Coming soon

The pier in Everett draws your eye straight into the distance, past moored boats and weathered pilings, to where working waterfront meets open water. I photographed this scene on a cool evening, when the light turned the dock into a quiet stage and every mast became part of the architecture.

Low tide has pulled quietly away from Birch Bay, leaving a mirror of water to catch the last color of the day. I made this photograph standing ankle-deep in the cool shallows, watching the sky soften from gold to lavender as shorebirds traced the horizon.

What remains of a sand dollar is a kind of coastal calligraphy. Wind and tide have worn this one down to pure line and texture, leaving a simple form pressed gently into the shore. I knelt beside it as the light went soft, drawn to how something so small could hold the whole story of the beach.

In a back lane of Anchorage, history hides in plain sight-cracked paint, old brick, and hand-crafted trim worn smooth by weather and time. I lingered here with my camera, tracing how light grazed the storefronts and turned decay into a kind of urban tapestry.

Night settles over G Street as neon, streetlamps, and storefronts stitch together a small piece of Anchorage nightlife. I made this image on an autumn evening, when breath hung in the air and each pool of light suggested its own little story unfolding just off-frame.

During Fur Rondy, Anchorage turns a winter street into a runway for reindeer and revelers alike. I captured this moment in the middle of the rush-hoofbeats, laughter, and cold air all tumbling together in a blur of motion.

Out in Prince William Sound, this stone spire rises abruptly from the water, a solitary witness to storms, tides, and migrating light. I photographed it from a boat, feeling very small as its dark form split the sky and reflected into the cold, glassy sea.

Standing before Holgate Glacier, you feel sound more than hear it-distant cracks, low groans, the quiet rush of small calvings. I framed this scene to show both the immense wall of ice and its delicate blue veining, a living record of winters layered over centuries.

Near Seward, a train emerges from shadow, its headlight a small promise against looming mountains and mist. I waited for this approach, wanting to catch that moment when steel, landscape, and anticipation all meet on a single track.

Outside McCaw Hall, evening light meets glass, steel, and the quiet buzz of a city getting ready for curtain time. I composed this photograph to honor both the architecture and the anticipation-the feeling of stepping toward a night of music, dance, or story.

Stripped of color, this flower becomes a study in line, light, and breath. I used black-and-white to emphasize the curve of each petal, the gentle fall of shadow, and the quiet architecture hidden in something so fragile. This photograph is well suited to bedrooms, reading nooks, and galleries that favor understated elegance. It offers a timeless botanical note without feeling fussy.

Moon jellies drift like slow thoughts through dark water, their translucent forms glowing softly against the void. I chose black-and-white to make this less about color and more about rhythm-the rise, fall, and overlap of each bell as they glide.