Tuesday, May 17, 2011



We see the homeless on the street everyday. Though the average American is only about one to three paychecks away from being in their shoes, we seem to choose to ignore them. We look the other way when we pass them on the street. Sometimes there is the person who will hand a couple of bucks to a guy sitting on the corner with a "Will Work For Food" sign, but thats as far as they go. We never take the chance to KNOW them, to hear their story. We don't find a way to connect or relate to them. As a result, we often just don't see them as ONE of us. Not just not part of society, but almost not a part of Humanity. The goal of my series is to HUMANIZE those we choose not to see. Through intimate portraits and telling of their stories, I hope to connect the viewer to these people and make them real in our eyes. When you look someone in the face and hear their story, you can't pretend they aren't there anymore.

Through this I have experienced many things. I have cried. I have laughed. I have been embarrassed by myself and society. I have found wisdom from unexpected people. I have been shocked. I have felt despair. I have felt hope.

But most off all I have looked into the eyes of those that used to be strangers and made a connection. And through it, I have been changed forever....



I listened to Paul, and thought about how if my son had been born the same time as Paul he could have had the same kind of fate as Paul. My son, just like Paul, has Tourettes Syndrome. Tourrettes is a neurological disorder that causes the individual to have TICS. These are vocal sounds or words and arm, hand and head movements. It is totally uncontrollable by the individual, but completely cosmetic. Meaning, they don't effect the persons mental ability. In truth, most with Tourrettes have Way above average intelligence. I quickly find that this is something Paul has in common with my son. As I listen to him talk about the inner working of the brain and Dopamine production, firing of synapses and various things like that...I realize this man is brilliant. I watch his eyes, so intelligent, as he tells me his story. Unfortunately for Paul, he was born at the wrong time. At 10 years old, with his tourettes tics and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, friends and family thought he had major mental issues. They didn't know what to do with him. He endured much teasing, but he got pas that. But in his twenties he found it impossible to keep a job. Wherever he worked people just didn't understand. Co-workers and customers alike would complain about the "Mentally Disturbed" employee until he would be fired. His doctor's answer was to overly medicate him with anti-psychotics, to eliminate the tics...but turning him into a vegetable. Eventually, by the age of 25, the state considered him unable to "work" and put him on state disability. After that, he lived on and off the streets, unable to really get by. I sat and chatted Paul for a couple of hours. He was bright and funny, but also had a huge sadness that weighed over him. I think the down size of his brightness is the fact that he is so acutely aware of how his life could have been different, and he has a bitterness about it. I walk away thinking how my son will have such a different life...


It was a Beautiful warm day, and I spent over an hour sitting with Preston and his two dogs under a tree in the park. I have to say, Preston is one of the most amazing people I have ever met. Not because of where he came from and how he got to where he is today, but because of WHO he is today. His story is actually pretty simple...he was a Roughneck from the age twenty on. He worked oil rigs around the country. Very hard and VERY dangerous work. Over the 30 years he worked oil rigs he watched friends hurt or even killed on the job. Though experienced and a very hard worker, when he hit the age of fifty he found he just couldn't get hired anymore. There were too many twenty year olds out there who were stronger, fitter, more endurance and with less experience, Cheaper. So after 30 years away from home, he came back to Sacramento to live with his sister in a house that belonged to his parents. After a lot of family drama, Preston said Screw It, I'll be happier living in the park. And that's what he did. Preston is unlike a lot of the homeless I've met. He had a very Zen Buddhist way about him. He talked (very clearly and articulately) about how happy he was. People are wasteful, he tells me. They WANT too much, and are seldom happy. "You find happiness within, not from things" he tells me, as he puts a bookmark in his book and sets it down. I said it must be tough, though...not knowing when you will eat, and when you will be hungry. He looked at me and smiled and told me there is an ABUNDANCE of things on the street. People are wasteful, he tells me. They buy too much, then throw it away. He say anyone who lives on the street and says they are starving is either lying or lazy. He finds food everywhere, people throw away tons of food, still in packages. BUT...I say...when the police arrest you for sleeping in the park, don't they throw away all your stuff? Your sleeping bag, and blankets and stuff (and BOOKS)? Doesn't it take you a long time to gather that all back up. He smiled again, and gently shook his head. Sean, you aren't listening to me. Their is an ABUNDANCE of thing out there. It takes me a day to find new blankets and sleeping backs. A day to find new books to read. And if I don't find something that day, I'm just not meant to have it. Wow. I start to see preston differently. Like this amazing buddhist monk, sitting atop a mountain. He is so happy, by choice. He spends most his day reading books. He says he reads about a book every 2 to 3 days. I sat there against the tree, one of Preston's dogs laying its head in my lap...listening to this gentle poet speak. I am moved by him, and in no hurry to depart his company. Finally I stand, and he gives me strong hug...finally we break and he holds my shoulders at arms length. "Life is an ABUNDANCE, Sean. Remember that, and you will find Happiness everywhere, and in everything." I spend the rest of my day on a complete high, amazed by life itself.


