I wasn't born with a camera in my hand, but I was born with an innate sensitivity to light, shadow, and the profound silence of vast spaces. Growing up amidst the rolling, subtly changing farmlands in Wisconsin, I spent my childhood observing the delicate dance of seasons across the fields, the way the morning mist clung to the trees, and the dramatic flair of a Wisconsin sunrise painting the Eastern sky. These early observations weren't conscious artistic training, but a slow, quiet immersion into the language of the natural world.
My first camera was a clunky manual driven unit. It was required for a photography class I took in college. One of my first lessons was filling the view finder with an image. Side-to-side, top-to-bottom. I soon discovered that I'd been doing that all my life. After a short time, I learned that an image was less about capturing perfect images and more about holding onto fleeting moments. The colors, cloud formations and Lake Michigan in the foreground of an amazing sunrise truly helped me understand the power of a landscape photograph. It wasn't just a picture; it was an invitation, a feeling, a memory etched in light.
My trusty camera and I soon put many miles on Wisconsin's highways, city streets and country roads. I dove into photography with a quiet fervor. While my peers chased portraits or street scenes, I sought the solitude of dawn and dusk, the unforgiving beauty of a winter storm, the patient waiting for the perfect cloud formation. My gear became an extension of myself – sturdy tripods, an array of lenses, and filters that coaxed out hidden colors in the sky. I learned to read the weather like a mystic, understanding how a low-pressure system might bring dramatic clouds or how a sudden clearing could create a magical golden hour.
My journey wasn't without its trials. There were countless early mornings where I arrived at a location only for the light to fail, or for a perfect vista to be obscured by haze. I endured freezing temperatures, swarms of insects, and the sheer physical exertion of carrying heavy gear to remote viewpoints. There was also the quiet struggle of finding My unique voice in a crowded field, of moving beyond mere documentation to evoke emotion.
With the birth of our child, my photography time was cut down greatly with Dad time, which I happily jumped into. I soon found myself spending most of my time being Dad and fitting in photography whenever I could. This went on for years until my Daughter found time with friends was more fun than time at home. I once again found myself back on Wisconsin's roads and highways . I received my first digital camera as a Fathers day gift from my Wife and Daughter and soon embraced Wisconsin's changing seasons and the colors they brought without the cost of film and developing.
I've built a wonderful journey as an artist, starting with encouragement from my loved ones and evolving into a decade of successful art show participation. Continuing to share my work and enjoying the process are what truly matter.