Award-Winning and Exhibited Work
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The Ganges
Varanasi, India
The river is the lifeline of this ancient city. It is here that every important event takes place: the celebrations of new births, the bathing rituals that welcome the new day, the evening pujas of thanks that end the day by sunset, and the cremations that send souls off to their next life. It is scientifically, excessively polluted, it is spiritually clean and pure.
First Place in category, 2013 Orange County Fair ExhibitFrom Northern India
Daydreaming . . .
I traveled to India in 2012 during the height of the US media frenzy surrounding multiple gang rapes in Delhi. It shaped how I saw the country and the people in it, and planted a deep, undeserved bias and a fear and anger that still smolders inside me. A 2016 report from the World Health Organization analyzed violence against women worldwide. http://www.who.int/mediacentre/factsheets/fs239/en/) and the facts are just as disturbing as the intimate details of each woman who is brutally violated. 1 in 3 (35%) women worldwide are violated physically and/or sexually in their lifetime. Stop and think about that. Look at your sisters, and daughters, and mother . . . 1 in 3. And for those of us sitting on our lofty high-horse of a developed country, step right on down. We are covered in it. . . . The actual statistics are the Americas 29.8%, Africa 36.6%, South-East Asia 37.7%. Cut the data by income, and high income regions are still a staggering 23.2%; 1 in 4. If 1 in 4 men were violently sodomized in the US, we would be having a conversation, and passing laws, and prosecuting the perpetrators. But we're not. We still blame the victim, and rationalize the violent act, and leave the victims to suffer alone.
The first step is to climb down from our first-world high-horse and recognize that we have an epidemic, and talk about it. Talk about the statistics; talk about the rapists that are not appropriately punished; talk about the fact that we put the responsibility on young girls and not on young men, 'don't wear short skirts or sexy tops. Don't drink too much. Don't walk home alone.' Talk about the fact that women are still objectified daily, and that men don't hold other men accountable for their 'locker room talk.'
At least start the conversation . . . that is step one.
Exhibited at the Orange County Fair 2013.From Northern India
Daycare
I diligently walked passed a young girl yesterday morning, 'rupee?' 'no, na hee.' rupee?' 'na hee' The dance is a common one where children are used to pawn money from empathetic tourists. But if you watch the scene closely, it is an intricately organized plot, and the man in charge and usually gripping a long stick, is watching each child's every move to be sure the money is delivered back to him.... She is persistent from her many years of asking and i am steadfast as a result of the dozens that have preceeded her. The dance ends as quickly as it began as we hurry down to the river banks and board a row boat.
After the sunrise I sat on the steps leading to Asi ghat to take in the river coming alive with life. The young girl approaches again. This time, the dance is different. Only a single round of banter until she casually plopped herself on the step in front of me and turned her body to face me. Her skin was dark, burned by the scorching sun and baking heat. The blackness set off her white teeth; they were surely still baby teeth, with the snaggle tooth gaps of any child her age. Her hair was short and chaotic and stood thrashing out in all directions. The dirt and soil blending in, adding to the stiff, hardened texture. Her feet were bare of course, shoes are a luxury and likely an unthinkable frivolity. The fece-filled streets, rough concrete steps of the ghats and back alleys have left her feet cracked and soiled, looking parched and aged compared to my French manicure. After sitting a moment, she begins to take note of me, observing the strangeness that I must be to her. But looking like every other tourist she's seen in her too few years. She points to different items. First to my watch, saying something in Hindi that I don't understand. Thinking she is still asking for money; I have not changed my dance, 'na hee'. She points to my earrings and again, something incomprehensible to my ears. Her new dance continues . . . My sunglasses, my scarf and on we go. My dance is unaltered although my tone has softened to a whisper, 'na hee.' As I rose to make my way back to the hotel, this new dance comes to an end, and finally I offer the girl a different response, 'namaste.' I realize as I walk away, her new dance wasn't a request. It was her way of connecting. She wasn't asking for my sunglasses or earrings, she was just trying to communicate, to teach me the words in Hindi. My suspicious heart led me to miss the opportunity to dance her new dance, to ask about the small key that hung around her neck, to learn 'key' in Hindi, to experience.
The next morning, I saw her again, this time from a distance. I paused and raised my joined palms to my forehead and then down to my chest. She did the same, with a sweet, snaggle-tooth grin which I returned. A new dance has begun and another dance is coming.From Northern India
Holy Man
Varanasi, India
Exhibited at the Orange County Fair 2013From Northern India
Morning Prayers
Varanasi, India
We are in Varanasi, the holy Hindu city. The country is indescribable. The dichotomy of chaos and peacefulness is like nothing I've ever seen. We've just watched the sunrise over the river and watched the devout Hindus take their ritual sunrise pujas at the banks. The cows wander the streets freely and as the taxis and rickshaws and Tuk tuks zoom by, everyone seems to know their own method within the madness. We've found our own rhythm amongst the chaos and are settling into the adventure.From Northern India
Strength
Kris was a wonderful human being . . . happy, caring, and rip-roaring funny. I miss him terribly.
