Working with real tulips one-on-one, observing how they respond in close proximity. Maneuvering the stem to create intentional posture and lightly rubbing leaves with my fingers to take certain form. A natural expression of care emerges in posture. Softbox and key light, reflected off the wall with black sheet on table. Pure and simple every time.

Another beautiful day with real tulips. I’m growing in my familiarity in working with these creative creatures. I’m beginning to see a niche for myself. All of the recommendations I’ve been receiving from accomplished artists have been to focus my efforts on a specific subject or stye or something. I needed to clarify my vision and strengthen my voice - a singular narrative. I fought it hard because I like diversity and trying new things, but I think I may have stumbled into something…at least for now.

These particular tulips told me they were ready to shed…and the rest just happened magically. Some shoots seem to be arduous with changing setups and angles and lighting. This one was not. Starshine actually composed herself for me. As the outer petals fell from the stem so these images fell into my focal lap.

The petals are elegant and beautiful on their own. Apparently, their two color tones are “due to a combination of genetic factors, hybridization, and viral infections that affect pigment distribution”. Whatever the reason, they are glorious.

I’ve been drawn to cloud formations since I was a kid, so photographing the sky had always come naturally. I did it casually—at outdoor events, in my backyard, even from the car - cuidado Rusty. Eventually I began printing these skyscapes in different sizes and arranging them into absurd compositions that I absolutely loved! That process brought an unexpected amount of satisfaction and became the starting point for shooting still-life.

I later introduced a mirror and a glass table, using reflection as a way to multiply space and see what the images might do when allowed to repeat themselves. The reflections began to suggest depth without requiring construction—just angle and light.

I had different variations of the studio set up in my living room for a month (July 2025) as I battled unwelcomed reflections and glare. For the final shoot, a skyscape was printed double-sided on cardstock and positioned on the glass so that, at roughly a 45° angle, multiple mirrored versions of the sky appeared naturally within the frame. Alongside it, I had a photograph of a triumph tulip with a cup-shaped bloom—elegant, rose-like, but without the drama. I printed the image at 8×10, cut it out, and began placing it among the skyscapes to see how it might hold its own within that open space.

The setup was complete chaos with anything I could find in my house: white sheets, one softbox, a flashlight, a random corded iight that came from somewhere, a full-length mirror, and a rectangular glass table. Most of the discovery came from small adjustments—slight shifts in angle, light, and placement—watching how the planes began to interact on their own.

I was interested in the juxtaposition of the surreal and abstract—where recognizable forms could be reimagined into illogical or dreamlike arrangements. Combining skyscapes with still-life elements allowed me to explore memory, subconscious association, and emotional resonance through layering and reflection. Over time, my focus narrowed. I’m not currently working with skyscapes, instead concentrating on gesture alone—forms silhouetted against solid color fields, where posture and presence can speak without atmosphere. I still take photos of clouds all the time though.