Long exposure to the nighttime urban landscape of this city serves as a strange yet appropriate metaphor for my passion of great storytelling. Dependent upon the length of exposure, the intricacies of threads woven become manifest. Black and white compete for control of sense and sensibilities through story proper as tales unfold between the lines. Transformation becomes the touchstone that is reflected in a landscape that tectonically shifts from moment to moment.

Ansel Adams said, "To the complaint, There are no people in these photographs, I respond, There are always two people: the photographer and the viewer." His sentiment challenges the underpinnings of existence as it relates to story; a compelling narrative is never without its most significant character — the audience — and this truth is rewarded through long exposure to the landscape.

Forging ahead, beyond the topographical glance of the surface, requires a certain audacity on my part. A longform gesture towards mining the depths of an ever changing landscape. Exploring the cracks & crevasses of stories yet untold. A commitment to understanding the richness of each bold edition that life has to offer. Seen through the lens of long exposure, with the faith that I will one day stand as a great storyteller. Not of my story, but of yours.

Standing among the wreckage of lives twisted, torn apart, and destroyed by a tornado is a sobering affair. On the counter, in a kitchen that no longer exists, rests a cell-phone. A copy of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, tethered to a VCR in the distance—by its strip of magnetic entrails—lies face up on the ground. In the garage rest two luxury cars. Their roofs fashionably absent, save the twisted, dancing, metal frames from which their tops were divorced. Wading knee-deep through scattered debris—the discolored and frayed family photographs with the smiling faces of children before the heavy weather—my spirit is compelled by the remnants of these stories going cold.

Walking amidst the township, I am reminded of Dan Rather's farewell newscast on the CBS Evening News, "...and to all who have suffered natural disasters, and must now find the will to rebuild; to the oppressed and to those whose lot it is to struggle in financial hardship or in failing health; to my fellow journalists in places where reporting the truth means risking all; and to each of you, Courage."

Staring into the eyes of each person I spoke with and photographed, who embraced my hand in salutation, I felt keenly aware of Rather's charge. There was a daring nature about them. Choosing their own adventure, rather than being consumed by it. An emboldened sense of being that, despite the heavy weather, convinced me the people of Monson, MA would persevere.

Observing life through the photographic lens of my rangefinder is time and again an eye-opening experience. Stories unfold through the intimate connection between the camera’s viewfinder and my right eye. Glimpses of the future tease the naked left eye with visions of a plot twist. Anticipation builds until the inevitable click and whir of the shutter, signaling the denouement. As if privy to a secret, I am blessed to observe an eyeful—where every actuation of life observed yields a full or completely satisfying view.

Bound by the 28mm focal length of the lens, I become immersed in the theater of action. The challenge, however, is to ghost through the scene without impacting the narrative in any way. It is an exercise in humility, yet it can be profoundly rewarding. The nature of the prize—so eloquently summarized by the illustrious French photographer Henri Cartier-Bresson—is the opportunity, “to seize the whole essence, in the confines of a single photograph, of some situation that was in the process of unrolling itself before my eyes.”

Inspired and driven by the works of those who came before me—Cartier-Bresson, Maier, Marshall, and Parks—the weight of my camera levies no burden as I bring it to bear. The spark compels me to be patient, attentive, and open-minded while I endeavor to snatch a pebble from the life stream only my rangefinder will be able to freeze. In search of an eyeful I stand fast and ready. Faithful that when the moment arrives, veritably I will see.