"I'm a Drunk, Sean"

Alvin tells me this in one of his moments of clarity. I've tried to figure out how old he his...so far my only clue being that he joined the Army somewhere around the fifties (said he did a little time in Korea during the war) He only spent a few years in the Army before finally being kicked out for Drunk and Disorderly Conduct. He has spent his life fighting a losing battle with alcoholism. What strikes me is his frankness. He doesn't attempt excuses. He doesn't blame anyone but himself. He is very direct with me that he has spent his life a drunk. He has checked himself into many clinics over his life, trying to clean up..but always ends up the same. During our long talk, we discuss that I was in the Marine Corps. He looks at me and asks if I fought in Korea. I chuckled at first, telling him that was sixty years ago..then he looks me dead in the eye and said..right..Vietnam. I stop short when I realize how serious he is. The years of drinking have so affected him. I put my hand on his shoulder, and asked Alvin if he knew what year it was. He looked confused for a second, then shook his head. 78? 64? 72? He responds... I gave Alvin a hug, and five dollars for lunch, and walked away. I felt sad when I looked back at him...watching him shake his head, confused, trying to make sense of our conversation.


Taz comes across as a very kind and gentle man. He smiles a lot, and laughs easily. He is actually married to "Mama", a lady who lives on the street and I've interviewed before. What is very interesting is when you talk to someone...and get them to open up, asking questions that lead deeper and deeper, you sometimes are shocked at what you find. What I knew about Taz before I ever met him, was that along with "Mama", he takes care of many young people who live on the street. He looks out for them, making sure they get food and have somewhere to sleep. He is kind and protective. I ask about how long he has lived on the street. Since he was 25. Wow, I say...24 years on the street..thats a long time. I ask how did he come to live on the street at 24, and he said he never found a place after he got out of prison. Hmm....I think..there is more to this. Prison? What did you go in for? For the first time his smile is gone, and he looks at the ground. He says something I can't hear...then says again, Murder. I'm taken back for a moment, shocked. He looks up at me, and smiles...but there is NO smile in his eyes, which are sad. He tells me his story: "My parents were bikers, as were all their friends. I was sixteen one night when I came home to find my Mother being raped by one of my dad's friends. He was a huge, fat, nasty thing..like 400 lbs or something. He didn't hear or see me. I stood there for a couple of minutes, then went to my parents room. I grabbed my dad's .45 from his drawer (he had a bunch of guns around the house, and they were always loaded) and walked back to the living room. I put the gun to his head and fired. I emptied the rest of the 8 rounds into him as he fell. I looked at him on the ground, moving around, and went to the kitchen and grabbed a 9mm from a drawer. That held 16 rounds, plus one in the chamber. I put all 17 into him. I then went back to my parent's room...grabbed a .357 revolver and emptied all 6 rounds into his face, while he lay dead on the floor. 32 rounds I put into that fucker. I was Tried in court as an adult, and given a life sentence. After 9 years out on parole." When he stops talking I snap a couple pictures, at this moment of his greatest vulnerability. When I look at the picture later I am struck by the look on his face. He smiled for the camera, but there was no smile in those haunting eyes of his...


