Wildlings P7


Shot with the X100F

Wildlings P6

Family trips, camping—stories built on unending stretches of road, mornings too damp and ravenous, back pains...all soon forgotten, replaced by perfect memories of trails and mountains tops.

We’ll have some twenty hours of highway dust in our lungs when all is said and done.
Dust and an eyeful of whales and bears;
of seals, penguins and porcupines.

Shot with the X100F

In Britannia, Awake & Adrift | Liftoff & Re-entry

I love emerging in a brand new world, far from home, senses in overdrive. But getting there...ugh. Airports, planes, shuttles, layovers—it’s like this twisted conspiracy, hellbent on crushing any semblance of joy out of the experience. At least with someone by your side you can share the burden...traveling alone is an altogether different beast.

I can’t check-in online—Wow Air is having problems apparently. So queue the queue...then security, then waiting, then sitting and waiting, then liftoff—45 minutes late. In Keflavik we wait again...then a crowded shuttle, then sitting and waiting, then flying. The guy next to me has a nasty cold and I try like mad to avoid the germs. Pointless when you’re crushed together in the same test tube for two hours.

We land at Gatwick in the morning.
The sun is out and the border agent is extremely nice—genuinely.
The young and old Queens sure do look lovely and surreal on that giant mural.

Shot with the X100F

Summer Stills

And yet the world still turns. Small joys still come to those of us fortunate enough to accept them. Small joys and small luxuries—to be carefree and dancing.

Summer’s here.

Shot with the X-Pro2 and XF 56mm f/1.2 R



I want to write about photography. I’m back from the UK where I had the opportunity to work with and meet so many outstanding photographers. Great folks too, period. My friend Kevin and his wife Gemma pulled off their very first conference without a hitch and everyone agrees it was a huge success. I was the wild card over there—the lone non-wedding shooter—but I was still welcome with open arms...to say nothing of the workshop and the wonderful guys and gals who attended and gave their all.

I drank too much beer, ate proper British Curry, real English Fish & Chips (mushy peas!); I filled my soul with new sights and new sounds. In Brighton I roamed the beach and walked the pier in blustering wind, with Neale and Kevin and Facundo—then on my own as the sun magically lifted the veil. I shot street for the first time in months, finding my path again, a rhythm almost forgotten.

I want to write about photography, share images...and I will. But not today.


Today I find myself transfixed and paralyzed. I watch the news unfolding like some bad dystopian script, tyrants tearing apart the tenets so many fought for. I see Gilead’s shadow forming in the mist, born of hate, a country eschewing its founding principles on the back of lies and disinformation spewed upon us all by an ignorant buffoon. The Man Who Would Be Dictator but is too stupid to even know what it means. The man who sees nothing but his own reflection, distorted into a thing of beauty despite the depths of his ugliness. And people following, blindly and adoringly. Sheep.

There is no shining city on the hill anymore—it’s been bombed into oblivion. I see death squads in the making and I want to scream at every single so-called legislator allowing it to unfold. For what? For whom? None of it makes sense.

Children, scared and weeping. When do we turn our backs to the monsters? When do we cut ties? Because that’s where we are at this point, as insane as it may seem. Two-hundred years destroyed in five-hundred days.

Nero, fiddling as we all burn.

To anyone offended by this rant I say fuck you. Go away. I say History will be the judge of your enabling words and actions, should we survive. Because I have no use for discussions anymore, no use for a simulacrum of understanding. Fuck you and slip into your abyss, go rant about deep states and your false sense of oppression. Go on dismissing facts and knowledge as coastal-elitist tricks and dive into your ignorance full-throttle. Wrap yourself in the flag, as indecently as the madman you follow, oblivious to the reality that any of the Founding Fathers would utterly destroy his amoral worldview, call him out as the genuine threat he poses to the republic. To all that is decent. To values they held so dear they enshrined them in a Constitution.

Children, used as bargaining chips.

I want to write about photography and I will.
But today I howl.