At fifteen, standing in Yosemite National Park, something in me changed.
I didn’t yet have language for it.
I only knew I felt seen — and surrounded — and called into something deeper than I understood.



I was sixteen when Yosemite changed my life.
I didn’t call it God then.
I only knew that standing in those mountains, I felt something vast and alive — something that made me want to pay attention.
I picked up a camera not long after. I’ve been paying attention ever since.
When I was fifty, we opened a gallery. It felt like a dream fulfilled — a place to honor beauty and share what I had been seeing for decades.
Years later, the gallery was taken in foreclosure. The house went with it. Most of the framed prints, the matted work, the furniture — all of it stayed behind.
But the camera came with me. It always has.
They can take buildings.
They can take walls.
They can take what hangs on them.
They cannot take the desire to see.
Photography has never been a business to me. It is how I stay close to the stillness I first felt in Yosemite. It is how I honor creation. It is how I pay attention to people.
My camera goes where I go.
Because seeing is part of who I am.
This space is not a commercial gallery.
It is a continuation of that love story —
walking with God through beauty.