Vanishing
Arctic National Wildlife Refuge, Alaska
They're not supposed to be here this time of year, but the Arctic is warming and the ice is melting. This year, the ice pack around northern Alaska was completely gone by August, so these big, beautiful predators are left to scavenge on the barrier islands off of old whale carcasses.
The females are already impregnated, but without food to build up their fat reserves prior to winter, the fetuses will abort so that the mother has a chance of surviving.
And thus, we lose another generation of polar bears, and ultimately another species from the Earth.
Evil Kitty
Awarded Second place in the 2012 OC Fair.From Four-legged Friends
Mesa Arch, Canyonlands National Park
Newport Beach Pier, California
Awarded Third Place in its category in the 2011 OC Fair.newportbeachpiersunsetsunsoutherncaliforniawavesreflections
From Newport Beach
Mossbrae Falls, Northern California
Lonely Walk
Do we actually 'see' the people around us?
If we did, would it make a positive impact on their lives?
Would it make them want to stay in this world or move onto the next?
This photo was awarded a Juror's Choice in the 2012 OC Fair.From Award Winning Work
Family
Chobi National Park, Botswana
We were lulled out of a deep sleep by a slow, low rumble. The sound was almost soothing as we lay under the safety of the wispy mosquito netting. As the rumble drifted off into the night, it was replaced by the movement of bushes and grass and falling dirt. The disturbance was coming from just in front of the rustic, African chalet that we lovingly called home for a few brief days. The front of the quaint, adobe cottage was a beautiful veranda, an extension of the bedroom. The two were separated by rich, wooden-framed doors with floor-to-ceiling screens, flanked by windows of the same. No glass to hold back the night, just safari canvas if you chose to lower it, which we didn't. The cottage sat nestled into the lush hillside overlooking the expansive vista of the Chobe river. One could see for miles into Namibia, where the grasslands were dotted with cattle grazing the flatlands instead of the zebras, wildebeests, and water buffalo that were grazing on the Botswanan side.
And then, the rumble came again, deep and low and slow, almost vibrating the wooden window frames. I peered through the wall of screens and could make out the smooth, dark back of a huge female, perhaps the matriarch, illuminated by the full moon, and standing distinctly taller than any of the bushes around her. She was working her way through the grasses and bushes surrounding the cottage. The smallest of movements by her enormous body resulting in noise that filled the space, sounding like a dozen people shaking the bushes and pulling up grasses.
From the right appeared another, perhaps half the height of the first, and so close to the cottage, I was sure she would scatter leaves and dirt on the concrete veranda. I could hear her grab a large tuft of long grass with her sensitive, yet powerful trunk, and rip it effortlessly from the earth, shaking it clean of the dry dirt and then happily munching it down with huge grinding molars. A satisfied sigh emanated from her trunk, sounding a bit like a horse when it breathes out and shutters its lips.
There were others as well, the same sounds wafting throughout the windows to the right and the left and from behind. The group had herded through the camp and surrounded our little abode; dwarfing it with their number and size. Contented rumbles came from deep within their chests and satisfied sighs emanated from their trunks. As they moved off, their massive bodies pushed the trees and brush aside, their big, soft feet flattening the bush and rearranging the earth. We drifted back to sleep, having been enveloped wholly by the African night.
Honorable Mention, 2015 Orange County Fair Exhibit
Life's Lessons
Chobi National Park, Botswana
I stepped out of the Land Rover and into the hot, brilliant sunshine. As my shoe met the ground, the grass underneath me crackled like dry hay left in the summer heat. Slowly, my eyes adjusted to the sun; I saw her, far in the distance, her gray silhouette distinct against the green background of the Mara plains. She was facing me, still as could be, just watching, observing. I watched in return. In that slow, beautiful moment, I was sharing the ground of the Savannah with one of Kenya's treasured elephants; a mother, a sister, a matriarch. And then, the moment was gone. She turned to join her herd; swaying slowly back and forth, trunk reaching down, twisting around the green grass, lifting it to her mouth as she slowly drifted away.
Honorable Mention, 2015 Orange County Fair Exhibit
Mormon Row, Grand Teton National Park
Reflection Lake, Mount Rainier National Park
Inside Passage to Alaska
Gotta Go!
Awarded Honorable Mention in the 2011 Orange County Fair.
From Color Portfolio
Love
Love. . . marginalized.
Maybe someday, these men won't be nameless or faceless.
Maybe someday, their love will be celebrated not tolerated.
Maybe someday, our children will right our wrongs.
Maybe someday . . .