Scott can't look me in the eye when we talk. At some point, while talking to me and looking down, he tells me he's a little "Pensive" I guess what I mean, he says, is I like to think about what I'm going to say before I say it. Pensive, I think, is a great way to describe him, though not for him thinking before speaking. He looks side to side constantly, uncomfortable talking to me. He only looks up a couple of times and as a result I end up with a lot of pictures of him looking down. He tells me a bit of his story, moving around from place to place. I try to understand who he is and why he is here, but I get no where with his story. We are only talking for about 5 minutes when he quickly says that he has to go do something real quick, but promises he will be right back. He jumps up and RUNS down the street and turns the corner. I set there for a second, a little dazed and confused...trying to decide if he really was coming back. After sitting for another 15 minutes, I realize he's not. Pensive I think, and chuckle.


Richard was the first that day to make me cry. He heard that I was out on the street doing interviews and paying $5 dollars, so he said he "ran" right over. Rolled, is the truth. Richard is a paraplegic. In fact, besides his torso and back being paralyzed, he has no legs at all. I find out that Richard stays in his wheel chair 24 hours a day, sleeping in at on the street as he has no bed. This has led to "stage 4 bed sores" all the way up his back. He is in terrible pain, wincing constantly. I was thinking this was something he had dealt with a long time when he tells me it's only been about 7 years. He was thirty years old, driving home from Stockton one night. He was going down a small highway when he fell asleep at the wheel. His car rolled about a dozen times, but by a miracle he wasn't hurt. He was thrown out of the car onto the highway. He managed to crawl away from his car when another car coming the other way on the freeway, not seeing him in the darkness, hit him and ran him over. He lost both legs and was paralyzed. I ask if he gets disability checks and he tells me not yet. I'm shocked. It took him a year to get approved for disability to start with (go figure, maybe they thought he would grow his legs back) and by then he was homeless. Unfortunately the State requires that someone have a home address to mail the checks to, so he has yet to receive any. He tells me what he really needs is a new cushion for his chair, the one he has is thin and killing him. He's a little angry at the world, and I think about how I would be too. To have everything taken away like that. Despite the fact that he reeks of urine (he has two bags of urine from his catheters hanging off his wheel chair), I lean down and give Richard a hug. I give him $20 and walk away.


I've lived on the street my whole live, Chance tells me. I have a moment where I think...yeah..ok...you're 19. How long is THAT?? I find out. His father went to prison when he was 2, and he was raised by his mother. When he was 9, she had enough and left out on her own. That left Chance at the age of 9, living on the streets of Houston, TX. 9 years old and living on the street. But he said it all worked out...that's where he met his "Family". Gang, is what he meant. He joined a gang at the age of 9, and they looked out for him. Gangs aren't all about fighting, killing and drugs and stuff, he tries to tell me. It's about family to love and protect you. To take care of you. They were there when I needed someone. But, I say...they DO have a lot of that stuff, too, right? (Drugs, violence) Yeah, he says...we have that. He's been in Sacramento for a little less then a year. He's trying to make it on his own..with out the gangs. But he said he was thinking of going back. I think about Taz, and his life on the street. Will that be Chance, 25 years from now? Is there another way. He took the $5 I gave him for the picture, stuck his cigarette in his mouth, and spun and marched off...


