It seems a natural progression in all photography timelines that black and white images begin to populate their portfolio.  Today's digital editing makes this process so much easier, and often times a modern digital camera allows you to switch to a black and white setting while you are out shooting.  So while it might be easy to "make" a black and white image, all this innovation doesn't necessarily make it a "great" image just because it is black and white.  An image still has to have composition, contrast, light, and good black and white qualities.  I'm hoping that this gallery can provide that.

One of the many Columbia Gorge icons...  Flowing water in black and white feels more liquid than wet, it's unnerving influence is more obvious.

This was part of the mad run around the Grand Mesa and the Uncompaghre Plateau this fall. I'd only been into the Portal area of the Black Canyon, which the area along the canyon floor, a few years ago.  Catching a sunset on the Painted Wall this year was an incredible experience.

The Yosemite icon... I've worked on this image quite a bit to get the best balance possible.  The granite, clear dry air, and early evening sun provided perfect elements for this composition.  

This has been a favorite image from this past year of shooting. It was a surprise and delightful shock pulling it out of the camera after processing so many good images from my summer trip.  In black and white it still brings a radiance that is hard to describe.

That time, when you tried to focus on too many moments instead just enjoying them all in their entirety?! Yeah, don't ever do that again,,,

Two summers ago I made my first "BIG" exploration of Colorado on a motorcycle.  Yes, I'd traveled extensively through the state on two wheels, but I'd never taken a multi-day ride, knowing I would be camping, and exploring many sites that I had not yet seen.  

Taylor Pass was an afterthought, and a very poor decision on my part.  It's a beautiful Pass, just south of Aspen leading into Taylor Park. The problem is, it is a trail that has been heavily rutted over the years and is best suited to atvs, mountain bikes, or much lighter and more nimble motorcycles.  I didn't have one of those. The trip is detailed here in a five part story, including photos of the journey, and the really poor decision that brought me to this stream.

This stream appears on the bottom of the Pass, and it sat perfectly in the afternoon light this Fall, as I was out chasing Aspens.

That time, when another transition was taking place and I needed to escape to my viewfinder?  My son was graduating college, a new relationship was forming, and I didn't handle any of it too well.  But, that weekend created some of my favorite images, this being just one.

There are multiple names for multiple peaks, rivers, creeks and passes throughout the west and particularly in Colorado.  While one Mt. Evans makes a dramatic backdrop for the urban skyline, this one is nestled high in the central rockies between the historic mining claims of Leadville, Placer, Alma and Fairplay. Modernity of course can not be held at bay and 21st century lineman have added their mark to the high country, anticipating a future that we surly bring more people to these locations.

I’ve shot more black and white images the past two months it seems than I have most of the year. Bright, contrasting light, and heavy shading seem to be the prerequisite for black and white. So, that means shooting in the middle of the day, in places with lots of angles and shade.

Maroon Bells - Black and White

Driving into the valley in the early morning I knew I was in for a different sight. The clouds wouldn’t move, they just hung there and lazily shifted from one position to the next. The snow got deeper and deeper as the road climbed and when I finally parked, what few stars had followed the drive were now completely blanked out.

The sunrise didn’t really change the clouds disposition and the few times they lifted, they still let very little sun in.

Shot at ISO 100 I F/4 I 1/500 sec. @ 135mm

Detail the buttes and pinnacles found within Buck Canyon.

My first trip to the Medicine Bow was late fall, 1989. We’d gone looking for a hot spring that existed in the little town of Saratoga, and on the way found a place that would hold my attention and imagination for many, many years before I was able to return to it.

I seem to make yearly visits now, even though I know it should be much, much more often. I’d planned this trip specifically to shot the Milky Way, and a few hours later as the with the darkening skies and calming winds I found the light I was looking for.

Truly one of my favorite compositions in my two years of photography. The stillness of the morning, the reflection in the lake, the details in the foreground and the depth of it all. And, its black and white. I can’t ask for much more in a photograph.

It doesn’t seem to be a trip to New Orleans with out visiting the cemeteries. These places still function, families still place loved ones in the crypts, the bulwark and brick still does it’s job of protecting and ushering those loved ones on.

Peering between a set of wrought iron bars, I wasn’t sure what the camera would capture. Looking over it after returning to Denver, I’m really happy with what the camera saw.

Sitting in a Ponderosa pine tree, starring south, journal in my hand, trying to explain to my brother just exactly what I was looking at; Pikes Peak to the east, a national forest to the north, the Continental Divide to the west, and the Sangre de Christos to the south. I was a sublime July evening, the soft light of dusk quickly rushing in, and the rich aromas of the tree warming themselves around me…

At 21, we just can’t really make any predictions. Twice that time and a decade later so much is different. I haven’t had the chance to explore that range like I’d written in that letter, but there has been a richness nonetheless.

