On May 12 of this year, I’ll have completed 70 trips around the sun.
But it only seems like…?
I don’t make New Year’s resolutions because I can’t keep them.
I probably could if I took them seriously. But at my age, taking things seriously—like a New Year’s resolution—has gotten a lot harder to do, and I think I know why.
As you age, your outlook on life changes. You begin to realize you’re not going to live forever, and you can’t take anything with you when you leave. Those two hard facts are the only things I take seriously.
Seriously though…
My family, friends, neighbors, acquaintances, and my photography—along with my recent return to vinyl records and tape listening—are things I place great value on. But I can’t take any of them with me either when I check out.
When the credits play, remember that they were written by me.
That is what frightens me about dying—not death itself, but not knowing what comes after. If uncertainty is the source of fear, then the question becomes: what can ease that fear without having to die to find out?
We cannot peer into our own deaths. Some have crossed that threshold and returned, and they often describe a similar experience: a tunnel, a radiant light, the absence of pain, and an overwhelming sense of love. Whether literal or symbolic, those accounts are strikingly consistent.
I’ve read the Bible, and I know I should read it again—and again. I didn’t expect it to give clear answers about what lies beyond death, but it does offer glimpses, hints of what may await us. Before that, though, Scripture is clear about one thing we must endure here: suffering.
I don’t say this as a doomsayer. I believe that if—and that is a very big if—we have the strength and faith to endure earthly suffering, we can take comfort in trusting that God knows our pain and that our fear of the unknown is ultimately unfounded.
Let us have faith that God sees our suffering and will reward perseverance. As Hebrews 11:1 reminds us:
“Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.”
I used to get excited when Christmastime came around. But after my kids grew up and got out on their own, Christmas seemed to lose its meaning. Now don’t go thinking that I’ve forgotten what Christmas is really about, I haven’t. I know that it’s the day Christians celebrate the birth of Jesus. And being a Christian, I understand the significance of that.
The joy I used to feel at Christmas when my kids were little has now been replaced by a feeling of “let’s get this over with.” Call me Scrooge if you want, I’ll not get angry because I can still smile through it all. And I most certainly will try hard not to be cynical (Lord knows I’ve been down that road before!).
I’m pretty sure that hanging around for 69 years has probably caused some of my changing attitude towards Christmas. And as far as I know, there is no cure for aging.
Tis the season? Bah….humbug! And please don’t be offended, I’ll wake up Christmas morning feeling a lot better, I promise!
Probably too many to count. Painting comes immediately to mind as one of the most celebrated art forms. In fact, when I think of an artist, I picture painters like Da Vinci, Degas, Dalí, and van Gogh, among others. I never truly considered photography an art form—at least not until recently.
I joined f.64 Elite one year ago this past June, and doing so has completely changed how I make photographs. It’s also been a journey toward finding my inner artist—both in photography and in music.
I still struggle to define exactly what my vision is when I create a photo or compose a song. Most of the time, I don’t fully recognize my artistic vision until days, weeks, or even years after the work is made.
It’s during the editing process that the muse speaks—directing and guiding my eyes to see, and bending my ears to listen—for the artistic vision I know is hidden somewhere within my work.
Once I find it, I shape it into what I want you to see and hear: a subtle tone shift while playing Dm on my acoustic guitar, or a shift in hues between orange and brown in an image from Badlands National Park.
When all’s said and done, the viewer or listener may shape their own vision when gazing at my photo or hearing my composition—and that’s as it should be. Because one artistic vision can have many interpretations, but dare I say… only one creator?
Photography and music are the two most important pursuits in my life—though calling them “hobbies” doesn’t quite do them justice. They both demand focus, creativity, and time. And while I’d love to do them simultaneously, that’s not exactly possible (though it would be pretty great if it were). Finding enough time for each is always a challenge.
It’s been a little over a month since returning home from our Epic Journey West, and I still haven’t been out with my camera. My Martin D-28 has stayed in its case, untouched. Most of my time has gone into culling (and editing a few) photos from the four National Parks we visited. I took more than 1,700 images—many duplicates (I shot nearly 100 frames of the iconic Moulton Barn in Jackson Hole), a few out of focus, and some that just didn’t work.
This winter, I’m hoping to finally finish the culling process and carve out some time to pick up my guitar again—maybe even do a little recording with my two sons.
I’ve also been dedicating time to take part in Blake Rudis’s Vision Session video series. My session is the final one in a set of six and will be available for f.64 Elite members to view in December. The Vision Session series will continue into 2026, featuring more members and their creative journeys.
I plan to share a detailed post soon about The Vision Sessions and why they matter. Consider subscribing so you won’t miss it!
View from inside the Chapel of the Transfiguration, Teton County, Wyoming
I’m trying to be a lot more precise with how I edit my photos. Why? Because I’m a visionary!
Well, actually, I’m just an artist—photographer and musician—creating photos and music with a vision in mind: how I want my picture to look or how I want my original song to sound.
Since joining f.64Elite back in June of 2023 and taking one of the member courses, Discovering Your Vision, I’ve become much more aware of how a viewer or listener might perceive my art.