I see this man on the corner, with two shopping carts. He is moving things from one cart to another...it looks like he is organizing them. The first thing I notice is the smell. He smells rancid. Beyond rancid. I actually have to stand upwind of him as I feel myself start to gag. I ask if I could talk to him a bit. Ok, he says...I guess. I start with simple ones..like what his name is. He looks at me blankly for a minute, then shakes his head. Your name? Umm... I ask him how old he is, and he shakes his head. You don't know, I say. He looks down and said no. How long have you lived on the street, I ask him. Always? He asks me. How about your parents? I don't have any, do I? You must at some point, I tell him. He shakes his head and says...maybe I have a mother somewhere?? Do you remember your mother? No, he says. Do you have ANY idea how old you were, or how long you have lived on the streets? When I was a baby, he asks? I have a moment where I think how this would actually be funny, if it wasn't so sad. There is nothing inside this guy. No mind, no memory. He's like an animal, who can't communicate and can only focus on surviving. I give him $5, reaching it out from a distance. For the first time since doing these interviews I feel shame. Not only can I not bring myself to hug this guy...I can't actually bring myself to shake his hand. I don't even want my hand close to his when he takes the money. I just want to get away from him. I walk away, my mind racing. I think about the times I felt so good about myself...getting to know some of these people on the street...to see them as people, connect with them...and be able to make physical contact with them. But I can't with this guy. I just feel the need to get away, and it makes me feel even worse. After I speak with him, I sit in my car for a long time...thinking about my encounter with him. And not liking how I felt about it.

Wednesday, April 13, 2011



This is a homeless man in town, his name is Jon. What makes Jon so different from other homeless I've shot and interviewed is that unlike those that have made choices (good or bad) that have led them to where they are today...Jon is different. Jon is completely Schizophrenic and delusional, with almost no connection to reality. It's one of the reasons whenever I see him on the street, I can't help but to stop and give him whatever few bucks I can. It breaks my heart every time I see this Broken Man.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

This week has been VERY crazy in my house. My wife got a call on Wednesday morning letting her know that after 12 years with Starbucks corporate, her job was being eliminated. Yikes! Threw us into a bit of a spin. It made me think of a series I did on homes a few years back...and I remember thinking at the time..."There, but for the grace of God, go I". Meaning...we often don't realize how close we could be...with a few bad turn of events..to be one of them.

With the turn of events...I decided to go downtown and do some homeless shots. The point of taking these images is Not to just get some pictures of homeless...but to humanize them. To learn their story, who they are, and why they are there. Each person I spoke with gets $10 for lunch, a chance to tell their story to someone who really cares (and they know it) and a hug. Here are their stories.....

RON, 49

I met Ron sitting outside a Del Taco, on an early Monday morning. He was sorting through a bag of recycling when I walked up to ask if he has a little time to chat. He looked at me wearily, but give a quick, sharp nod. Ron grew up in a small Central California town, whose main area jobs consisted of farm work, and packaging. He went to work at a young age picking strawberries in the field..eventually working his way up to working in the packing plant. He married and eventually had one child. They struggled, as many families do, but they made do. Then one day, his 14 year old son was killed by a drunk driver. It it him hard, but his wife harder. He looked at his feet as he told me his wife just couldn't handle it. She just couldn't take it. Just couldn't live like that, without him. He was quiet as he stared at his feet. I wanted to ask what happened to his wife...but felt his silence told me so much. I didn't want to abuse this moment he has let me into his life, so I sat there quietly with him while he kicked a small rock with the toe of his boot. Finally he looked up at me and said..things just never were the same after that. He had a hard time working, lost his house and has been living on the street since. But, he tells me how lucky he is. He has a bike and a small bike trailer, which is loaded down with bedding and tarps. He has more then most, he says. I stood up to say goodbye to Ron, and give him a hug. He gripped the back of my jacket tight, for a long time...not letting go. When he pulled away he turned his head away...and said thank you.


