For the past ten years I’ve made a cross country road trip in July (and December) with Mojo to the east coast. That tradition continued this year, unfortunately without Mojo. I missed him immensely, but the nature of this trip was a lot different, which helped. The first leg was up through northern Nevada by truck and out to Colorado for some shooting/fly fishing. Afterward the truck was left in Denver where I hopped a flight to Reno for a two day commercial shoot. From there it was on to the north east by plane for our annual family vacation on Cape Cod. When that was over I picked up a car for a friend in upstate New York and drove it to him in Denver. Got back in my truck and we both went into the Colorado backcountry for several more days of fly fishing/shooting. Before heading home to San Diego we spent a few days with friends in Crested Butte. It was a great trip to put it mildly. Check back soon to see images from all of the above.
Looking up into the moss-draped canopy of hemlocks and cedars in a dense stretch of temperate rainforest.
Rainforest Photography - Canada
Vancouver Island Rainforest Photography
Photographing the Temperate Rainforests of British Columbia
Although the camera is how I earn a living, I still consider photography a hobby. Maybe obsession is the better word. I make photographs because I like making photographs. It doesn't particularly matter whether they wind up in a magazine, on somebody's wall, in an advertising campaign, or buried on a hard drive where nobody ever sees them. The act of looking for pictures is enough.
A few years ago Emily and I took a last-minute trip to Vancouver Island. We spent a few days wandering around Victoria before driving north and west toward Tofino. There wasn't any photography assignment attached to the trip and I didn't have a shot list. We were just traveling.
Naturally, I brought a camera.
One of the things that's impossible to ignore on Vancouver Island is the forest. The coastal temperate rainforests of British Columbia feel completely different from the landscapes I'm accustomed to photographing throughout the American West. Instead of distance, there's enclosure. Instead of open sky, there's canopy. Everything seems to be growing on top of everything else.
Trees grow out of fallen trees. Ferns come out of stumps. Moss hangs from branches and covers rocks. Roots disappear into the ground and reappear somewhere else.
It's visually chaotic.
Which is probably why I enjoyed photographing it so much.
Ancient Redcedars tower in the mist, their trunks draped with hanging moss, symbols of rainforest endurance.
Moss-covered limbs of a Bigleaf Maple stretch across a riverbank in the Vancouver Island rainforest — a timeless scene of the Pacific Northwest.
Finding Simple Photographs in a Complicated Place
I've never really classified myself as a "nature photographer" or even a "landscape photographer."
I'm just a photographer.
Cowboys, basketball hoops, barbershops, roadside America, fly fishing, trees—it doesn't make much difference to me. The subject changes, but the process is essentially the same. I'm walking around looking for something that makes me stop.
The rainforest presents an interesting problem because there is almost too much to look at.
Walk twenty feet into one and the entire frame can become green. Branches overlap branches. Vines, moss, ferns, roots, fallen timber and enormous tree trunks compete for attention.
The challenge isn't finding something to photograph. It's figuring out what to leave out.
That's something I've become increasingly interested in with my Minimalist Landscape Photography work. Rather than photographing the grand view, I'm often attracted to smaller relationships inside a landscape—a repeating pattern, a single shape, negative space, subtle changes in color, or the way light separates one thing from another.
The rainforest forced me to look that way.
Sometimes the photograph was a massive cedar disappearing upward into the canopy. Other times it was nothing more than the rhythm created by several narrow trunks standing beside one another.
There were roots hanging over riverbanks, ferns catching small amounts of light, moss-covered branches and trees that seemed to be growing sideways as much as upward.
The more time I spent walking around, the less interested I became in photographing "the rainforest."
I was interested in pieces of it.
Roots spilling over the edge, holding fast to earth even as the river pulls away
Layers of rainforest vegetation on Vancouver Island, with huckleberry leaves in the foreground and moss-laden Bigleaf Maples in the background.
The Quiet Side of Landscape Photography
Most traditional landscape photography is built around spectacle.
Big mountains. Sunsets. Dramatic skies. Famous viewpoints.
There's nothing wrong with that, but I've realized over the years that those aren't usually the landscapes I'm most interested in photographing.
I'm more attracted to places that don't immediately announce themselves.
A stand of trees. An empty road. Repeating grass. Fog. Water without anything happening on it. A strange patch of light.
Or a moss-covered tree somewhere on Vancouver Island.
These photographs eventually became part of a much larger body of work that I now think of as my Minimalist Landscape Prints—images made in different parts of the world that share a similar way of looking.
They're not necessarily photographs of important places.
They're photographs about paying attention.
