From the Archives: Land of Light

I’ve never been interested in studio photography.

The way I see it, there’s way too much available light out there, ready and waiting to illuminate something beautiful.

You just need to find it.

Sara II | Santa Fe, New Mexico | July 2011


A triumphant return after a long absence from sharing my work is usually accompanied by a promise – or at least a sense of obligation in the back of my own mind – to keep it up. To make each new start the actual start of something new.

Ultimately, life gets in the way.

Much has changed in my life since the last time one of my photographs ventured into the world outside my collection of cameras, computers, CF cards and hard drives. So much that I’m having a hard time deciding where to start. Or if I should start.

Perhaps it’s time for a retrospective. Not a specific project with a daily deadline. That almost killed me last time. It’s difficult to create something I’m happy with six days in a row, let alone 60.

So I’m not going to make any promises with this post. I’m going to block out that sense of obligation. I’m just going to show you something new, and see where it goes from there.

The following image is from Grove of the Patriarchs in Mt. Rainier National Park. I surprised Sara with a weekend getaway to Mt. Rainier for our seventh wedding anniversary.

I don’t remember if there was anything significant about this tree, other than the fact that it’s just a really, ridiculously huge tree. I suppose that’s significant enough. I asked Sara to run around Really, Ridiculously Huge Tree to get a better sense of the massive scale.

What I saw was a sense of wonder.

Grove of the Patriarchs

New York

Back in October, Sara and I had the chance to spend a weekend in New York City for our anniversary.

It took me over two months to really take the time to sort through my images from our time there. And as I sit here trying to describe what it was like to venture across the Brooklyn Bridge into lower Manhattan, I find myself at a loss for words.

I’ll start with trying to make sense of two: New York.

It’s an experience.

It’s the city that makes other cities feel like small towns.

I like to think of myself as a city cyclist as I make my way through downtown Portland on my bike every day, but it just doesn’t compare to New York.

This metropolis of over eight million people, with its towering skyscrapers and overloaded streets is a lot to process. I’m going to try to do that as I continue to look through my images from that weekend in October.

This is my current favorite out of a couple hundred. It’s the first building I saw as Sara and I walked the length of the Brooklyn Bridge.

After some quick research, I found out that it’s a residential building designed by world-renowned architect, Frank Gehry. The building’s name?

New York.

New York

Season’s End

The baseball season is over. For me, at least.

I’m a Baltimore Orioles fan first, and an Oakland Athletics fan second. The O’s didn’t make it to the playoffs this year. The A’s were just eliminated tonight.

They lost the American League Division Series in five games. Just like last year. They lost to the Tigers. Just like last year. They were shut out by Justin Verlander. Just like last year.

I’m frustrated. Such is life for a sports fan.

This is an image from my first stint in Portland, when I worked as the Photography Intern for the now defunct Portland Beavers.

Baseball really is a photogenic sport, isn’t it?

BrowerBrower | July 2006

Under the Bridge

When I need to go somewhere these days, most of the time, I end up riding my bike. One of my regular commutes takes me along the Willamette River on the Eastbank Esplanade, a multipurpose path that goes under the Burnside, Morrison and Hawthorne Bridges.

When I’m riding on the Esplanade, I’m usually in commuting mode. I pay attention to my surroundings, but I don’t make a point to take in the scenery along the way. And while that’s great for getting to where I need to be on time, I bet I miss pictures like this one quite often.

I had no idea that the towers on the Burnside Bridge were lit up at night. Well, I’m sure I had noticed that before, but never from this angle. And I would have blown by the Burnside as usual if my water bottle hadn’t jumped out of its cage.

Under the Bridge