I came across a older lady sitting on the curb, with a dog at her feet and two other homeless sitting near here. I was drawn to her as I walked down the street, because I could hear here laughing from a block away. As I walked up, she smiled a HUGE smile at me and said good morning! "Mama". That was what everyone on the street calls her. Mama. Because she takes care of all the younger homeless on the street, making sure they know where to go to be warm or get a meal. She tries to keep them away from the spots the police patrol and share her blankets freely. Oh...but the smile these lady had. She smiled the whole time we sat and talked. Mama has lived on the street since 1984, a lifer on the street. In talking to her, I had a hard time piecing together exactly WHY she ended up here. She told me a story about her brother, and the things he did...but even in telling it, she didn't seem to put a lot of stock in the story herself. I've found there are those on the street that live there as a way of life, and they almost can't see any other way. She even found the "Love of Her Life" on the street 19 years back, and married him. TAS is what she called him. I asked where he was, and for the first time she stopped smiling. Two weeks back they were both arrested for trespassing (trying to find a warm spot in an alley out of a VERY bad storm) They released her after a couple of days, but they were still holding him. She said the worse part was that they take all your stuff; shopping cart, blankets, things like that. She said she had to start all over again gathering things up. But I quickly learned why she was called Mama, because somehow she turned the questions on me...and learned MY story. I found myself telling her about my wife losing her job, and not really knowing WHAT was going to happen. I paused and looked up at her. She had tears in her eyes and was stoking my arm with her hand, as she said...oh it honey, it's ok. Don't worry...Mama loves you and will be here for you. I was so touched at this women, who forgot everything in her life and was so focused on MINE.


I met Sarah sitting with Mama. She laughed constantly, though seldom talked, and never looked me in the eye. I learned growing up in South Carolina, her father at lost his job when she was 12. Her parents couldn't afford there children anymore, so they took there 3 kids for a drive down the road and when they stopped for gas let them out of the car. She said her father gave her older sister some money and gave them kisses and hugs goodbye and then just drove off. She didn't understand at first. And who would, right? How does a 12 year old girl understand her parents dropping her off at a gas station and saying goodbye forever? She said she lost "track" of her sisters shortly after that, though she wouldn't really explain what that meant. She wondered around the country, through Texas and into California. Along the way, she said, she has had 3 kids. They all live with their dads, from what she said, but didn't really know where any of them were. It struck me how we are such a product of how we are raised and what we are taught. I'm watching her while she talks, and wonder if she knows how like her father she was. But she tells me all is ok now, because she is now with her "MAMA", who loves her and looks out for her.


Charisma. That was what I thought when I first met Lavelle. This boy has charisma. He was dynamic, engaging and funny. He laughed easily, and joked freely. And he was smart. That was obviously from the way he spoke. I couldn't help but wonder how this kids life would have been different if he had more chances. Or how it could STILL be different, if he had the drive to take advantage of the chances he has. But I really feel he is a strong example of what happens with children in Bad foster homes. He never knew his parents, he said. Didn't know their names, where they were from, or anything. He grew up in foster care. He moved around the system a lot, from home to home. He smiles at one point, and I stop short. All his front teeth are gone, top and bottom. He suddenly stops laughing an get's tight lipped. He tells me at one of the foster homes the "dad" broke all his teeth in with a bat one day. He looks at me very seriously when he says it was probably his fault, anyway. That he was a bad kid back then, and asked for it. My chin almost hit the floor watching the change that came over him. All his confidence was gone. His laughter. His smiles. He said it's cool, cuz you get what you deserve in those places. I think he has been told so much growing up that he isn't worth anything, and he doesn't deserve anything good...that he actually believes it. He has internalized it. It has become him. When I leave I keep thinking how I still think this kid could do so much, if he JUST thought he was worth it.


Love spoke with such a soft voice, I found myself leaning close to him to hear...thus he drew me in. He reached out while speaking to me...almost as if to shake my hand, but never let go of it while we talked. At first this made me feel slightingly uncomfortable, sitting here holding hands with this man. But his way was so soft and gentle, it almost made me feel like I was a child again, sitting and talking to my own grandfather. But what Willy Love spoke of was hard to follow. His story ran in circles, talking about money that was coming soon one minute, then how he was going to be a finance banker the next. I realized that Willy either suffered from Alzeimer's or Senility. We sat there for 45 minutes as I listened to him talk, wondering what stories were drawn from some reality and which ones weren't. I found myself wishing I had the chance to sit and speak with this gentle, kind man before his mind was gone. I wondered if he still had family out there somewhere, maybe even searching for him. I hugged him like he WAS my long gone grandfather, and I moved on......