And there's an important distinction there.
The Vancouver Island rainforest photographs fit naturally into that body of work because the experience of making them required exactly that kind of attention. Walking slowly. Looking past the obvious. Trying to organize a visually complicated place into something quieter.
Towering Western Redcedars rise from a carpet of green understory plants, their trunks textured with age.
A wooden boardwalk winds past massive Western Redcedar trees, their bark furrowed and dark with age.
Texture, Repetition and the Rainforest
What really stayed with me afterward was texture.
The forests seemed almost prehistoric.
Western red cedars and hemlocks rise through layers of vegetation while moss hangs from branches and fallen trees slowly become part of the forest floor. Everywhere you look, something is growing, decomposing, or becoming something else.
There is no clean separation between things.
And yet, inside all of that disorder, patterns start appearing.
Vertical tree trunks repeat through the frame.
Fern leaves echo one another.
Roots create lines through the soil.
Light moves through openings in the canopy and briefly separates one layer of green from another.
That's where the photographs started happening for me.
Not by trying to show everything, but by reducing everything.
The rainforest canopy of Western Hemlock and Redcedar creates a green cathedral above the boardwalk.
oss-laden trunks leaning at wild angles, showing the raw, tangled growth of Vancouver’s coastal rainforest.
Color and Black-and-White Rainforest Photographs
Some of these photographs needed color.
The almost ridiculous amount of green is part of the experience of being there. Moss, ferns and wet bark create subtle shifts between yellow-green, deep green and nearly black areas of shadow.
Other scenes worked better in black and white.
Removing the color turns the forest into shape, line and texture. Moss-covered branches become almost abstract. Tree trunks become repeating vertical marks. Tangled roots become drawings.
Those photographs feel less like descriptions of Vancouver Island and more like studies.
That's another connection to my minimalist landscape work. I'm not necessarily trying to show someone exactly what a place looked like.
I'm trying to show what caught my attention while I was standing there.
A massive decaying Redcedar stump, now host to moss, ferns, and new growth — the cycle of rainforest life.
Looking up through the canopy, the branches weave a cathedral of moss
Vancouver Island Rainforest Fine Art Prints
Several of these photographs are available as fine art prints and fit naturally alongside the quieter photographs in my Minimalist Landscape collection.
I like the idea of these images living in interiors because forests already contain many of the things I want the landscape photographs to bring into a room—organic shapes, repetition, texture and a sense of calm.
They're especially well suited to spaces where the artwork doesn't need to shout.
Homes, offices, hospitality spaces and other interiors can benefit from photographs that give the eye somewhere to rest rather than adding another layer of visual noise.
You can view the broader Minimalist Landscape Photography Prints collection here.
The collection includes photographs made across many years and many different landscapes—forests, coastlines, open fields, water, mountains and quiet roadside places—but they're connected by the same idea.
Pay attention long enough and ordinary places stop being ordinary.
A dense stand of slender Western Hemlocks, each draped in green moss, creates a quiet rhythm in the forest.
Branches heavy with moss, bending like arms under the weight of time
Rainforest Photography Licensing
The Vancouver Island photographs are also available for commercial and editorial licensing.
They can be licensed for editorial stories, travel publications, environmental projects, hospitality projects, advertising campaigns, websites and other commercial uses. Licensing is quoted according to the specific usage, including media, geography, duration and exclusivity.
For licensing, print inquiries, custom sizing, or help selecting photographs for an interior project, contact me directly.
Mostly, though, I'm glad I made them.
There was no assignment. No client. No reason to make any of these photographs other than the fact that walking around a rainforest with a camera seemed like a good way to spend the day.
Sometimes that's still the best reason to make a photograph.
