My journey began in a darkroom at age twelve, standing next to my father and watching black-and-white prints appear in the developer tray. There, I learned to see light and shadow and to wait for an image to come through. I have practiced that patience ever since.

Over sixty years, my tools have changed many times. I have used 35mm, 6×7 medium format, and worked under the dark cloth of a 4×5 view camera. I quickly tried digital photography, using one of Canon’s first electronic still cameras in 1985. Now, I use a Fujifilm GFX 100 for its detail at any print size. Through all these changes, one idea has stayed the same: the camera is just a tool. The act of seeing is what matters.

I didn’t set out to focus on landscapes, but I kept coming back to them. Years spent climbing, skiing, and hiking alone took me deep into Washington State’s mountains, forests, deserts, and coastline. I still drive thousands of miles each year, searching for alpenglow on snowfields, changing weather on high ridges, and light on wet coastal rocks. My photos don’t show everywhere I have been—they show what has stayed with me.

Those chosen images became a book. A Lifetime of Seeing: Sixty Years in Light, Landscape, and Time brings together photos and reflections from sixty years behind the camera. It follows a single thread from the darkroom to the digital sensor: light, form, and timing. The hardcover is available on Amazon.

New work: abstract painting

After years of capturing the world as it is, I now create art that shows no world at all. My abstract paintings use acrylic, watercolor, and oil pastel. I paint on canvas, watercolor paper, Mylar, and even aluminum foil, picking each surface for how it takes and reflects light.

This change isn’t as big as it seems. For sixty years, my photos and paintings have focused on the same things: how colors sit next to each other, how a line moves quickly or slowly, and how a frame feels crowded or empty. Painting removes the mountain and the coastline, leaving only these relationships.

In abstract expressionism, each mark shows the artist’s physical and emotional state when it was made. Since there is no subject to read, the viewer is not interpreting a scene. The response is more immediate: a reaction to the visual event itself. That is why the works carry sizes and materials instead of descriptive titles. I want you to meet each piece without being told what to see.

Commercial work: Studio-99

Along with my personal work, I run Studio-99, a commercial photography studio in Washington State. The studio photographs industrial and multifamily properties, real estate, jewelry, cosmetics, fine art reproduction, food and drink, and lifestyle stories for brands. The promise is simple: real photography, smarter production, and bigger impact, all delivered in five days.

My commercial work and art influence each other. Photographing jewelry requires the same control of reflection and detail as capturing a snowfield at dawn. An empty building needs the same patience with light as a coastline. Every client project is handled individually, never from a template, because each one deserves personal attention. This discipline—balancing craft, deadlines, and a client’s vision—keeps my eye sharp when I return to the mountains or the canvas.