Growing up in a small town in Oklahoma, I had one clear vision for my future: I was going to be an architect. But not just any architect—I dreamed of designing skyscrapers and awe-inspiring buildings that would change city skylines. My imagination soared, and I was determined to make it a reality.
At the age of thirteen, my training began. Armed with old-school tools like a T-square, a triangle, and sharpened pencils, I would spend hours drawing. But the most valuable tools weren’t on my drafting table—they were in a large cloth bag, tucked away in my father’s woodshop. Inside were dozens of wooden blocks, each about four inches square, meticulously cut into various shapes and angles by my dad.
He taught me an exercise that seemed simple but proved to be transformative: I would lay these blocks out and draw each one from every possible angle—top, bottom, sides, and in perspective—on a large sheet of translucent paper. It wasn’t just about drawing; it was about learning to see. To see the world not as it presents itself at first glance, but from every angle, every perspective. It was one of the most powerful lessons I’ve ever learned.
Those wooden blocks did far more than teach me how to print in an architectural style or work towards a goal. They instilled in me the ability to observe, to break down the world into its components, and to truly understand what I was looking at. And while I never became the architect I had once dreamed of, those early lessons shaped my journey into photography—where the art of seeing is everything.
In photography, especially in my work photographing golf courses and landscapes, it’s never enough to simply capture a scene as it is. I find myself analyzing: Can I move to a better vantage point? Is the lighting at its best, or should I return at another time of day? Should I face the sun or turn my back to it? The more I consider these questions, the more compelling the result.
Whether it’s the sweeping beauty of a golf course or the delicate intricacy of a small flower, I aim to portray each scene in the most dynamic, dramatic way possible. Because without a sense of drama—without a reason to captivate and engage the viewer—what’s the point of the effort? That lesson began with those humble wooden blocks, and it’s stayed with me through every photo I take.
It’s all about perspective—and the art of seeing.