Where giants stand, ferns and moss find their own quiet rhythm below
Roots tangled like fingers, gripping the ancient trunk in a slow-motion struggle
Kurt Markus
KURT MARKUS - COWBOY PHOTOGRAPHER
In the realm of Western/Cowboy photography there are a small handful of names that stand above all the rest: William Albert Allard, Bank Langmore, John Langmore, and Andy Anderson, but in my opinion Kurt Markus is the G.O.A.T. Few would argue. He passed away today. Not sure how it’s possible, but I didn’t learn about him until October 2021 during a road trip to Montana. Emily, Mojo, and I were staying at an old cabin Airbnb (1st picture) near Glacier National Park. Kurt’s book “Cowpuncher” was sitting on the coffee table. After looking through it for 30 seconds I put it down and instantly ordered myself a copy, feeling grateful that we even had cell service enough to do so. Since then, Markus has been the photographer I’ve studied/taken inspiration from more than anyone else on the planet. He is truly exceptional. What sets him apart is that his writing is just as strong as his images. Looking through his books and reading his stories makes the reader feel like they are right there experiencing the same thing he did. A special talent. I’m honored to own two of his books - Cowpuncher and Buckaroo. I believe his crown jewel though, is After Barbed Wire. A couple months ago I looked it up to buy, but was dissuade by the $150 price tag. No doubt, it’s worth every penny and more, but an honest effort has been made to cut back on my photo book “problem”. A while later another search went out in hopes of a better deal, resulting in the lowest price tag of $350. Yikes! During a recent road trip in Idaho, I found myself in an antique shop and spotted the book resting quietly in a locked cabinet. This is it, I thought! The owner couldn’t possibly be asking the same as the internet!? $400 - a signed 1st edition. Damnit!! The search continued. Now I check almost every antique shop that crosses my windshield from California to New York in hopes of finding the White Whale. So far, the results haven’t produced, and Google shows it valued as high as $800. On days like today, it seems like I should just fork it up. Rest in power, Kurt!
Click HERE to see some of my cowboy photography greatly inspired by Kurt Markus.
Photographing America
American Photography - Fine Art
Road Trip Photos - Travel
Walking away from our work can be such a benefit. Meaning that we need to not see it for quite some time to realize what’s good and what isn’t. The “America” series has, like most of my projects, been going on for ten years now. I love it, but things have reached the point where the library is so big that it’s overwhelming. Making it hard to share in any productive manner. Everything you seen in the post was made over the last two or three years, which is usually the amount of time it takes to make sense of it all. That’s not a good thing. It’s time to enlist the help of a professional editor.
Cowboy Portraits
Authentic Cowboy Portraits
Brought the lighting gear out to a cattle branding a few months ago to make some portraits of all the cowboys and cowgirls working on the ranch. Wanted the focus to just be the people and their gear without anything else to distract from that. Had a blast setting it all up and shooting in a horse trailer, but still undecided if I’ll stick with this style or not.
American Basketball Culture
Basketball Hoop Photography - American Sports Culture
10 years into this series and it’s still just as much fun documenting the sport of basketball as it was initially. It’s always interesting to think about the games played on hoops in different parts of the country. It’s also enjoyable to see the images and realize that each one was an experience in itself to make. The first photo here in Primm was taken on a day so windy that I had to brace myself with one leg five feet in front of the other. You can see how the net is being pushed backwards. The second shot is from a high school gym in the middle of a remodel. Door was wide open and not a sole in sight. The hoop in Santa Rosa is actually one I photographed 10 or so years ago under completely different conditions. That image from all those years ago is in the book. Crazy how a location so random can be unintentionally revisited. And shocking to see that there is still a chain net hanging from the rim. The last image was made on a road I’ve driven a hundred times and never noticed before.
American Motels
Road Trip Photography - American Culture
American Motels - Open Road - Americana
Another one of those subjects I can’t seem to stay away from - American Motels. Maybe it’s the nostalgia or all the time I’ve personally spent in them? Not sure. Said this in a recent post, but it was shocking to see how many of these old places had shut down during a trip out to Texas a few weeks ago. What a shame.
Cowboy Culture Photography
Cattle Branding - Cowboy Photography
There’s nothing staged about the kind of cowboy photographs I make. No hired models in brand-new hats. No one pretending to ride for the brand. Just real people doing real work day in and day out, in weather that doesn’t care if you’ve got a camera slung over your shoulder.
For the past 5 years I’ve been photographing working cowboys on ranches across the American West. Not for the sake of nostalgia or myth-making, but because this way of life still exists, and it’s worth documenting. It’s early mornings, long days, sore horses, busted hands, and wind that doesn’t quit. It’s also pride, precision, and an unspoken connection between the people, the animals, and the land.
Most of the time, I’m just trying to stay out of the way. The goal isn’t to direct or interrupt—it’s to be quiet, to watch, and to make images that feel true. The kind that a cowboy can look at and say, “Yeah, that’s how it really is.”
These photographs aren’t just about cowboy hats and boots (though those are in there too). They’re about culture. About people whose lives are shaped by purpose, place, and tradition. And if you spend enough time around it, you realize it’s not just a job. It’s a commitment. A way of seeing the world.
If you're interested in cowboy culture—not the romanticized version, but the actual, hard-earned life behind it, this collection of photographs is for you. No frills, no filters. Just the truth of the West, one frame at a time.
Click HERE to see more of my cowboy photography.
