The Adventure of It All

Creating great art requires dedication and attention to detail. Months of research and planning go into every successful trip to build my collections. The journey begins with finding an emotional connection and pairing it with the right subject, timing, lighting, and location. This meticulous process involves countless phone calls, spreadsheets, Google Earth scouting, route planning, and scheduling. When the trip finally arrives, I feel like a “kid in a candy store,” eager for the adventure of documenting these places and telling their stories. While the artwork is the final product, the creative process is just as memorable and meaningful.

I’ve spent nights sleeping in my car to immerse myself in the landscapes I photograph. A week in the Badlands of South Dakota and another in Yellowstone National Park and the Grand Tetons in Wyoming are just two examples. These journeys test my understanding of a place and often transform my perspective. As I spend nearly every moment immersed in these environments, I develop a deeper connection to their essence and spirit. This approach allows me to create images that resonate emotionally. I’m not a tourist but a temporary resident, striving to capture the soul of these places.

During a break from my second master’s degree, I ventured onto the prairie, chasing storms that had been building all afternoon. I found myself on a favorite dirt road, high on a bluff, with no structures in sight. The sky erupted into a dramatic display of rippled clouds, rain silhouettes backlit by the sun, and towering cumulonimbus formations. Everywhere I looked, I saw incredible compositions. Framing one shot led to another, and the wind whipped me around as I tried to capture the scene. I returned home exhilarated by the day’s drama, convinced I had captured something extraordinary.

A few days later, I loaded the images onto my computer. As I scrolled through them, disappointment set in. The photographs failed to convey the intensity and beauty I had experienced. I thought, “This is what it looked like? It felt so much different!” Realizing I hadn’t captured anything worthy of sharing, I set the images aside.

Yet, I have no regrets about that day. The memories of standing amidst nature’s power remain vivid. I was present, humbled by the unfolding natural drama and the profound isolation. Even without a stunning photograph, the experience itself was invaluable.

If I had to choose between nature and my artwork, I would choose nature every time. It’s essential to maintain perspective: my artwork is a product of nature, but nature is not a product of my artwork.