One important point needs to be understood when people look at or listen to my work: the vision I had when I created it might be very different from theirs. And that’s perfectly fine.
But I don’t change my original vision—unless…
Unless the muse demands it.
Moulton Barn, Grand Tetons—a melody of wood, mountain, and cloud.
For the first time, I’m facing the monumental task of culling over 1,700 landscape and nature photos.
Our epic journey west to four National Parks ended on September 19, and by the 22 we were back home in western PA. I hope to have my selection of “keeper” photos completed sometime soon.
I’ve culled hundreds of wedding photos before, but deleting landscapes, wildlife, and the raw grandeur of Badlands, Yellowstone, Grand Teton, and Glacier feels like erasing memories themselves.
The beauty we saw defies words. If you’ve ever stood in a National Park, you know that feeling — the impossible task of translating vast horizons and wild silence into language.
Once I’ve chosen my best images, the next step is shaping them with my artistic vision — a skill I’m still learning, still refining. That same vision will also flow into my music, as I compose, record, and produce in my home studio.
I’m an aging artist, framing both sound and image, chasing the vision of making everything I create more impactful for you — the viewer, the listener.
We have returned from our visit to four National Parks. I will be writing about it here very soon so if you’re not subscribed, please consider doing so and you’ll get notified as soon as that post goes live.
I never set out to be that person. You know the one—the person who swoops into a conversation with a “Well, actually…” tucked in their back pocket like it’s a party trick. The person who cares just a little too much about the difference between “less” and “fewer.” The person who can’t help but notice that the band’s song intro was two measures shorter than the studio version. Yeah. That person.
The funny part is, half the time I don’t even realize I’m doing it. I’ll comment on how a photo instructor edits the photos he critiques a little differently than how he shows in his photo editing courses. That’s when it hits me: oh no, I’ve wandered into pedant territory again.
What’s a Pedant, Anyway?
The official definition is something like: a person who is excessively concerned with minor details or rules. Doesn’t that sound delightful? Okay, not really. But here’s the thing—I think there are flavors of pedantry. Not all pedants are insufferable know-it-alls correcting everyone’s photo editing workflow like it’s an Olympic sport. Some of us are just detail-oriented folks whose passion for the little things leaks out into everyday life.
For me, it shows up in the creative stuff. Photography, music, writing—they all invite a kind of obsessive attention to detail. Sometimes that means noticing an unusual editing method no one else would ever notice. Sometimes it means fussing over a guitar tone until I’ve spent more time tweaking knobs than actually playing. Sometimes it’s rephrasing a blog sentence four times until it “flows just right.”
The Good and the Not-So-Good
Being a pedant has its perks. Let’s be honest: someone’s gotta care about the details. Without pedants, typos would run wild, guitar strings would be out of tune, and photo edits would look like clown vomit.
But the shadow side is real, too. Pedantry can shrink the big picture down to a single nit we’re busy picking. It can make conversations stall, creative work feel suffocating, and even the fun stuff lose its spark. Nobody wants to be around someone who turns every casual chat into a grammar seminar. (Okay, maybe other pedants do. But still.)
Laughing at Myself
What I’m learning is this: the trick isn’t to stop being pedantic—it’s to catch myself early and not take it so seriously. If someone says “literally” when they mean “figuratively,” it’s not a crime against language. If a fellow photograher uses an “all over the place” editing method, the world keeps turning. And if I over-polish a blog post… well, at least it’s shiny.
At the end of the day, pedantry is really just caring about the details a little too much. Which isn’t the worst flaw in the world—as long as I can laugh at myself when I catch that “Well, actually…” creeping up again.
So here’s my modest proposal: let’s all give our inner pedants a hug, then politely ask them to sit down. Then thank the photographer that reminds us of our flaw. Life’s bigger than a misplaced comma or a photo editing workflow that flows all over the place.
It’s been a dream of ours for years to head west and finally experience some of our country’s most breathtaking national treasures. We had planned to make the trip back in 2020, but like so many others, our travel plans were put on hold when Covid-19 changed the world.
This time, the adventure begins in Cleveland, where we’ll see Alison Krauss in concert. Her music feels like the perfect soundtrack to set the tone for wide skies, mountain air, and days on the road ahead.
From there, we’ll drive west for a couple of days until reaching our first destination: Badlands National Park. I’ve always been fascinated by its otherworldly landscapes—jagged peaks, layered rock, and endless horizons that seem designed for a camera lens.
Next, we’ll journey on to three more iconic parks: Yellowstone, Grand Teton, and Glacier National Parks. Each holds its own promise: the geothermal wonders and wildlife of Yellowstone, the sharp, rugged beauty of the Tetons, and Glacier’s towering peaks and pristine alpine lakes
As a photographer, I couldn’t be more excited. I’m sure I’ll come home with plenty of photos—some that immediately carry vision and others that will need time to reveal their meaning. Those quieter images will wait with me through the long, cold Northeast winter, offering me the chance to reflect and discover the vision I might have missed in the moment.
Framing the Sound 