Friday, December 11, 2009

Color Version

I have had requests from people to post the color version of this image.  Mind you...while it is color, this images has been a little Desaturated to mute the color a bit, making it more dramatic.

Which do you prefer?  The Black and White or the Color?

Tuesday, December 8, 2009

Umbrella of Society

I was wanting to continue my work on the homeless images I started doing.  For the final project in one of my color photography classes, I decided to incorporate some of this work with the class. 

I was trying to decide how I wanted to introduce color to these images...since I prefer them in black and white.  I feel that they are LIVING in a black and white world.  And that was when I was hit with this idea.  It IS a black and white world for them...

I decided to use the color of a red umbrella.  My thought was to be that the red umbrella would represent society....with all its protection, security and comfort.  But these individuals are living OUTSIDE that comfort of the umbrella.

The first image is of a man of comfort.  Retired, spending the morning at the golf course.  The umbrella of society safely over his head.
The next image is of a homeless man, sitting, looking away from the umbrella.  Does he even know it's THERE?  Is it simply a matter of him reaching out and picking it up...holding it over his head.  Can he rejoin society That easily?  Is it just a matter of choice for him?  But he doesn't even look that way.  Maybe he doesn't even realize it COULD be that easy.  Or maybe it isn't.

The third image is of a man, talking on his iPhone..standing in front of a Mercedes.  Hmmm....nothing seems to say wealth in our society like a brand new Mercedes.  
The fourth image is of a man I met in the park.  Talking to him, I learned that he hates the "establishment"  (who still uses this word?)..the government....the masses.  They are all out to get us...or him...or maybe me, he says.  But according to him..he chooses the live he lives.   Ironically, for all his talk about hate...he smiled easily and readily, and patted me on the back a lot.   He was quick with a smile and quick with a joke.  I decided in this image to have him standing on the umbrella...as a symbol that HE chooses to ignore the umbrella...not pick it up, but to step on it instead.

The last image I find kind of ironic.  Here is a lady, all wrapped up for the rain.  Her belongings are wrapped in plastic bags to keep them dry, and she is wrapped up in a cheap rain cover.  She is sitting there being rained on.  And right next to her...leaning against the wall with...Indifference?....is the umbrella.  How easily it could cover her.  But, ironically...it's not even being USED.  Just sitter their, while she get's rained on.

Oh...and I am including a bonus picture.  The second homeless man, Darnell, posed for several pictures for me.  I ended up with one that I felt really captured the whimsical nature of this man on the street, so I am posting that one, as well.

And don't worry...as always each of the homeless that posed for me was bought lunch and had the chance to sit with me and tell me their story.  I find that more than the meal, the appreciate two things from me.  Someone to listen to their story...to be interested, ask questions and really HEAR them.  The second being physical contact.  It's amazing the power of a hug...but I find that these people I shoot almost are happiest with the hug at the end...and afterward, the keep patting me on the back and shaking my hand.  

I'm thinking they don't get a lot of hugs living on the street.....

Thursday, October 8, 2009

And a Hawk Takes Flight

I am blessed to live in a very amazing place.  

I have a house in Mather, CA.  We are surrounded by open fields that are environmentally protected land.  They are filled with vernal pools and ponds, their are hawks, eagles, egrets, kites (the bird, not the toy), coyotes, and all kinds of other fun stuff.  On top of this, my house backs up to one of these fields, complete with creek.  I can sit in my back yard, on my patio furniture...enjoying a glass of wine with my wife and watch the hawks fly over our heads.

