August 12th, Barcelona, 2am...

Traveling with a six year old is not for the weak. The food drama alone is a nightmare, and my child is a notoriously good eater. Last night he ate an entire medium pizza, uninterrupted, without making a sound. Two nights ago that same pizza was “too spicy” and he threw a fit.

I'm entirely aware these problems are not unique to my family, but still…

In any event I'm hot and sweaty and full of tapas and good wine and all is well at the moment. Feels very far away to be honest, however fleeting. Makes me realize there’s another way to live, regardless of geography or circumstance.

There's a warmth here, to this place, a quality of light, a haze in the air, and the croquettes are to die for…

Unwritten Notes, Kelso Dunes

Kelso Dunes is one of those places in California in the middle of nowhere that only really shows up on a map if you know where to look. It’s desolate and remote and absolutely stunning, a 45 square mile patch of sand 100 miles East of Barstow in the Mojave Desert surrounded by what appears to be endless, empty, sun-baked country.

No. #0510_14A - Kelso Sand Dunes, California. January of 2017.

It became overwhelmingly apparent that afternoon that I’d become a City boy and there was no going back, having made the two and a half hour drive from Palm Springs into the deep desert with little more than a single bottle of water serving two adults (and a small dog), though miraculously I was traveling with three cameras and at least fifteen rolls of film, just in case.

Anyway, we made out in one piece. No sand worms to speak of.

Excerpts from the series “Unwritten Notes” - Photographs Made Elsewhere.

Comprised of work spanning nearly 15 years, the series is largely autobiographical and draws entirely from images made on the road, away from home...

Prints available upon request.

I've Been At A Loss As of Late...

Summer. It’s been a strange start. There are Marines in LA and the other night my six year old told me that it’s time to trim his eyelashes. Sly Stone is dead but The Rolling Stones are still touring. The 1920’s were a riot, I suppose it’s only fitting that the 2020’s are a dumpster fire (with riots).

I’m at a loss as of late, unclear as to how I make sense of everything that’s been going on. Having trouble organizing my thoughts and focusing on much of anything. Nobody wants to live through history. Seems as if we’ve been left with no choice. Buckle up…

Bits and Pieces from Summer, June of 2025.

Attempting to remember what’s important. Have decided that social media is decidedly dumb. Doing my best neither start nor end my day with the news. Still, things feel generally out of sorts. Being a full time S.A.D. (Stay-At-home-Dad) has it’s privileges. Yet, when posed with the question from a child ‘why does the president hate brown people…?’ I’d almost prefer a day job. But not really.

My son was roller skating in Golden Gate Park a few weeks back and in a freak accident was bowled over by a full grown man that was not at fault and who felt terrible about the entire thing. The resulting injury kept the kid on the couch for week with a pulled muscle (in his ass…) and all of a sudden things become clear. At least for a moment. What’s important. What isn’t. What we’re here for. Making new people comes with both baggage and benefits. Sometimes a little perspective.

I met with an old friend the other day. We made some pictures and had a couple drinks and caught up on our lives. We’ve been making pictures together for near 16 years now and we aren’t done yet. Sometimes a little perspective is good.

Not going to burden myself with obligatory patriotism today. I’ll be at the park, roller skating with my family. Remembering what’s important. As always, drop me a line if you want a postcard, no charge, no strings, and don’t forget to #Resist…

Women’s March, San Francisco.

Unwritten Notes, Lake Tahoe

I don’t ski, never really did, for a whole slew of reasons, but especially now, seeing as I have become quite brittle as I’ve gotten older. I’m more of a “ski-lodge” enthusiast, things involving fireplaces and bourbon and not snow I must interact with at high rates of speed. Either way, we ended up in Tahoe in February at what was billed as a cozy log cabin in the woods.

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No. #0433_06A - Lake Tahoe, California. February of 2016.

What we found upon arrival was in fact a two room mobile home, with a fake log cabin facade, in a trailer park, surrounded by other fake log cabin mobile homes, in what I can only assume was someones idea of a practical joke. The queen size bed could only be exited from the end on the left side, which should paint a picture of the square footage we were dealing with. There were some trees, not exactly what I’d call a woods. False advertising would be an understatement.

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No. #0432_15A - Fallen Leaf Lake, California. February of 2016.

We had a fine time, accommodations not withstanding, we took some long lovely walks, Tahoe is quite beautiful. We found a casino across the border in Reno with a penthouse bar that made the entire excursion much more bearable. No fireplace, but plenty of bourbon, and no snow to interact with. Don’t think I’ve been back to Tahoe since.

Excerpts from the series “Unwritten Notes” - Photographs Made Elsewhere.

Comprised of work spanning nearly 15 years, the series is largely autobiographical and draws entirely from images made on the road, away from home...

Prints available upon request.

Unwritten Notes, Islamorada

I found myself in South-West Florida in January and somehow convinced my step-father to let my wife and I take his Corvette down to the Florida Keys for a long weekend. It was the first but not the last time I’ve been down to the Keys. I should’ve learned my lesson.

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No. #0420_18A - Islamorada, Florida Keys. January of 2016.

We stayed at a place lovingly referred to as the Pines and Palms Resort. It was essentially a glorified motor lodge with no pines and very few palms and could hardly be considered a resort. It did have a pool and a bar and a guy with a gray pony tail playing Jimmy Buffett and Grateful Dead covers on an acoustic guitar. In fact every place we went seemed to employ the same leftover deadhead with a guitar playing cover tunes, like they were part of some local leftover union of musicians.

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No. #0422_26A - Hotel. Islamorada, Florida Keys. January of 2016.

The Keys are beautiful, but when you start looking closer it get’s pretty weathered and a little grim, a theme park that never really caught on, then ran out of money, and the employees all decided to hang on until someone shuts the power off, and that was back in 1968.

Let’s be honest, Florida is weird.

Excerpts from the series “Unwritten Notes” - Photographs Made Elsewhere.

Comprised of work spanning nearly 15 years, the series is largely autobiographical and draws entirely from images made on the road, away from home...

Prints available upon request.