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.
No Words
The Wild
The silence that extended out across the lake was as tangible as the water beneath us. Birds circled high overhead, darting down toward the water, landing on the distance. All around us the Universe continued its violent expansion, and yet the only sounds we could hear were our own. Josh’s rhythmic breathing cut through the air, while our paddles propelled us closer to our objective. Hardly a word was spoken between the steady, methodical strokes.
On a whim, Josh and I had left Salt Lake City at 9 o’clock the night before, driving the requisite four and half hours to get to Jackson, Wyoming. By the time we arrived and found a place to crash, it was 2 am. Exhausted, we spent an hour packing, unpacking, and repacking the kayak, in order to get all of our gear to fit. When we were finished, we decided to take an hour nap, a decision that would later prove to be frustrating.
Waking up at 4, we carried the kayak about ¼ mile to get to Jackson Lake. It was dark when we put in, and not a soul was in sight. The stars above arced out across the heavens, illuminating the lake with a billion points of light. 30 minutes into our paddle, the sun was lurking below the horizon.
To our west, we could see our goal, Mt. Moran, rising above trees that crept down to the shore. As the sun rose higher, light moved down its slope onto the lake, warming the air around us. Within minutes, we realized the day was going to be much hotter than we had anticipated.
After about two hours of paddling, we arrived at the base of Mt. Moran, pulling the kayak up onto the sand. The snow was still deep from the heavy winter, so we were able to start skinning just pass the edge of the lake.
Climbing higher and higher, we realized that we had misjudged how long it would take us. Arriving just below the final couloir we stopped to assess. Disappointed in our time management, exhausted from our lack of sleep, we briefly discussed our goal and decided to pull the plug. The weather was just too warm and the snow was quickly turning into crud.
The skiing wasn’t anything memorable; shitty concrete, pockets of creamed corn, mixed with some aggressive tomahawking down to the flats. What stood out to me though was the paddle earlier that morning; The blisters covering my hands. The water dripping down the paddle, soaking my shirt. The cool air against my face, The silence. It was definitely the silence.
A Practice in Patience
Simferopol, Ukraine - If you’ve ever sat in a park or a cafe and just observed what’s going on, you’ll notice that almost every person is on their cellphone. If they’re not directly interacting with someone in the vicinity, they’re glued to their screens. Why is this? What sort of habit has this become? It seems that more than ever before, we’ve become disconnected with our surroundings, never looking up to enjoy ourselves. I’m guilty of this just like the next person, but every once in a while, I’ll step out and just watch. This is one of my favorite things to do when I travel. Observing my surroundings and taking everything in. Often times, I don’t ever see anything I want, and it just becomes a practice in patience, but every once in a while, the stars align and a scene slowly moves together.
In this shot, I watched as subject after subject walked by. I photographed a few other people, but it wasn’t until this kid came by on his phone that I felt like I got something that I really liked. I’m not 100% sure what it is I like about it. It could have been his positioning, or because he was on his phone, but after I photographed him, I felt like I could move on.
He Spoke of the Loneliness
Montana, USA - We sat at the bar, gathered around a chunk of rock, staring at it closely. He leaned in, his weathered face looking at the rock, then up at us. “Do you see it?” We all looked closer, examining the rock as he moved it back and forth. “Gold”, he said. “That’s how you can tell. Gold doesn’t reflect the light like the other rock around it”. We all nodded, unsure if we actually understood what he was saying, but all agreeing that it did look different. Relaxing in our seats a little, he set the rock down and began to tell us a series of riddles. Every time he finished the riddle, he would look at us, repeating a line or two. I’ve never been very good at riddles, but I surprised myself by getting a few right.
Joshua was a character. Before moving to Montana, he had resided up in Alaska in a cabin he built himself. Living alone in the bush had taken its toll, though. Speaking of his experience up north, he shrunk a little, and his voice softened. He spoke of the loneliness, and how unbearable it became. How it was the reason for his move south. He looked down, fumbling with the rock in between his hands, exhaling with a sigh.
The Ocean Moving Before Me
Occasionally when things get really stressful, the only thing I want more than anything is to get away and unplug. No phone, no computer, no internet. At night, I imagine the sound of the ocean moving before me, stars trailing out across the evening sky, and I’m the only person around for hundreds of miles. Even if I wasn’t, it’s the feeling that is nice. I have huge amounts of respect for those people that set out on this course, and am constantly looking for an out.