Click HERE to shop my collection of cowboy photography prints
ROAD TRIP
THE BAD:This past week was the first time in a while since I’ve been on this particular route through Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas. The findings were not good economically. It was hard to see so many familiar small town restaurants and hotels closed, boarded up, or in the process of being demolished. Maybe the timing was a coincidence, but you have to wonder if it was all the result of COVID? Either way it’s a shame.
THE GOOD: Road trips are always so much fun, educational, and therapeutic. This one had me shooting on a cattle ranch (The Four Sixes) in the Texas panhandle where I met some great people and had a hell of a lot of fun shooting with them. Will be a while until I can post those images. So for now you can click HERE to see more of my Cowboy photography.
European Travel Photography
Street Photography - Europe
Round two of sharing old work from the archive. One of the positives to come out of COVID is the gratitude we gained for things previously taken for granted. Never would anyone believe that something as simple as eating at their favorite local restaurant would be outlawed for more than a year. For Emily and I, travel is always on the top of the list. There is nothing we enjoy more than aimlessly exploring new places. Doesn’t matter if that “new” is a neighborhood in Southern California or a foreign country. Europe in late December 2019 was our last international trip before the lockdown. The only problem with trips like this is it just stokes the fire for the next one. Which is always a topic of conversation on the long plain ride home. Travel bans almost makes it better because you know there literally isn’t an option of going overseas. 2 years later though, we are itching. And looking through these images only makes it harder, but it will also make us more grateful when we finally do take another trip.
Basketball As A Global Language
Basketball Hoops in Europe
Street Basketball and Public Hoops Across European Countries
Basketball is often thought of as an American game, but travel quickly proves otherwise. While moving through cities and small towns across Europe, I began noticing basketball hoops tucked into courtyards, alleys, schoolyards, and public spaces—quietly integrated into daily life. These photographs document street basketball as it exists beyond professional arenas: worn backboards, improvised courts, and places where the game is played simply because space allows for it. What stood out was both the differences from home and the familiarity—evidence that basketball has become a shared, global language spoken in cities far from where the game began.
Basketball Culture Beyond the United States
By the time these photographs were made, I had already spent years documenting basketball hoops across the United States. That long-term work shaped how I saw the game elsewhere. In Europe, basketball didn’t announce itself with signage or formal courts; it appeared quietly—behind apartment buildings, beside schools, along the edges of public parks. The hoops were often worn, sometimes improvised, and clearly used. These weren’t destinations. They were part of the landscape.
Basketball as a Global Game
Basketball’s simplicity is what allows it to travel. A single hoop can turn almost any space into a court. In Europe, that adaptability felt especially apparent. Courts were smaller, surfaces uneven, and surroundings shaped by centuries of architecture rather than modern planning. Yet the game persisted, fitting itself into whatever space was available.
These photographs aren’t about organized play or competition. They focus instead on the presence of the game itself—how basketball exists even when no one is on the court. In that way, the hoops become markers of cultural exchange, evidence of how a game invented in one country has embedded itself into everyday life far beyond its origins.
What These European Hoops Reveal About Basketball in America
Seeing basketball in Europe reinforced something I had already been observing at home: the game belongs as much to ordinary places as it does to arenas. The same visual patterns repeat—bent rims, weathered backboards, courts shaped by their surroundings rather than by regulation. Basketball adapts to place, but it never loses its identity.
That realization continues to inform my ongoing work documenting basketball hoops across the United States. While the landscapes differ, the impulse behind the game feels universal. Basketball shows up wherever people live their lives, and the hoop often remains long after the players have gone—quiet, functional, and waiting.
An Ongoing Documentary Approach
This body of work exists alongside my long-term project photographing basketball hoops in America, where I continue to focus on rural towns, backyards, alleys, and overlooked spaces. Together, the images form a broader visual study of basketball as part of everyday life—one that crosses borders without losing its meaning.
Rather than treating these European photographs as a separate series, they function as context. They reinforce the idea that basketball isn’t confined to a single country or culture. It’s a shared language, expressed through place, architecture, and the simple presence of a hoop.
View More Global Basketball Hoop Photographs
American Backcourts - A long-term photography project documenting old, handmade, and overlooked basketball hoops found in small towns, rural yards, and quiet neighborhoods across the United States.
Vietnam Hoops - A photographic exploration of basketball hoops across Europe, where the game blends into historic streets, housing blocks, and everyday public spaces.
Venice Beach - A vibrant look at basketball culture in Venice Beach, California, where color, creativity, and public courts collide in one of the most iconic basketball environments in the world.
