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I feel a strong connection to the American West: My mother was born and raised in Wyoming, my parents met there, and my family and I have travelled there nearly every year of my life.  New England is charming and green, but I get claustrophobia after a while, rarely able to see the horizon.  I love the big skies and dramatic clouds of the West and the land stretching out for miles without interruption.  The West has a way of magnifying solitude.  One can drive for miles without seeing another person, and the Western landscape can dwarf even large signs of civilization and make them seem more like intrusions on a landscape that we have not yet domesticated and called our own.  When walking in the hills or mountains out there, I feel like I’ve escaped the routines of modern life and am surrounded by something bigger than my constricted everyday life.  I try to capture what I like about the West: The big skies filled with clouds, for sure, but also the solitude, the soft light of morning and the harsh light at midday.

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The West sometimes demands color.

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