This usually a feast of color, with streaks of color across the skies, and swatches of gold on on the valley floor, but this morning it was a sea of green and white with ferocious clouds and remnants of winter snow. A black and white image was the only way for this to work.

Captured from one of the outlying bridges, this tower is one of the dominant features of the Chicago Skyline, regardless of the vantage point.

The parking garage offers many advantages. One being simply access to new perspectives, but also in can shelter you in bad weather, as well as allowing you a bit of anonymity which is hard to find sometimes out walking around on the street. This spot offers the bonus of the gleaming reflective surface, which adds an element of creativity to any image.

Shot as dawn was breaking and the last of the starlight was visible, Cowdrey, Colorado.

I just wanted the mountains, and the clouds, and the trees in the foreground out of focus but leading the line up to the mountains and sky. But then they launched, this huge flock of crows. But, I kept shooting as the camera grabbed and focused on them. Then they gathered, in the corner of the frame, this flock, this gang, this murder of crows.

The Arkansas Valley feels lonely, and forgotten at times. The apprehensions of letting the water flow out of the Rockies can be felt, the perpetual worry about when will it return, the anxiety of wanting it to be just a bit more, of wanting it to last just a bit longer… But, it is the Heart of the Rockies, it is the home of a hope, a place where dreams have been realized. And this photo? It became so much more because of the unexpected. Letting the anxiety go. Letting apprehension go. Letting what is evolve into what will be. This is the Arkansas Valley that we all need.

Juniper Pass - clouded in a late spring fog.

Dawn at Juniper Pass, May 8th, 2020

ISO 100 | F/1.4 | 1/30 sec. - 24mm

Our self-interest, should be the collective-interest of others, but we are in a place where we have a Collective Action Problem; our self-interest are overriding our collective-interest. It is a challenge to miss the sunrise and sunset from the places I had planned to, but the stakes are too high right now. I hope we are out of the pandemic soon, but more, I hope my family and friends are safe and well - My self-interest is their self-interest, and that action is not a problem for me.

Dawn at Juniper Pass, May 8th, 2020

ISO 100 | F/1.4 | 1/400 sec. - 24mm - two image panorama

About 30 years ago I faced a moment that changed my life. My oldest brother was dying of AIDS and foolishly I stayed away. I wasn’t afraid of him, or the virus, I knew enough about HIV that that wasn’t a concern, and this was my big brother, someone I love and worshipped fiercely. I stayed away because it seemed the right thing to do. I stayed away because I was living a life in Colorado and the daily activities and work helped me maintain a sense of normalcy.

But, that normalcy came at a price - I didn’t grieve, I didn’t mourn. I didn’t see the continuity of life beginning and ending. I was left in stasis. Yes, he died. Yes, I was at his funeral. Yes, I watched my grandparents sob and reach for each other at the grave side.

But I didn't own the grief, I felt the loss, I felt the absence; but the grief wasn’t there. I buried it. I distanced myself from it, and to an extent detached myself from the living I had been doing and was supposed to be doing. That changed when I became a father, and found a place beyond the grief.

Grief is an Abyss, it is a place that can take you down. It was a place I couldn’t go back to, but ultimately had to face. It has been there all along, and that one loose changed the course of how I could attach, and how I would attach. I am forever grateful for those two sons who would let me attach, and who would help be let go of that grief.

This quaint rivulet was full of run-off from winter snow well into early July. That’s the beauty of the San Juan Mountains - even in drier years the snow gathers here like nowhere else.

A late morning hike to the high alpine lake revealed the subtle beauty of overcast days, and the sublime nature of burbling pools. This disconnect, placid yet ponderous, the burden of the unspoken hidden behind cordiality, a remanent of dead connection that once blazed with life - this stream will soon enough be dry and the ground frozen, our own metaphor born forth.

Is this was asymmetry is, is this the imbalance; one side seeking light and clarity, the other side lost on a journey that was never meant to align - asymmetry.

ISO 100 • F/9 • .8 secs. - 16mm

There’s a longer blog post about this - one that challenges a memory and honors the past.

The course of the East River is so entertaining and enigmatic, exactly as it should be. Happy to find the contrasting light and reflection in the late afternoon shadows.

ISO 100 • F/9 • 1/100sec.

50mm.

The epitome of winter - bare, stripped of superfluous beauty, standing in its most vulnerable state. The lone Aspen has deep roots, and is still a part of the larger whole even when seemingly estranged.

The complexity of a simple scene is measured by what; the tree, the shadows, the barren portion of the road, the layers in the confused sky? That’s the story we get to create, the one that reminds us that “fear is the heart of love.” And that having someone to follow into the dark is the greatest comfort will know, when we’re ready for our long slumber.

ISO 50 | F/8 | 1/320 @135mm

An Aspen Slumbers B/W