Something Greater

What moves us to that moment of silence?
When we stop and listen to the world while it speaks to us.
When, instead of rushing through life,
We stand with the stillness of a mountain, breathing in the sunset,
Letting the evening light fill our lungs,
The warmth wash over our body.

Eyes closed, we feel the flowers sway side to side through ribbons of light.
Mountains fade over time, only to rise again.
Life and death interweave, recycling themselves over again.

Our awe for the immensity of the world around us and what it feels like to find love are reflections,
Identical emotions running parallel through the deepest reaches of our hearts.
An overwhelming sense of belonging to something greater.
Filled with an inescapable feeling that we are not hopeless.
A fear we confront when faced with the silence of the unknown.

A Well Traveled Ridge

A group of climbers makes their way along a well traveled ridge off the top of the Aiguille du Midi in Chamonix, France. I came here on a few trips when I used to work for Camp4 Collective, and It was definitely one of my favorite locations. Great food, great crew, beautiful landscapes, amazing access. It really is one of the most spectacular places I’ve ever been, and I look forward to getting back there in the future.

A Distant Land

I stood on the corner, listening to the silence. It wasn’t like the complete and absolute silence that one might find in outer space, nor was it like the silence experienced while adventuring far across the ocean in a distant land. It was the silence that can only be found in certain parts of the west.

Mr. Fannypack

Split, Croatia - A young man walks by a school, plastered with graffiti. The sound of children fluttering around classes echo down onto the streets below, filling the surrounding area with an unrecognizable hum. I had parked across the street earlier in the day before I set off wandering around town. After a couple hours, I returned to my car and started packing up, but noticed this giant blank canvas in front of me. I walked back a bit and sat on a knee high retaining wall, patiently waiting for the right person to walk by. Sometimes I would see someone walking, and I would get excited, but a car would pass in front of me just as they moved into position. It took a bit; maybe 30 minutes before Mr. Fannypack found his way into my frame.

An Endless Field

In an endless field, on top of a slight hill, tucked away off a backroad in Kentucky sits a small barn. Unmoving, it braves the elements. Facing torrential rain as storm clouds race overhead. As night falls, clouds disperse and the moon appears, a sliver among stars.

Years pass, colors fade, and owners come and go, yet the barn remains steadfast. A monument to those around it. It is a symbol of the forces that shaped this country and a stoic reminder of the hard work and sacrifice that it takes to keep it running.

Different Than Us

Split, Croatia - On a narrow road lined with tiny vehicles, two women's lives meet for a brief moment.

I like the little things that make up a photo; laundry hanging to dry, air conditioners, satellite dishes, rows of cars. It’s an opportunity to look into how other people live their lives. And when we look at this overall picture, we see that they’re really not that much different than us. They might live halfway around the world in an unpronounceable country, but their needs are the same as ours, and that’s pretty humbling.

Authenticity

I don’t shoot portraits very often. It’s something I enjoy, however I definitely struggle with it. What helps is having an interesting subject. My friend Chad is one such subject.  Not only is he an incredibly talented wood worker, but he photographs well, although it could just be the beard.

I had another frame that was similar to this one, but without the scratch down the eye. Eventually I decided that I liked it more with the scratch than without. I think that in an age where perfection can be achieved with the click of a few buttons, there is something nice about authenticity. I’m not saying that touching up is wrong, but it’s a different form of art. Really, it just comes down to preference.

In Search of Sunlight

Beautiful eastern european architecture dots the shore of the Mediterranean near the town of Split, Croatia. Down by the waterfront the fisherman load their boats in the early morning light, while bells clang back and forth, making their presence known to all. The smell of fish was thick as I worked my way down the shoreline. After a while I ventured into a part of town that was less glamorous, a blight on the land. Large unfinished hotels lined the road. Their concrete pillars conflicting against the calming seascape behind them. The angles, sharp; The colors, drab. No life existed except for the few plants that had broken through the foundation on their quest for sunlight.

I crawled through a hole in the fence and wandered deeper into the structure. walking down dark hallways, passing dark rooms. Visions of me being stabbed flashed through my head. I picked my pace up a bit, while simultaneously rehearsed how I would choke out my attacker. As I exited the corridor, I entered a larger room, and all thoughts passed from my mind. It was amazing. Sunlight burst through small circular holes near the ceiling. The roof itself emanated light down toward me, cautiously lighting the surrounding area. I paused for a moment to take in the scene. After a while, the foreboding feeling returned and I left in search of sunlight.

The Black Sea

Despite all the political turmoil, Ukraine is an enchanting place to visit. Down on the coast of the Black Sea is a little resort town called Foros. Its cat-filled narrow alleys give way to sandy beaches, filled with people from all over the Eastern Bloc. The smell of borscht carries out from the eateries lining the coast, tempting people as they pass by. The water, a mixture of cold and warm, makes it pleasant on hot days, but chilly when the weather turns south. Early in the morning, it’s quiet, but as the day moves on, the beaches fill with children running around while their parents lay out, basking in the sun.

Ukraine was a lot of things, but this is how I choose to remember it.

Ground Down to Dust

I walked along a broken fence that led down to the coast, battered by the elements. A harsh cold wind whipped at my face as the clouds raced across the sky. I climbed around, exploring like a child, hopping from rock to rock, splashing in puddles, skipping stones. Sitting down, my back against a column, staring out across the tumultuous ocean in front of me, I take in the scene around me. The rocks that that surround me have been battling the elements for millions of years, slowly wearing down over time. Like us, someday, this rock will be gone, ground down to dust, its molecules mixing with the earth. The difference is that the rock has no control over its immediate future. It might be able to fight the storm far longer than any of us ever could, but what’s the point of fighting, if you're unsure as to why you're doing it.

The Surrounding Mountains

A couple weeks ago, I went for a bike ride down in Death Valley National Park. My brother and I drove down with hopes of riding a couple hundred miles, but after riding the first day, and overestimating our fitness, we didn’t push the other to go on a big ride the following day. Instead, we did some casual riding while I shot some photos. We couldn't have asked for better weather. The clouds were really moody, and every so often the sun would blast through, illuminating the surrounding mountains. If you’ve never been riding down in Death Valley, I would strongly encourage it.

The American Dream

The American dream is what has fueled immigration to this country since it was founded, but the path we take in life isn’t always dependent on the choices we make. Sometimes, because of the environment we’re born into, those choices are made for us, no matter how much we want to believe otherwise. Despite all of this, it doesn’t mean we never stop trying.

Across the Square

Banja Luka, Bosnia - The metallic chime of church bells echoed through the city. A handful of people milled about, some taking photos, while others sat on benches chatting with friends. Throughout the afternoon, churchgoers would meander in and out of the giant building dominating the surrounding landscape. As the afternoon turned to evening, a sliver of light moved slowly across the square, off the bricks, and up the stairs, fading as the sun disappeared. Before the sun left completely, the congregation made their way outside and off to their homes. Here, a straggler makes his way across the square.

The City Street Below

In a country that never sleeps, a man works through the night while his assistant stands idly by. I watched, mesmerized, as the slag rained down, rolling over the scaffolding onto the city street below, where cars raced by in a never ending train of chaos.