Retracing Mark Twain’s 1861 journey across Utah’s alkali desert.

Working at high altitudes, photographs as emotional objects. A gallery show and an artist's book.

The language of this small paradise exists for us to happen upon in future days or to reflect on in former. For the visitor, the cold moment is a negotiable foray into fiction and found territory.

Sometime around 2001, I decided I was a landscape photographer. No more birds, just the land. And an odd seal.

Drifting in New York, and a few other places. A getting-the-feet-back-on-the-ground effort.

Those were the days!  Traveling in the car West then East.  Drifting to and from the darkroom, printing evening after evening.

A few more images of birds over the years, culled from various projects.

I was getting really seriously into the landscapes.  And setting up scenes with crosses.

This is a game of theatrical self-revelation. The cards assume the emotional damage and self-doubt of the players. Win by charming the other players with your anguish.

This was the "first NY art show". It wasn't really called "trying to learn..." It didn't have a title, but that was what I'd been wanting to call it if I could've gotten up the guts, so I'll pretend it is the title.

Some pictures from long ago.
These are scanned from slides dupes, and hence are a bit ratty...