We set out on Tre Cime di Lavaredo on the southern side of the mountain shortly before dawn, hiking past Rifugio Auronzo. This hike requires one to keep an eye on the trail, attending to variations in the terrain and weather patterns and as we hiked past Forcella Lavaredo the trail became increasingly hard.  At 9300’ above sea level the hike became more challenging while at the same time the higher we went, the more we were taken in by the desolate beauty of gray granite, white snow, and blue sky.

 A little more than 5 miles into the hike a cloud bank suddenly moved in, bringing fog so thick I could hardly see beyond my feet. At the same time the trail became wet and muddy in places making navigation difficult. After flying 4400 miles, tooling and retooling our ascent we decided to return to our vehicle. 

Not finishing Tre Cime di Lavaredo has become a metaphor for something important in my life. The unfinished mountain trail is often the most beautiful. Anyone who likes to hike can appreciate that sometimes reaching our destination is just not in the cards. I can think of many unfinished trails in my life, both real and metaphorical, but I look at these as gifts to help me see that whether you face a physical inability to make it to the end of the trail, or a realization that you're no longer the king of the hill that you were thirty years ago, what we aren't able to attain sometimes proves more powerful than anything within our reach. 

In the Loupe

01/06/2026

The sandstone cliffs of Ghost Ranch rise like ancient, sun-baked monoliths, their massive faces catching the first pale lavender of dawn. Before the heat of the day settles over the valley, I walk among the broken talus at the foot of the ridges, where the air is still cool enough to hold the scent of damp piñon and bruised sage. In this early light, the world is hushed, waiting for the sun to strike the heights. I sat for hours watching, I found my eyes drifting from the canvas of the cliffs to the sky above them. Hawks and ravens rose on the invisible thermals, and occasionally a golden eagle appeared, high, solitary, moving with a fluid grace that made effort look like a forgotten language. They did not seem in a hurry to arrive anywhere. Watching them navigate the vast, empty air, these birds, in their quiet, instinctual mastery of the wind, had taught me more about this landscape than words ever could.
In the subterranean stillness, a single human breath, briefly joining a place whose only enduring architects have been water, wind, and time. At the mouth of the sandstone canyon, the entrance is a sudden vertical fracture in the desert floor. Before we step inside, Vera pauses at the threshold. The old people, she tells us, never entered these shadows casually. They stopped here first to quiet the mind, preparing themselves to enter a place that required humility, so they might return to the sunlight in balance with the world. The Navajo call this place Tsé bighánílíní—the place where water runs through rocks. We leave the pale sun behind and descend into the earth. The walls rise more than a hundred feet above the dry wash, their sandstone sculpted by vanished torrents into flowing ribbons of amber, ochre, and deep violet. Every curve bears the memory of water. Every narrowing reminds us that absence can be a sculptor as patient as time.

04/15/2025

For m every image begins in the landscape, not on a computer. When I photograph I am working deliberately with light, composition, and exposure to create the strongest possible image in the moment. Years of studying the Zone System continue to shape the way I see, guiding how I place tones and preserve detail. Processing is intentionally restrained. Lightroom is used to refine the photograph, not reinvent it, through careful adjustments to tone, contrast, and color. I don't composite images, replace skies, or rely on heavy manipulation. My goal is to reveal what was already there. Every print is produced in my studio using a color-calibrated workflow, giving me complete control over the final image from capture to print. Photography, for me, has always been about seeing the light, not creating it.
I am honored and amazed to share that out of almost 2000 submissions, my photograph, "Divine Ascent", has been awarded a Jury Top 3 at the Art of the State Awards. My photograph is on exhibit at The State Museum of Pennsylvania thru January.
We set out on Tre Cime di Lavaredo
Annual "Art of the State" A feast for the eyes and the emotions; winners announced. 
No Masks Required!

The Unfinished Mountain Trail

6/18/2023

We set out on Tre Cime di Lavaredo on the southern side of the mountain shortly before dawn, hiking past Rifugio Auronzo. This hike requires one to keep an eye on the trail, attending to variations in the terrain and weather patterns and as we hiked past Forcella Lavaredo the trail became increasingly hard.  At 9300’ above sea level the hike became more challenging while at the same time the higher we went, the more we were taken in by the desolate beauty of gray granite, white snow, and blue sky.

 A little more than 5 miles into the hike a cloud bank suddenly moved in, bringing fog so thick I could hardly see beyond my feet. At the same time the trail became wet and muddy in places making navigation difficult. After flying 4400 miles, tooling and retooling our ascent we decided to return to our vehicle. 

Not finishing Tre Cime di Lavaredo has become a metaphor for something important in my life. The unfinished mountain trail is often the most beautiful. Anyone who likes to hike can appreciate that sometimes reaching our destination is just not in the cards. I can think of many unfinished trails in my life, both real and metaphorical, but I look at these as gifts to help me see that whether you face a physical inability to make it to the end of the trail, or a realization that you're no longer the king of the hill that you were thirty years ago, what we aren't able to attain sometimes proves more powerful than anything within our reach. 

Ghost Ranch is one of those places I find that offers the kind of solitude I seek. I sat there for hours watching hawks and ravens soar on thermals rising from the floor below. Now and then I'll see a lone eagle high overhead. They're lovers of solitude as well. What backpacking in the wilderness has taught me through the years, what I seek most in going into the wilderness is not exercise or escape, but a physical and spiritual connection.

In a remote area of northern Italy is a bright blue mountain lake in the heart of the Dolomites. Here, the play of light and shadow, the contours of wind and water on rock offer similes for spirit, change and migration. From this lake, I learn the importance of stillness. With that, comes an opportunity for reflection. When I look into reflections, I see myself; what I am or, perhaps, what I wish to become.     

I was alone in the forest, it was dark, deathly quiet and full of ghosts. The forest always remembers, and from her trees I seek wisdom. Trees can reveal startling secrets. Trees are in a web of interdependence, linked by a system of underground channels, where they perceive and connect and relate with an ancient intricacy and wisdom. From the free-standing oak, I learn that it takes bravery to stand alone in the world and I see beauty in its solitude and silence. From the roots, I am reminded of my own roots and the old people, along with my parents and my grandparents who taught me about respect.

From mountains I seek strength. The climb teaches me that persistence and resilience is required to reach the summit and the summit is where I learn how valuable it is to gain perspective and how to approach this world from a different angle. The mountain trail requires me to keep an eye on the trail, attending to variations in the terrain and the weather patterns of life. The unfinished mountain trail however, is often the most beautiful. Anyone who likes to hike can appreciate that sometimes reaching our destination is just not in the cards. I can think of many unfinished trails in my life, both real and metaphorical, but I look at these as gifts to help me see that whether you face a physical inability to make it to the end of the trail, or a realization that you're no longer the king of the hill that you were thirty years ago, what we aren't able to attain sometimes proves more powerful than anything within our reach. I grow, and I work towards becoming the version of me that will be required to reach the next summit. 

By photographing these beautiful moments beside the tranquil lakes and among the trees, and by turning them into art, I wish to impart some of the wisdom that I have learned along my journey. I hope to inspire others by sharing my stories; stories of growth, healing, transcendence and reconnection. l have helped others to create their own path that is worth walking. To be a part of the gestalt that helped me to grow in the first place, and I’ll step into that role when the opportunity presents itself. I’ll see if I can get an upward spiral happening, to be that person who is positive and uplifting with my fellow artists. It’s a good place to be, it’s a lot of fun, it’s a good ride and it leaves everyone in a better place.