Basilica Of Saint NicholasJust before sunrise, the Basilica of St. Nicholas emerges through the misty morning. The orange glow of street and building lights contrasts beautifully with the deep blue sky, while red and white light trails trace the passing cars in this long exposure travel photography moment.📸 When city and light dance together, every frame tells a story.

On a trip to Amsterdam, one morning after a rainy evening, I decided to get up early and head out before the city really started moving. Blue hour, just before sunrise, when everything still feels a little quieter and more open.

Walking along one of the canals, I came across the Basilica of Saint Nicholas. The combination of the misty air, the deep blue sky, and the warm glow from the lights made the whole scene feel almost still—like the city hadn’t quite woken up yet.

The only problem was the steady stream of traffic passing in front of it.

At first, I took a handful of images thinking I might be able to blend them later and remove the cars. But standing there, it clicked—rather than fight the traffic, I could use it. A longer exposure would turn it into light, something softer and less distracting.

This image is the result of that shift.

The traffic never really disappears—it just becomes a suggestion. A quiet reminder that the city is there, even if it hasn’t fully arrived yet.

Amsterdam is full of incredible places and moments, but for some reason, this one has always stayed with me more than the others. Maybe it’s the time of day, maybe it’s the stillness, or maybe it’s just that brief window where a busy city feels like it belongs to you alone.

Love this image? Add it to your wall. Click the photograph to explore available print options.

I'm a big fan of collaborations, and I love to support the arts in any way, shape or form possible. So when I was asked by the Worcester Art Museum Members’ Council if I'd be willing to create some images specifically to auction off at one of their galas, of course I said yes—even before I knew exactly what they were looking for.

A few months before this came up, the Higgins Armory Museum had closed its doors after 82 years in operation and donated its collection to the Worcester Art Museum. I bring this up because one of the goals of that year's gala was to help raise money to retrofit a section of the museum to house the arms and armor collection donated by the Higgins Armory.

I worked with the Members’ Council to come up with the idea of photographing some of the actual pieces, but approaching them as art rather than as museum documentation.

What we came up with was pretty amazing: another photographer and I were given after-hours access to the collection, along with a dedicated docent each to help us through the process.

Of course, I couldn't touch any of the pieces. I was allowed to bring in my own lighting as long as I didn't flash the paintings. I'd explain what I wanted from each piece, and the docent would help me set things up, make sure my lighting wasn't spraying somewhere it shouldn't, and generally keep me honest.

We photographed a bunch of the standing armor, and then my docent asked if I had any interest in photographing some other pieces. He brought out a catalog, and I chose a couple of swords and a pair of gauntlets.

For those, I talked through the arrangement I wanted, and he very carefully—white gloves and all—positioned everything while I took test images. We'd make adjustments until we settled on the final "pose."

In the end, the Members’ Council chose two of my photographs. I printed them on aluminum, they were auctioned at the gala, and each raised a few hundred dollars for the museum. They were thrilled with the results.

And that could have been the end of it.

But I came away from the experience with a collection of photographs I really loved. Eventually, those photographs became Echoes in Steel.

Over the course of this series, I'm going to share a handful of my favorites, along with a little about why I chose to represent each piece the way I did.

There's also one more piece to this.

As a thank-you for the opportunity that led to Echoes in Steel—and in support of the arts—I will donate 50% of the profits from print sales in this series to the Worcester Art Museum.

It's my way of saying thank you for giving me an opportunity I never would have had otherwise, and of continuing to support the arts however I can.

The Watcher

We're selling our house.

I lost my day job, and I'm 60+ years old and close enough to retirement anyway, so we decided to move up our retirement plans and retire now rather than wait another year or two.

Part of that plan is to move someplace without snow (Viva Las Vegas!), buy a Class C RV, and spend 8–10 months of the year traveling the U.S.—exploring, photographing, experiencing, and otherwise just doing new things.

That also means selling the house we've lived in for more than 25 years.

Over the last month or so, we've been culling, cleaning, fixing, and otherwise prepping the house for sale. Last week, I finally got to my workshop corner of the basement and, lo and behold, I found four boxes of prints that, honestly, I had forgotten about.

Once I opened the first one, it hit me. These were the prints from my first solo exhibition of my photography, hung at ArtsWorcester's Aurora Gallery.

Not only was it my first solo showing, it also happened to be ArtsWorcester's first showing of fine art nude photography, so it was a new experience for all of us.

It brought a huge smile to my face remembering how proud I was of that moment. I'm sure if anyone had been watching me, they'd have wondered what the hell was going on. I probably looked like I'd just hit the lottery.

And there it was on the box: August 28, 2012. Fourteen years ago.

This brought back a flood of memories—from having to write my artist's statement and artist's résumé to selecting 14 representative works that showcased what this set of images was about, and then printing, mounting, and framing them.

I sent sample prints to no fewer than five different print shops, each on three or four different papers, before settling on Miller's Printing and their true black-and-white process. Looking at the prints in person sealed the deal. I had chosen my printer.

Once I got the prints back, getting custom mats cut and selecting frames was also quite a process. When everything was finally done, I let the gallery hanger decide on the sequencing and room layout, and he did an amazing job.

I still remember the grand opening of the show, which hung for four to six weeks. I honestly can't remember exactly, 14 years later.

Looking back, I can see how the themes represented in this set of images have stuck with my photography through the years. I'm still doing work that's in the same family tree: bold, dark shadows helping emphasize shape and form.

It made me happy to see that I've evolved over time but have stayed within the same voice. I think my work is more deliberate because of this original project. Sure, I've expanded, and not everything I do involves bold use of shadows forcing contrast, but I can see the common thread through the years.

Looking back at all of this has really made me sit and consider myself as a photographic artist.

Though, looking back at my original artist's statement, I kind of cringe a little.

I worked so hard to try to be worthy of being considered an artist that the statement feels forced to me—like I was trying too hard to be an artist and less like I was simply talking about my own work.

Original Artist's Statement

Photography is generally considered the capture of light, in fact the word photography literally translates to light painting. Photographers talk about light quality, color, quantity and so forth and spend their time trying to find the perfect lighting.

For this series of images, I chose to focus on the lack of light, or shadows as a way to keep the emphasis on the subject. Shadows define form and create shapes while adding, in my opinion, visual interest. Through careful use of shadow, I can clearly define my subjects shape and form as well as direct the viewer’s eye around the image. I’m also able to hide or reveal different portions of the subject to create an image that the viewer might not see otherwise.

I chose to use the human body as the medium for my Shadows for multiple reasons. By itself, it’s a visually interesting subject and by using tightly controlled shadows I can abstract the body and direct the viewer to see what I see.

The combination of both the shadows and the body result in an image that I find much more interesting than either subject alone.

All in all, the act of having to pack up a house you've been in for more than 25 years has brought back a flood of memories that were no longer front and center in my mind. It's been a blast at times, to be honest.

I'm willing to bet we've all had those moments, coming across something you'd forgotten about or at least hadn't thought about in ages. Maybe it wasn't packing up a house. Maybe it was spring cleaning or finally tackling that closet that's had stuff stored in it for years.

If you're willing to share, I'd love to hear what you've rediscovered and what memories it brought back.