The Fossil Hunters Project, or Long Walks Alone on the Beach, Part 1

If there’s one thing I love, it’s a good personal project. Something interesting and twisty and turny to sink my teeth into. Which, segues really conveniently to sharks, and more accurately, (fossilized) teeth.

The Fossil Hunters (working title) is a new project I began in late spring, 2021, documenting the wide variety of folks who explore the western coast of Maryland’s Chesapeake bay in search of fossilized shark’s teeth, whale and dolphin bones, and whatever else they can pull up. The art of fossil hunters traipses across multiple disciplines from paleontology and geology, to meteorology , climatology, and biology. On its journey it brushes up against anthropology, local tourism, commerce, ecology, and, coming full circle, art.

This is a part 1 of sorts, as I plan on exploring this topic from various angles and in a variety of mediums. Stay tuned!

The Learn Project, 10 Years On...

I looked at my calendar the other day and realized it had been 10 years (!) since I began The Learn Project, a personal series that followed adults learn how to do unusual things.

When I moved to D.C. in 2010, I realized I needed to shake-up my portfolio. I had been working squarely in the corporate and PR space, but I wanted to something a bit more… adventurous. People recommended that I start to make pictures about my passions and hobbies.

That’s when it hit me. I. Had. No. Hobbies. (sigh.)

A few days later, I was sitting in traffic on the corner of Connecticut Ave and K Street when I saw a crane raising a load of i-beams up to a building. I remember thinking, “how in the hell did they learn to do that???!?” And just like that, The Learn Project was born. (The answer, by the way, is the aptly named, “The Crane School.”)

I’ve always considered myself a “101” kid–you know, those survey courses in college that are largely the domain of those who haven’t declared a major yet. Truth be told, I like knowing a little bit about everything, so immersing myself in a project that was as wide as an ocean and as deep as a kiddie pool seemed just about right. It was really a celebration of experiential education, and those teachers, professional and otherwise, who share their knowledge with others. Growing up on a college campus, the son of two college professors, it seemed like I had come full circle in a way.

The outline of the project, which I developed over the course of several beers at the late, great, Science Club , was simple:

  • The subjects all needed to be adults

  • The learning had to occur in person but not at a desk

  • It had to be unusual.

I’ve always said that the best thing about traveling is that wherever you go, you can see different horizons. Once you’ve been somewhere different, the logical conclusion is that there must be somewhere else out there, just beyond the ridge Being somewhere makes it very evident that there’s always somewhere new. Similarly, once I began shooting TLP, it added a whole new dimension to which I would look at everything. Life shifted from just being “hey, look at that sword swallower!” to, “Holy shit, how did she learn to do that without slicing off her own head?!?!?”

Getting past the what and noodling around in the how, inevitably leads to the why, makes life much more rich. This is, I realized, led me to really understand why I wanted to be a photographer in the first place. The ability to put myself into someone else’s boots for a moment and to see the world from that perspective, and then step out of those shoes a better person, in addictive.

For various reasons I quietly put the project to bed after a few years. I’m revisiting the concept from a slightly different angle, which I’ll be sharing soon. In the meantime, here’s a celebration of unusual education, and especially the humans–teachers–who spread knowledge, arcane and otherwise–to the rest of us. These are the beekeepers, the survivalists, the makers, the doers. Those that perform in the literal spotlight and those who work quietly in the odd hours of the night. Some learn for learning sake, others for well-being, and others to make ends meet. Each student has their own reasons and philosophies, and I’ve enjoyed meeting every one.



Fotoweek DC, 10 years on.

As winter sets in and the pandemic marches on, I’ve found myself missing personal connections, especially those involving the photography community.

When I moved to D.C. in 2010 I didn’t know a single photographer. To soften my landing I started volunteering for Fotoweek DC, a (you guessed it) photography festival held every November. With countless exhibitions, speaking events, portfolio reviews, competitions and parties, it was a celebration of everything I love about the medium. I started volunteering in the summer of 2010 and in a few weeks turned it into a paid, (albeit temporary) position. Managing the photographic coverage of the festival gave me an insider’s view of the weeklong event and helped me to build connections in the region. Looking back through the images I see friends and peers both as subjects of the photos and in the background. In many cases I didn’t actually get to meet them until years afterwards.

While the festival is no longer an event, I hope 2021 (or 2022) brings a return to this kind of in person community. I would be remiss if I didn’t mention Theo Adamstein, the founder and force of nature behind the event. He brought the passion and personal connections together to make an annual event that is still remembered fondly.

Click for full image. All images © me.


Behind the Scenes, Between Acts

In addition to my photography workload, I am part of Missing Link, a start up podcast media company. One of the shows under production is an audio theater podcast called Between Acts. Here’s a sneak peak behind the curtains from some recent recordings made at the Little Theatre of Alexandria, in Northern Virginia.

To keep things interesting, I used a variety of subtle (and not so subtle) styles of shooting and post production as a nod to the various genres of plays that were performed.

Documenting Public Art Installations

Sometimes art is a physical endeavor. While a google search for “art” reveals an overwhelming bias towards two dimensional art, we all instinctively know that that the art world encompasses so much more–it is not just a labor of love but often a labor of the hands.

Public art is just starting to get recognized in its own right. I’m not talking about Banksy, but ways that communities and neighborhoods can really demonstrate their own unique personalities and make statements about who they are and the values they hold. Last week I had the pleasure of documenting the installation of two pieces of public art in Wheaton, Maryland as part of Picture Wheaton project. Rather than just share the finished product, I wanted to acknowledge and celebrate the physical work that is required to make these pieces a reality.

On a Monday I made some images of the installation of the final two 7’ mosaic medallions on the former Wheaton clock tower. This wraps a four year project by local non-profit Arts on the Block, which saw the creation and installation of 44 smaller medallions, as well as the four large medallions on the historic Wheaton landmark. The second installation began promptly at 4 am on Thursday. I assume it was prompt, because I arrived at 4:25 and the damn thing was already in place. I slept in (3:55 am) and missed the money shot. Beginning a shoot in darkness and watching the sky very gradually brighten as a fog rolls in is the kind of situation I’ve missed documenting since COVID came to town. Just being up, focused and present, as something unfolds is addictive. Big congratulations to artists Adrienne Mounin, Eric R. Ricks, and Nori Sato, as well as the Metal Arts Foundry in Lehi, Utah and thanks to the Arts and Humanities Council of Montgomery County for supporting the arts.

A community lives with its public art. And, just like living partners, they make impressions on each other over the course of time–wearing, inspiring, smoothing, informing–all while evolving and growing together. I am excited to document these pieces of art together with the community they live in.