This was one of the last good images I created before my injury (what else do I call it?). It’s been special to me for the last year or so, and until recently I didn’t know why. But it very recently clicked (the puns are strong this evening!). I was dead set on the path to make an image. I knew exactly what I wanted – sea smoke – and I didn’t get it, and I was pretty disappointed. But then I created this image. Something beautiful came out of adversity. I see that parallel in my life. The cold, transitioning into warmth. The gentle curve of the soft cloud mimicking the hard rock and ice. A clash of textures. So similar to life.
“Oh, rarely had the words poured from my penny pencil with such feverish fluidity.”
– Ralphie, some time before Christmas, 1940s
There was a time I couldn’t even look at my camera
Pain and paralysis stole my mobility—and nearly stole my art. For years, long hikes, gym sessions, and cold morning shoots were gone. Photography, my escape, my heartbeat, had become a reminder of everything I had lost.
But during my recovery from spinal cord surgery, something unexpected happened. Flat on my back, I started scrolling through my old photographs on my iPad. At first, it hurt. But slowly, as the pain receded like the tide, the anger melted away, replaced by something softer: hope.
These images reminded me of who I still was, beneath the pain and the waiting. They reminded me why I loved photography—and why I needed it to survive.
Rediscovering the Art of Printing
Eventually, I powered up my printer, dusted off dried ink, and began making prints again. This time, they weren’t just proofs. They were pieces of me—moments I had fought for, memories that reminded me why I loved this art form in the first place.
I even wrote a book, Through My Eyes, as a way of reclaiming my story. Page by page, photograph by photograph, I felt like I was taking back ground I thought I’d lost forever.
A Little Hope
I would also like to tease a little bit about Hope. I finished the writing today—210 pages and 78 images. I’ve spent the last six weeks overthinking the cover photo, and something a woman at my book signing said about one of my images on display told me which image to choose. Thank goodness—now I can move on to months of second-guessing myself. Don’t we all struggle a bit with that?
I have to say, I’ve gotten significantly better at managing anxiety. Photography has helped with this, as I find myself falling into a hole, so involved in creating, in the work—that connection? That’s mindfulness. Being here and now, not worrying about the future or ruminating on the past.
Anyway, other than a few tweaks, I’m calling it done and kicking off the publishing process.
BTW, if anyone is interested in a real read of this—like an editor-type person who would be willing to give it a read and offer feedback—send me an email or give me a call. Let’s talk. Contact information is, well, on the Contacts page.
From Printer to Wall: Behind the Print
Every print has a story. They all start the same, a spark of inspiration. An idea in my head, or something that catches my eye. Sometimes its obvious, other times I really have to dig to reveal what I was looking for.
Working the scene, trying to take a three dimensional world and translate it into a two dimensional medium. To make it make sense. To take the file and work it on the computer, much as the masters of print like Ansel Adams and Clyde Butcher worked in their darkrooms. Huddled over the printer and keyboard upstairs in my office, making tiny adjustments. What Ansel Adams referred to as tonal mistakes that God had made.
The final sound, the printer winding up, print head flying about the slowly advancing paper. Transforming a crisp white piece of textured paper into a feeling, an emotion that I had chased down over the course of a dark and lonely morning.
That’s what my podcast, Behind the Print, is going to be all about. We go from printer to wall, exploring the process, the inspiration, and the heart behind every image. Each print isn’t just ink on paper—it’s proof of survival, hope, and the beauty that emerges from struggle.
You can find Behind The Print on all the social outlets, look for the first episode soon.
Why This Matters
Photography isn’t just about the image—it’s about connection. Connection to memory, to place, and to the human experience. These images, and the story behind them, are proof that beauty can be found even in the hardest seasons. They are a reminder that hope and resilience often arrive in unexpected ways.
Join the Journey
I share this story not just to tell you what I’ve been through, but to show you what art can do. If you’ve ever faced pain, loss, or doubt, let this be a reminder: light always breaks through.
