3500 miles in 35mm


I chose to revisit the ruthlessness of the ocean, the desert, and the winter all at once in my ’87 pickup.  She almost didn’t make it back, not to any mechanical faults, but to the undeniable fact that she had won the hearts of every fisherman that saw her bumble on by.  Trips like this have become so fundamental to living as an artist in a big crowded city, in making space and time to be dirty and wildly disengaged from pointy parameters of the urban environs.  Rigs of all shapes, sizes, and capabilities swarm the dry vastness that is the peninsula of Baja California, yet it’s not unusual to still find yourself surrounded by nothing but nothing.  Alas, images are shot with my rangefinder, and arguably more interesting than reading what’s been writ, so there: