Down by the River

Living amidst the awe-inspiring sights and sounds of the mountains and a large, deep glacial lake, it's easy to overlook the timid serenity of a warm, shallow river. In the evening, when no one's around except for the occasional mallard, it is the river with its seemingly ancient weeping willows that offers true solitude. Whereas the hypnotic waves of an ocean-like lake push one closer to the sense of eternity, it is that same river that gently brings one back to the beauty of the everyday.


As of late, I catch myself (more and more often) taking photographs of already beautiful scenery that speaks for itself in a way that defies the natural eye view. This occurs on some kind of a semi-conscious level, where I'm searching for a greater level of abstraction than most expected angles provide (even beyond creating depth in a photograph by capturing objects both near and far and using a wide-angle lens). I'm not yet sure what the logical conclusion of this will be.

river in spring 900 px url.jpg

It's Happening Again?

I have an intricate Nutcracker music box in the shape of a faux Fabergé egg that was given to me as a gift. It sits on a book shelf, I haven't touched it in months, and no one's wound it in that time frame.

Tonight, as I was working on a series of graphics for a book, I was startled by the fact that this music box just went off by itself, playing the Nutcracker theme. Then it happened again a few minutes later.

The entire atmosphere felt a little like this:

Water, Water Everywhere (Mobile)


Everything is melting. Trees melt into the skies reflected beneath my feet, as I evade yet another puddle—all that is left from the snow bank that was still there the day before. Only a thin crust of ice remains on the muddy river shores which I pass on my way to the excessively chlorinated, sneeze-inducing swimming pool. 

Water, water everywhere, nor any drop to swim (in).