving, I discovered that the lens could reveal hidden micro-worlds my bare eyes missed. Yet the technical friction of the housing and effort to take each photograph competed with the very awe I sought, forcing me to leave the camera behind to prioritze presence.

In retirement, however, photography has transformed into something entirely new. Through deliberate practice and workshops with generous artists, the camera has evolved from a distracting barrier into an instrument of deeper observation. It has become the bridge between my intellectual curiosity and my emotional experience of the natural world.

Nowhere was this clearer than in the high meadows of Crested Butte. With a macro lens in hand, my curiosity was sparked to see and understand the intricate anatomy of a single bloom. But standing among the wildflowers in the early morning, something deeper took over. I found myself bathing in the golden light filtering through lavender lupines, marveling at dew glistening on varigated foliage, and shifting mere inches to reveal how the light transformed a monochromatic patch of ferns into a rich tapestry of tone and texture.

This is the heart of why I make photographs. My images exist at the crossroads of the naturalist and the impressionist. The camera forces me to slow down, to look beyond the surface of a grand vista, and to engage intimately with the living systems around me. I do not photograph simply to document what a place looks like, but to translate the visceral sense of awe, connection, and understanding I feel within it—capturing a fleeting moment of natural beauty and rendering it into a personal, enduring expression of wonder.