On a past adventure to Iceland, I saw this tiny old home while driving around. Walking up, I peered through windows and poked my head inside. The smell of decay was thick. It’s current inhabitants scurried about, while it’s past inhabitants were nothing more than a memory. That night, I slept in the remnants of an old stone foundation farther up the road. The wind was howling, and it was a nice respite from the incessant gale. After donning my earplugs and rolling onto my back, I stared up into the abyss and sank deeper into the infinite that is the mind.
A Ribbon of Blue
On a hot summer day in Utah, three friends navigate the narrow, water filled passageways of Zero Gravity, A slot canyon in the San Rafael Swell.
It’s a surreal experience walking through such a tall narrow corridor, moving deeper and deeper into the canyon, descending into pools of water where, no matter how hard you try, you just can’t seem to touch the bottom. Watching as the sky above turns into a ribbon of blue, a reminder of what’s outside this strange ecosystem. It’s definitely an experience that one should embark on at least once.
The Outer Reaches of Space
Music has always been a huge part of my life. At a young age, my mother forced me to play the piano for 30 minutes a day, 5 days a week. I hated every minute of it. It wasn’t until I quit taking lessons 7 years later that I really started to appreciate it. These days, if I get a chance, I still like to sit down and play what I can remember, but if I could learn any new instrument, it would be the violin. It is such a passionate instrument that elicits so much emotion. Hopefully one of these days i'll be able to sit down and give it a try.
In a nondescript building nestled in downtown Salt Lake City, sits one of the world’s top violin making schools, where people from all over spend years learning the intricacies that are required to produce the instruments that in turn create the music that moves the deepest part of the soul.
I spent some time walking around, shooting some photos, watching how focused all the students were, and the level of attentiveness was mind blowing. Throughout my time there, they talked to each other, and told jokes, but when it came time to work on their violin, their gaze steadied and the conversations drifted off into the outer reaches of space.
Until the Pavement Ended
Foros, Ukraine - I remember my dad taking me and my siblings fishing at an early age, maybe 6 or 7. Venturing out into the wilderness of Teton Valley, we’d drive for what seemed like forever down winding roads, through valleys, over mountain passes, until the pavement ended. The sound of gravel crunching beneath our tires was an indicator that we were almost there. Soon after, he’d pull over and we’d rush out, running about like feral children.
Following him to the creek, we’d grab the night crawlers that he’d purchased at the gas station, giggling and squirming as we slid the worms onto the hook. Whether or not we caught anything is up for debate, but I'm pretty sure we all had a good time. I don’t think I’ve fished since that age, however I still look back fondly at those times spent sitting in the grass next to a fishing hole, waiting for the bobber to disappear below the surface.
While in Ukraine, I watched this man participate in a similar ritual. There weren’t any bobbers or kids running around, but It seemed to be all the same.
First Breath
Walden, CO - We had just finished up filming for the day, documenting an unsupported cycling race across the United States and I had some time, so I grabbed my rolleiflex and ran down to the pond. In hindsight, I should have also filmed some scenics, but I must admit that was the furthest thing from my mind. The sunset was going off, and the scene around the pond was mesmerizing. That’s one thing that I enjoy about shooting film. It seems like when I do, my mind clears and I focus on what’s in my hands and my surroundings. I quit thinking about problems that i’m having in my life, and I take my first breath.
The Quiet Calm
Denali National Park, Alaska - Mountains stand, jutting straight up from the valley floor. And while the quiet calm washes over those willing to accept the challenge, filling the human spirit with determination and hope, they continue their stand, ready and willing to break anyone that isn’t up for the task.
Within the Infinite, There is this One Moment
Kunming, China- One thing that I love and hate about shooting voyeuristically is that I don't know what's going on in the situation. I can sit there and watch for hours and make my own assumptions, but at the end of the day, they're my assumptions, which aren't always correct. This is both a blessing and curse. There is a part of me that really wants to know what those men are talking about, what their lives are like at home, are they happy, sad, who their friends are, etc…, but the other part of me loves that I don't know, nor will I ever know. I've captured a scene that has endless beginnings and endings, but within the infinite there is this one moment, and to me, that one moment speaks volumes.