I grew up on a farm in Missouri. I swear I was born wearing cowboy boots. My favorite past time was to climb up to the hayloft in the barn and watch clouds go by. I spent summer days roaming through pastures and the evenings lying in the grass gazing at the Milky Way. There was freedom as far as the eye could see.
My early experiments with photography were dismal failures. I rarely had a photo that was in focus and they were usually disappointing because they didn’t look like the masterpiece I had painted in my mind. But my failures led me to experiment more and more and more. Eventually those failures became strengths when I discovered intentional camera movement and multiple exposures. These tools led me down a different path that opened a new world of creating images that reflect my enduring love of the countryside.
I continue to be a photography nomad in search of new horizons that remind me of home.
I was driving a Ford 150 pickup in rural Montana when I saw the sign. It simply said “Sweet Grass” and pointed to an invisible village.
As I crested the hill the view opened up to seemingly endless plains. From horizon to horizon spring greens and yellows floated gently on rolling hills as childhood memories of life on the farm flooded in. Though I had never been here before, I knew I was home again.
I stepped out of the Ford pickup and the prairie invited me to release the day’s worry, to roam and let nature embrace me… to once again experience childlike freedom.
These images are an ode to that Montana prairie’s sweet, sweet grass.