A basketball hoop stands in a small courtyard, framed by handmade brick and stone mosaics that blend public art and everyday basketball culture
A lone basketball hoop in a residential setting, photographed in black and white, highlighting the quieter side of European basketball culture.
A chain-net basketball hoop centered against a brick backdrop, highlighting durability and utility in European public courts.
A brightly colored basketball net hangs from an outdoor hoop, emphasizing the visual details that define everyday basketball culture in European cities.
Detail of a basketball hoop’s base, where metal, stone, and moss reveal the slow passage of time on an outdoor European court.
A straightforward view of an outdoor basketball hoop, photographed in black and white to focus on form, structure, and balance.
A red basketball backboard stands out against brick architecture, showing how outdoor courts are embedded within everyday European neighborhoods.
Seen through the rim of a basketball hoop, a church steeple rises in the background, placing the game within the architectural fabric of a European town.
A metal basketball backboard seen through fencing, reflecting the layered infrastructure common to many public courts across Europe.
Viewed through layers of fencing, an outdoor basketball hoop emphasizes access, separation, and the realities of shared public space.
A handmade wooden backboard with a bright orange rim highlights the improvised, personal nature of informal basketball spaces.
A basketball hoop at dusk, surrounded by fencing, captures the subdued atmosphere of an outdoor European court after daylight fades.
A solitary basketball hoop sits on a moss-covered outdoor court, reflecting the quieter, weathered character of many European public playing spaces.
A chain-net hoop framed by city windows, underscoring how basketball courts exist within dense European urban environments.
American Photographic Artists
APA is a great organization for photographers that I’m proud to be a member of. It’s filled with good people that support and help each other rather than looking at one another as competition. I recently did an interview with them which you can read here:
Traveling with Dogs
Road Tripping With Your Dog
Feel free to disagree with this, but the cost of being brilliant, truly brilliant, is that some parts of your brain are vacant. The important parts required for you to deliver your gift to the world require so much energy that the remainder is in a constant state of atrophy. Somewhere on one of my many shelves there's a great book that shares the “wisdom” of the world’s most brilliant people. Aside from the obvious takeaways I was struck by a man infinitely smarter than the rest of us who said that dogs don’t have a soul. “That’s just what you want to be true”. It’s fine to believe whatever it is you believe. We don’t all have to agree on everything, but how could a guy of unquestionable greatness, of unparalleled success, not understand something so obvious? He just didn’t get it.
I’ll never forget a woman stopping us on the street because Mojo reminded her of the dog she used to have. Without solicitation she said “We started taking care of him when our friend got sick (short pause), but really he was the one that took care of us”. That’s what it means to own a dog whether you realize it or not. Doesn’t matter if you think you’re on top of the world or barely scraping by. They are your rock. Seeing that wagging tail through the front door as you approach is the best thing since back roads. They don’t care that you got drunk and made an asshole of yourself at the company Christmas party, how many Instagram followers you have, or what kind of car you drive. Their job is to love and they take it very seriously.
Ask any proper dog owner about their pup and they’ll tell you he’s the best in the world. The funny thing is, they’re all right. Obviously bias is at play but the bond that can occur between human and K-9 if you let it is indescribable. So to say that our relationship with our dog was special isn’t a matter of competition or superiority, it’s just a fact. Makes no difference if that fact is only true to Emily and I. Something worth noting is that we don’t have or want children. So Mojo, who was once a pawn for prolonging marital engagement, became the centerpiece of our happy family. Everything revolved around him. And from his first days with us we began a life that was different. Not for the purpose of being different, but to live the way we wanted. The way that came natural to us. That “way” just happened to be on the road. He went everywhere with us. Literally. 200,000+ miles of everywhere. To 45 of the 50 states. Days, weeks, a month at a time was spent in the truck, together. He was there for every road trip from San Diego to the east coast and back. For every family vacation to Cape Cod, Christmas in upstate New York, fly fishing trips, camping, snowboarding, and of course our wedding. He’s stayed in more cheap hotels and seen more of this country than most humans we’ll ever meet. Talking about it now only reinforces how lucky we are. So how can I do him justice with words? How can I describe the bond we shared? I can’t. That’s not a skill I possess. Even if I did, would it be something people couldn’t understand? Our life on the road has been one that very few people experience. Most probably wouldn’t want to, and that’s ok. For me though, it’s the only way. A special life made truly monumental only by Mojo’s glowing presence and the countless people he’s affected along the way. Through it all he never once complained. Not even after 20 hours straight on pothole infested roads. Never. He just wanted to be with us.
