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For our 10th anniversary, my wife and I spent a week in Hawaii—a place neither of us had ever been.

As we planned the trip, it quickly became clear that each island has its own personality. We’re not really drawn to nightlife or crowds, so Kauai—the Garden Isle—felt like the right fit from the start.

The week delivered everything we were hoping for. Hidden waterfalls reached by ATV, swimming in freshwater pools, even a zodiac boat ride in six-foot swells—equal parts thrilling and questionable decision-making.

But this image comes from a quieter moment.

Hanalei Beach.

The surf was rough, whitecaps rolling in one after another, but what stood out wasn’t the water—it was the stillness.

There wasn’t another person in sight. Just the sound of the waves and the rhythm of the shoreline. We ended up sitting there for close to an hour without really saying much, just taking it in.

Standing there, it’s easy to understand why some people connect this place to the “Hana Lee” from Puff the Magic Dragon. Whether that’s true or not almost doesn’t matter.

There’s something about the place that feels familiar in a way that’s hard to explain—like it belongs to a story you’ve heard before.

This wasn’t perfect light. Not golden hour, not a dramatic sky.

But it didn’t need to be.

This image isn’t about capturing the “best” version of the beach. It’s about holding onto that moment—the quiet, the space, the feeling of being somewhere that didn’t ask anything of you except to sit and look for a while.

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The SentinelStanding in profile, this suit of armor takes on the presence of a silent guard. The wider composition emphasizes its restrained decoration, upright form and the stoic character that inspired the title.

Even though I know this suit of armor is empty, it still strikes me as a guard, standing watch over the rest of the exhibition. Yes, I realize I'm personifying a suit of armor, but I can't help imagining him making sure none of the other pieces are damaged or mistreated.

What also caught my attention was how restrained this particular suit feels compared with some of the others. There's ornamentation, certainly, but large portions of it are simply functional. Even the openings in the helmet are minimal—just enough for the sentinel's eyes.

For this photograph, I wanted to capture that sense of stoicism. Rather than concentrating on the ornate details, I pulled back and photographed the overall form, letting the posture and profile become the focus.

Echoes in Steel grew from an opportunity through the Worcester Art Museum Members Council to create photographs for auction at its annual members gala. As a thank-you for that opportunity, and to support the arts, I’m donating 50% of the profits from print sales in this series to the Worcester Art Museum.

Tranquility by the lakeTwo Adirondack chairs face a calm lake under a mostly cloudy sky, a scene that radiates peace and tranquility. A simple landscape photography moment, inviting rest and reflection by the water’s edge.📸 Sometimes the quietest views speak the loudest to the soul. When we're somewhere like this, my wife and I tend to wander in different ways. I'm usually roaming around looking for something to photograph. Robyn is taking in nature, wondering what kind of flower this is or what type of bush that is.

Where we come together is plopping down somewhere and taking in the view.

Sometimes we talk about what we've each seen and interpreted along the way. Sometimes we don't talk at all. We just sit.

I went to Moore State Park specifically to photograph a few areas I'd had in mind, but these connected Adirondack chairs weren't on the agenda. The moment I saw them, though, I could picture the two of us sitting there doing exactly that.

Maybe that's why I photographed them.

When you're exploring somewhere with someone else, do you tend to experience it together, or wander off and come back together like we do?