Monterey, California
Just after first light, I went out for a romp on my bike. In Monterey, California the sun rises over the bay, creating an east coast feel. Layers of clouds hung over the horizon, punctuated with bits of glinting sun, illuminating fragments of detail in the distance. The muted light cast a soft glow over everything. It held a dream-like quality, changing moment to moment. I saw a lineup of brown pelicans approaching, so I pulled over and grabbed the camera hanging from a strap on my shoulder. The pelicans turned in my direction and glided in front of a scattering of illuminated, white clouds.
I lit up inside—a frame of time captured in a black box. Anyone who takes photographs knows the moment. The gift filled me with anticipation. In the days of black-and-white film, the magic of the darkroom released the picture, a red light, photo-paper in a bath of developer, the image slowly emerged. But the magic hasn’t diminished with modern technology. Sitting in front of a computer monitor, I get the same rush as the image opens––and time, space, and emotion flow from it.