Long Light
Rediscovering the Photography That First Made Me Feel Alive
My alarm broke the early morning silence. Raindrops fell against the roof of the truck; waves crashed in the distance. I was back in the Upper Peninsula. Spring had arrived, and I was eager to see what experiences were in store.
I was only a few days into the 2026 spring trip, and I still had a week to go. I found excitement in the freedom of not knowing what the trip would become yet. The morning began. I opened the truck, climbed out into the wet grass, and took a deep breath.
Morning rain had soaked the landscape. Broken clouds rushed by overhead as faint sunlight warmed the horizon. The day began with a cup of coffee and a short walk to the shoreline.
I was about to embark on a journey back to where it all began, without even realizing it. As I approached the shoreline, I noticed the light reflecting from the wet rocks. I looked for line, shape, form, and structure in the landscape as I slowly crafted a composition.
I took my time exploring what was speaking to me. No rush, no pressure. If I walked away with a photograph, it would only be a bonus to the experience itself. As I walked the shoreline, a small section caught my attention, and I began exploring it to see what it offered.
The rain was drying quickly, and the sun was nearing the horizon. I knew I had limited time, but again, I was never in a rush. Taking my time, I set up the camera for sunrise but this time, it was different. I wanted to experience it; I wanted to be present when it broke the horizon.
I added a ten-stop solid neutral density filter, allowing me to show movement and energy in the already impressive sunrise color. I would have only one attempt at this. Whether or not I walked away with a photograph, it did not matter.
Patiently, I calculated my approximate exposure time, set the timer, and relaxed. I watched the sky change from deep purple into magnificent shades of blue, orange, and pink. I noticed how the color spread across the sky as the sun drew nearer to the horizon. The intensity of the waves picked up, splashing up the icy water of Lake Superior.
It was about this time that I set up my second camera and fired off a single photograph, not because I was worried I would miss it. But because it reminded me of a sunrise I had missed in October five years ago. I was back in that moment. I was back.
Without realizing it, I had rekindled a passion that had led me to photography. Long exposures, but not just any kind of long exposures. Those that truly show the passing of time.
I sat there on the shoreline watching this transformation before me, realizing that I, too, was transforming. Something had reawakened in me, and I felt its quiet return. I snapped back into reality the moment I heard the camera release, and there it was. A glimpse into my past.
The long, streaking clouds overhead added energy to the scene. The smooth water invited a sense of tranquility. Warm tones contrasted against the receding cool tones of the early morning. I felt as if I had returned to a time in my life that felt so distant from that moment, but the experience bridged two eras together.
LONG LIGHT
Everything begins and ends with light. It is the core principle of my work, interacting with and interpreting the light to communicate an emotional connection. In that moment, I realized I had reconnected with my teenage self.
It took me back to a time that feels like yesterday, even over twenty years later. I was standing on the 75th street bridge in Woodridge, IL. The camera sat on a tripod overlooking I355 below. Taillights streaking across the highway, the hum of tires on the pavement, and soft evening light washing across the landscape.
It was my early years of digital photography. I stood there with my friend Matt, who used to go with me on many of my photography adventures back in the day. Simpler, easier times.
This entire moment of reflection happened in mere seconds sitting there on the shoreline, looking at the final photograph on the back of the camera. It caused me to pause, take things slowly, and sit a while longer.
Looking back, my photography has always focused on movement. From the very beginning I have loved long exposure waterfalls, waves, and sunrise and sunset light. It was as though I had realized my purpose in that moment. Or at the very least, the next season of my work.
What began as a typical spring morning in the Upper Peninsula had quickly unraveled into a complete reawakening of my creative process. Something about this felt deeply personal again. I felt completely connected to the experience.
THE NEXT SEASON
As the trip continued through the rest of the week, I found myself drawn to the shoreline more than usual. This time, I returned to experimenting with long exposures. I was not just there for brilliant clouds and color-soaked skies, whether there were any clouds at all made no difference. I was there to explore, to experience, to take the lessons learned over the last twenty years and apply them again to something that I knew and loved when I first started this journey.
The experience returned me to a time when photography was pure, driven by passion and excitement. Never influenced by social media, trends, or keeping up with what was popular.
I believe this trip has ushered in a season of long exposure work, something that deeply inspires me creatively. Over the years, I have noticed that there is always a message within every trip, and this year, it is more than a message.
It is a new beginning.
Thank you for enjoying this edition of Led by Light.
God Bless!