My trip out West was the trip that almost didn’t happen. I’d convinced

myself that I’d never be able to get enough time off of work just to go galavanting for a month. But by the forces that be, primarily my truly generous employer, and encouragement from my parents, I was able

to live a month of life changing events, immerse myself in creating images, and surround myself with other truly adventurous spirits. The trip, now deemed a personal journey, became a culmination of maturity in my work, self exploration, and a self realization that photography is a huge part of my personal drive. Photography, sketching, art creation in general, along with a hefty dose of critique from my peers opened a vein for my voice, which had previously been left untapped. I had finally confronted myself and my craft and unveiled the perfect outlet to release

my creative wanderings.



The following book exemplifies another time tested passion of mine-journaling. There’s something strange, intimidating, and intriguing about opening a brand new journal, in this case a black leather Moleskine filled with blank manila pages. The empty space yearns to be filled. Every

night I made a concerted effort to take time to be quiet. I let the day’s endeavors melt through my mind and onto the creamy journal pages. Journaling also occurred en route. Sometimes on the top of blustery

open mountain. Sometimes sitting on a dusty shelf in a red rock canyon. Journaling allowed me to record my journey, explore new techniques, and remember the trip through different means of record keeping.