I’m a nature photographer, educator, and small-group workshop leader based in South Carolina’s Lowcountry, between Savannah and Charleston. Photography is not new to me. I’ve had a camera in my hands for more than 30 years, beginning with a formal arts education in high school and college. I also spent countless hours in darkrooms developing film and making prints—experience that still shapes the way I approach photography today. What is new is finally having the time to give photography the attention it has always deserved and to build a life around making photographs, teaching, and sharing remarkable places with other photographers. I’m not interested in simply documenting what was in front of me. I want to explore what a scene can become. Light, movement, reflections, negative space, an unexpected angle—or sometimes just a few feathers, shapes, and colors—can completely change a photograph. My work includes wildlife, landscapes, abstracts, and minimalist images, but my goal is always the same: to make a photograph, not simply record a subject. That idea also guides the way I teach. I work mostly with beginner and intermediate photographers, helping them understand why something works and giving them the confidence to make their own choices. Ethical field practices are central to everything I do. No photograph is worth disturbing the wildlife or damaging the places we came to experience. The Lowcountry is more than where I live. It is where I learned to slow down, watch the changing water and light, and notice the possibilities in quiet moments. My work now takes me around the world, but this salt marsh landscape remains the foundation of how I see—and the reason I continue to share my work on Instagram as @lowcountry_nature. My photography has been recognized by ASMP, American Photography Awards, NANPA, the International Photography Awards, ND Awards, the Juliet Margaret Cameron Awards, and other juried exhibitions. The recognition is wonderful, but it isn’t why I keep doing this. I still get ridiculously excited when the light does something unexpected, when a bird lands exactly where I hoped it might, or when I suddenly notice something that wasn’t apparent thirty seconds earlier. That is the part of photography I never want to lose—and what I hope others take away from spending time with me: slow down, look longer, and stay open to possibility.