At this stage in life, I don’t chase the distant or dramatic. I see what’s right in front of me. My photographic view has changed, because I have changed. What matters now is clarity, patience, and the quiet reward of looking closely.
My Path Close To Home
My photography began close to home. As a boy growing up in the Bronx, NY, I would spend hours wandering the paths of the Bronx Zoo, the Botanical Gardens, and Bronx Park. I wasn’t thinking about photography as a future, only recording nature, animals, light and movement as my way to document the day. Looking back, those moments of noticing were already shaping how I would one day see the world through a camera. As I got older, curiosity drew me to explore beyond what was familiar. I’d hop on a city bus or a train and ride to the end, not always knowing what I’d find. Some destinations were unremarkable. Others revealed unexpected surprises of city life, people, architecture and neighborhoods full of contrast. I remember discovering the amusement rides in Coney Island in Brooklyn, NY with all its sound, action and color.
As time progressed, what mattered most was not just what I photographed but rather how the process worked giving me more control. I wasn’t content to send film out to a lab. I wanted to shape the image myself. I began exploring the opportunities of a darkroom and learning the craft of developing and printing. It gave me a sense of control and responsibility over the final result. I was now building the photograph, not just capturing it. For a time, photography took a quieter role as life moved forward but it never really left me.
Eventually, my work life included travel around the country and abroad and with it came a renewed interest in new places. I found myself drawn to landscapes, old buildings, architectural form, and the way light transformed unfamiliar places.
When we moved to Florida in 2016, my first discovery was the shoreline. The beach and all the action around it became my new focus. I photographed waves, changing tides, birds, clouds, sunrise and sunsets and the seasons. I reached even further with visits to state park trails. Then came the pandemic.
The world closed down. Travel stopped. But my desire to photograph didn’t. In fact, when my world got smaller my vision got sharper. I began to look closer. I saw dew drops catching the morning light, delicate wings of a dragonfly, seeing bark as art, light and shadows on flowers and garden leaves, the flicker of a butterfly and the changing color of a gecko in its environment. Illusions of color and another world.
I explore this idea through two growing collections: Close to Home, which embraces the textures and details of my immediate world, and Away from Home, which revisits places near and far that have shaped my vision. The boundaries are wide. What matters is that seeing never stops. So, that’s how Close to Home began. Not just a title, but a way of life. A belief that there’s still so much to what you are surrounded by.
Age sharpens vision in its own way not through looking beyond, but through focus within. Through patience, through knowing when and where to look.
I created this blog to share this path. It isn’t a how-to. It’s not about gear or technique. It’s about attention, about presence, and purpose. It's for anyone who’s ever wondered what’s next. Over time, I’ll share thoughts behind various images, reflections on age and creativity, and the occasional peek behind the scenes. If you’re looking for more than just pretty pictures, There’s a story to tell. Right now, I am Close To Home.