What was Mojo like? For starters he was as majestic a dog as you’ll ever meet, which was an odd thing to address. Random people always commented on how handsome he was. Well, thanks, but we didn’t make him!? He loved adventure, especially in the snow. He was a stoic observer, gaining a lot of enjoyment from taking it all in. He loved but didn’t give away his love frugally. Even with us, outwardly showing love was rare, which made it all the more special to receive. He was a slave to food. A fault I’ll have to take blame for because he always got fed from the table, counter, campfire, tailgate, whatever. My mother didn’t help in that category either. He was always happy but also unimpressed with most things we did. If you tried to make him a puppet or the butt of a joke he would just look down his nose with a stare that made you question who was higher on the food chain. He cared. If ever we had a bad day he knew it and came to help by leaning his body into ours. Try to ignore it or tell him falsely that you were ok and he would paw to make you rub him until fully persuaded you really were ok. The rubbing wasn’t for him, it was for us. On days he truly wasn’t convinced, he’d eventually give up the pushing and sit at your feet. His presence alone made us better. He was protective. Especially of Emily. He was peaceful.
The list of things we will miss about him would require too much of your time and attention span, so i’ll keep it brief. His hair was a welcome nuisance. It’s everywhere and will be for the rest of our days, ensuring that we never forget him. On that note, he had the best neck of any dog I’ve ever met. Never was there a problem that couldn’t be fixed by burying your face in that thick mane of hair. People say that dogs don’t smile. That’s untrue. When either of us was gone for more than a week, upon our return Mojo would gift us, if we were lucky, with a smile that went from one of his giant ears to the other. Same goes for our friends that he selectively grew to love. As great as all the long trips were, it’s the simple things that will probably be the hardest. Morning walks, his calming presence, cleaning up his pork induced drool piles, the way he tilted his head when asked a question, the fact that he smelled like Frito’s after a stint in the truck, or maybe his stupendous resume of outstanding accomplishments like being sprayed 3 times by 3 different skunks and eating an entire case of Clif Bars in one sitting. Wrappers and all. He had plenty of shortcomings that frustrated us daily. They too will be greatly missed.
Death is inevitable for us all. Even more so for the pets we’re lucky to have throughout the course of life. You try to tell yourself you’ll be prepared when the time comes but that’s impossible. We lost Mojo just shy of his 10th birthday. Up until the very end he was happy and healthy. Nothing out of the ordinary that led us to believe he wouldn’t be around for another 4 years like we asked of Alladin’s Lamp. One day the week prior he dragged on an evening walk but was right back to normal the next day. Then on Saturday, March 20th Emily thought he was acting strange after dinner. As usual I brushed it off to her overreacting and the three of us went up to sleep like any other night. An hour later he made an odd commotion that woke me. So I sat down next to him and he immediately laid into me with his whole body. Not sure if I was comforting him or the other way around? Looking back I think he was telling me it’s all going to be ok. Either way I fought as hard as possible against everything that told me he was absolutely dying, and got back into bed after his breathing slowed. My crying woke Emily who took her turn laying with him in the dark next to my side of the bed. The stress of the what-if made the minutes crawl by as I went from watching the two of them, to staring through the ceiling. The nurse in her allowed for a calmness while whispering that he was having seizures and might not make it. She’s overreacting again!! But what if she isn’t?? I joined her on the floor as we both laid alongside him, our heads in his warm mane, crying. With continued calmness she urged me to relax so he didn’t take on my pain too. Minutes later his breathing stopped and he gently drifted away. The following 45 minutes weren’t pretty as we took turns breaking down, one consoling the other, until it was obvious a move had to be made. As much as we didn’t want to say goodbye, looking at a cold corpse the next morning would only further the agony. So we dropped him off at the 24 hour vet, drove home in a daze, cried a lot more, then got back into bed. Sleep wasn’t an option. Lying there in disbelief, tangible stages of emotion came on one after the other. Denial came first. No way that just happened. Had to be a nightmare. Then came the anxiety of reality followed by anger which was the worst and most selfish of them all. I thought, what the fuck, he can’t give us a few more years?? Then, after a moment of dwelling, I realized he already gave us everything.
The following day was a blur. Mojo was gone. Our rock was gone. So what were we left with? Only the positives. Sure we were devastated but our thoughts keep coming back to the magnitude of his countless gifts. 10 years of total joy is so much stronger than any of the hurt we are temporarily feeling. And his greatest gift of all was leaving the way he did. No health issues or diseases that caused a slow decline in quality of life. He wasn’t in prolonged pain emotionally or physically, which means that we were also spared the trauma. How does it get any better than that? We were able to live his entire life with him almost like it was scripted. The amount of life lessons, happiness, and gratitude he has taught us are immeasurable. That doesn’t mean the crying is over, but the memories will always win.