For the last few years I've been hoping to get a good shot of a hawk or eagle...but as yet, the timing hasn't been great.  Well....this week it all came together...

I was driving out of the neighborhood, on my way to meet a client, when I saw this beautiful hawk sitting on a sign relaxing.  At first I was concerned he was injured, since he was holding his week out at a weird angle.  I realized after a minute of watching him that he was just cleaning and fluffing his feathers. 
I had my camera on the seat, with a Canon 70-200mm f2.8 IS lens on the camera...but that just wasn't going to get me close enough.  I KNEW it and didn't want to waste the chance I finally had.
Luckily, sitting on the back seat was a big gun....my two foot long zoom up to 750mm that I use for sports.  I quickly changed lenses and stepped out of the car.
I took a moment to take stock of my situation...see how far I was from the hawk (not too close yet) and look through the lens to see how my shot looked so far.
...I sighed in frustration....  Even with this mega lens...he was still just a small spot in the frame.  This was NOT the photograph I was looking for.

I took a second and set camera up.    I took a spot meter reading of the light with my camera light meter... set my shot up in manual mode (details for you photographers out there..) with the exposure to be a little bright (using ETTR, Exposing To The Right)... I set my lens to manual focus.  As fast as cameras and lenses are these days...the time it's going to take to focus if the hawk takes off...well...just take to long.  Also, I make sure my lens is set to Image Stabilization.

Ok...so here is my dilemma.  I'm going to walk toward this hawk...very slowly, trying not to scare him.  I'm hand holding my camera...which any photographer out there is going to say..oh my...really?  Why?  Because it is VERY hard to hand hold a 750mm lens....besides being HEAVY...what you are looking at in the lens jumps around...you have to have a VERY steady hand.  Plus, you tend to get a lot of blurring of the image.  
Second problem...as I move forward, I'm losing my focus (since I'm on manual focus)

So I set the camera to my eye, and old the lens out...kinda like it were a rifle, fingers on the focus ring...shifting the focus as I move.  With my feet spread wide, I start moving forward VERY slowly!  VERY slowly!  I can't see my feet...so I have to kinda..slide them forward.  
Oh...was this a VERY painstaking and tiring process.  My arms are burning from holding the lens out there...but I can't rest my arms and risk him moving. 

 Plus, he is WATCHING me.  Oh yes.  The reflection on my lens probably caught his attention, and I'm afraid if I lowered my camera he would spook and fly.  As it was...he was tensed and ready to spring.  So I kept going...15, maybe 20 minutes..maybe less..it felt like forever.

And finally...He DID spring.  He launched himself in the air, moving at a speed that I just couldn't believe.  I was ready...and starting firing shots off as fast as I could.  And even shoting a burst of about 12 shots in TWO seconds...I managed to get about...oh...5 in the frame.

Yes... it took him about 2 seconds to travel about 10 feet.  It was amazing.

I was VERY pleased when I got home and found that I finally caught a shot I have been trying for for years.  And it only inspired me to get MORE!


Sean Thomas Bjers

Monday, July 20, 2009

Darian + Christine - A Wedding Preview

Last weekend I had the distinct honor to photograph the wedding of Darian and Christine. 

I can honestly say that these are two of the nicest people I've ever met, and it was a pleasure to photograph the two of them on their day of celebrating their love.  These two are such a joy to watch together, and their love for each other is evident to everyone who sees them together.

The wedding was held on Sunday, about 3 hours out of sacramento at a beautiful ski resort called Kirkwood.  It is an AMAZING location, about 8,000 ft elevation, nestled in the mountain and surrounded by trees and wildflowers.

Being adventurous as they are, they did the ceremony on the TOP of the mountain.  The bride and groom and all the guest (even the 73 year old grandma!) took the lift up the mountain to the site.  

We got some amazing pictures and I decided to post a handful of them here for people to get the chance to see.

Congratulation to you Darian and Christine!  May your love always continue to shine as bright as it does today!