On Mojo’s last day with us I was on the computer screaming at the monitor about a series of professional problems that seemed to have no logical answer. It probably sounded a lot like the furnace scene in A Christmas Story. Right on cue he came in and pushed himself firmly against me. I told him I was fine. He didn’t believe me. So the pushing and petting continued until he could tell from my eyes that I had calmed down. Twelve hours later he was dead. And you’re gonna tell me dogs don’t have a soul?
Much love,
Rob Hammer
PS: we found out soon after that Mojo’s mom died on the same day he did. Not the same day of a different year, the same exact day.
P.S.S. I had never heard about the Rainbow Bridge until a good friend sent it over days later as consolation. The morning after Mojo died it was raining, but we walked anyway, and there was a rainbow over the Pacific. That has to mean something good.
Suggested reading: Travels with Charley by John Steinbeck
American Photography
Some frames from the last road trip up to Idaho and back. Seems like I’m always saying “______ is my new favorite place” and I can’t help that because I love this country so much. For now though, Nevada is becoming that new favorite place.
Looking at this set of images is interesting because they all fit into the different major ongoing series that have taken shape over the last few years. “American” , “Hotels” , “Barbershops of America”, and the latest “Roadside Meditations” which comes out in June. Only one missing is “American Backcourts”. None of these images were intentional. I didn’t set out with the thought to add to those series, it just happens. Grateful for that.
Fausto Ferrari Barbershop
Traditional Barbershop - Cincinnati, Ohio
It’s crazy what BBQ can bring into your life besides good times and a happy belly. There are countless images made on the road that have been a direct result of my love for smoked meat. In December 2013 I was cruising around downtown Cincinnati in a huge snowstorm when a (meat) smoker caught my eye in front a non-descript store front. If it weren’t for the huge plums of smoke coming from it I would have went right on by. Luckily it was about the only form of life on those empty streets that day. So I stopped for some food which happened to be next door to a beautiful old barbershop, which at the time, was closed despite the listed hours stating it should be open. I remember asking the owner of the bbq joint about the barber - “Good luck. That guy comes and goes whenever he wants to. Who knows when he’ll be back.” I had to take a gamble though, hoping he would indeed be cutting the following day. After spending the night I showed up at his stated “opening” time, but there was no sign of the barber. So I sat in my car wondering if he would show. Quite some time after, he did.
Over the past 10 years of working on this project I’ve encountered an almost endless list of characters. Mr. Fausto Ferrari is at or near the top of them all. Despite being in this country some 50+ years, he still spoke very broken English, so our conversations were fun to dissect. One of his long time customers came in shortly after he arrived and it was obvious that they had quite the history together. Halfway through the cut Fausto went into the back room . The man in the chair could see how much I enjoyed the barbers antics and said “I keep a file on my computer of all the stories he tells me”. Fausto was entertaining on his own, but watching the two of them was a gift. The kind of chemistry that can only happen between old friends. They carried effortless conversations that were often interrupted by the barber abruptly saying “Seeeñññoooooorrr” and the man in the seat volleying back with a smile “Faaaauuuussstooo”. Then the conversation would continue like it never stopped until the next volley. A special interaction that I was luck to witness.
Señor Fausto recently passed away after 94 years. A beautiful ride that any of us would be luck to match. Rest in Power Mr. Ferrari. Cincinnati will miss you.
Click here to grab a copy of Barbershops of America
Photo was made on 12/7/13
American Portraits
American Portrait Photography
Road Trip - Americana - Culture
It’s really interesting to look at what you do and don’t shoot over a long period of time. Way back when I first got going it was only people. That’s all I would shoot. Then at some point drifted away from that to basketball hoops and people-less places in small towns. It was never a conscious decision, but it happened. It was a conscious decision to start again however. Not sure why, although it occurred to me that subconsciously I was missing human interaction from COVID? Don’t know. Either way, it’s a plus. I love America so much. And just this second as I’m typing, a commercial comes to mind of John Cena saying “To Love America, is to love all Americans”. While that’s not a reality for most, it’s true. And talking to people from all over this country can teach you so much, about people, and the country. One of my favorite things in the world is being on an empty road for long periods of time, but nothing can replace the interaction between someone that lives, thinks, and believes in things opposite of yourself. It’s also an opportunity to give. To help change a person’s mind about a possible misconception they have of “people from California”, which as I’ve found out is not a liked stated.
On a photography related topic, you also learn a lot from what you can’t have. The first shot here of the woman in the Minion coat was made about 7:00am while she was out walking her dog/smoking a cigarette. Her response to being asked for a picture was “as long as my face isn’t in it”. That frustrated the hell out of me. What good will this portrait be without her face ? Then she put her head down and the Minion eyes/mouth appeared and solved the whole problem. And on top of that you can still see the cigarette sticking out. So the result wound up being way better than the image I originally set out to make.
On The Road Again
Winters are typically when I spend the most time on the road to get as much snowboarding in as possible. This has been a very dry year for snow but that hasn’t kept the miles off at all. The better part of the last 30 days was on the road for two different trips filled with a weekend getaway to Tahoe for Emily and I, a commercial shoot, two editorial shoots, personal shooting (of course), and a “ski” trip with old friends in Sun Valley, Idaho that turned into a fly fishing trip due to the severe lack of snow. More on all this later.
The Gunsmith
Always blows my mind to think about the simple act of talking and where it can lead. A while back I stopped in Laramie, Wyoming to say hi to a barber I’ve known there for a few years. Afterward while walking Mojo around town I came upon a gunsmith shop (not this one) a few blocks off the main street. A gunsmith at work is something I’ve been wanting to photograph, so we popped in and introduced ourselves. That interaction didn’t result in the desired outcome but it was still informational/entertaining. The owner didn’t want to be photographed for a variety of reasons. Some of them valid. The rest were…….irrational??!! The somewhat brief conversation consisted of his opinion on the world today and how “you can’t even go to Denver anymore because everybody is getting shot.” He asked if I had a gun and was upset to hear that I only kept it in my truck. “That’s not good enough. You have to keep it on you! That’s when they get you, when you’re getting out of your truck !”. I’m not disagreeing that the world is a sort of a disaster, but it also seemed like his thoughts were that of a person who might not ever leave their small town. Maybe I’m wrong?! And no disrespect to small towns. They are my favorite. Afterward I asked if there are any other gunsmiths in the area. He replied with very vague information about a guy that possibly works out of his house on a dead end street down near the highway. So I went looking and somehow found the place only recognizable by small stenciled letters “Gun Shop Parking” on the chimney bricks near the front gate. Otherwise the house was totally nondescript and didn’t show any other signs of life. A knock on the door confirmed nobody was home. Not a big deal. It was on my radar for the next trip through Wyoming.
Driving across America
Cross Country Road Trip - America - Photography
There aren’t a lot of positive things things to say about American highways. Whenever possible I try avoid the soulless stretches of poorly maintained pavement that teach you very little about the country and the towns/people that inhabit it. The 15 on the other hand is something special. It’s one very long stretch of highway that’s as fascinating as any “blue highway” (backroad) in the USA. I’ve personally been traveling this road since 2006 during the move from Upstate, NY to San Diego, CA. It blew my mind then and still does today. Once you get north of the clusterfuck that is Los Angeles /Riverside County and into the desert, there’s a lot to love. Images can be made from the highway or, if you want to get more intimate, try ducking off into one of the many small towns along the way.
Last month I was working on a a few stories up in Montana without a ton of time to get there, so The 15 it was, straight up north from southern California. Regardless, I ALWAYS find time in-between destinations for one or many of my ongoing series. This trip found images that will fit nicely into the “America” and “Hotel” series.
Places like Lima, Montana are endlessly fascinating no matter how many small towns I see. As someone who lives in a frustratingly populated place, it’s stimulating to stand in and see the beginning and end of a town only 75 yards long surrounded by nothing but rolling hills. You can’t help but wonder what everyday life is life for the people of that community.
The second set of images were made in St. George, Utah. Also interesting for different reasons. Although much bigger than Lima, it’s still a small town “in the middle of nowhere”. One thing that stands out is the way they build homes there to blend in to the environment. The color palette matches almost seamlessly.
American Road Trip
As has become standard, the miles are piling up this season even with it be an extremely dry winter around the western states. Really unfortunate for the ski industry. I’m sure Vail is doing ok though!!??
Seems repetitive to say that this “last” road trip was great, memorable, productive, etc. etc. etc., but reporting otherwise would be a lie. Time on the road really is a special adventure that should never be taken for granted, nor should it ever be rushed. Grateful not just for the time spent in Montana, but also for the two stories I worked on and will be sharing more of soon. After Montana it was south to Colorado for a hut trip in the Gore Range which was truly unforgettable. The longer I snowboard the less desire and patience I have to ride at a resort. Being in the backcountry is always rewarding, but being in a hut with good friends miles and miles away from everything else is in a whole different category.
Images coming soon.
