“To photograph is to hold one’s breath, when all faculties converge in the face of fleeing reality.”
Henri Cartier-Bresson
Guardians of the Lake, Carmel Valley, CA, 2015
1st Place - Outstanding Achievement, Category: Fine Art, 4th International Color Awards
They arrived without announcement, as true guardians do. Three great white egrets stood at the edge of the lake in Carmel Valley, spaced just far enough apart to suggest intention rather than coincidence. I watched them from a respectful distance, as one might observe monks mid-vow. The water accepted their reflections without argument, doubling the silence, turning the shoreline into a threshold between what breathes and what remembers.
In my mind, a prelude unfolded. Something spare. Measured. A few notes repeating themselves until meaning slowly seeped in. The egrets seemed to listen too, their long necks curved like question marks posed to the afternoon. They were not hunting. They were witnessing.
The land behind them softened into layers of muted gold and gray, a hush of trees that felt less like a forest and more like a thought drifting toward sleep. Nothing in the scene clamored for attention. Everything waited. The composition held its breath. Three figures. One lake. A quiet symmetry broken just enough to keep the heart awake.
Standing there, I felt that familiar recognition. The one artists know well. The sense that the world has briefly aligned itself into a sentence, and all you have to do is read it without interrupting. These egrets were not birds in the usual sense. They were custodians of pause. Keepers of stillness. They made the lake feel protected, not by force, but by presence alone.
There is a gentle humor in that, if you lean into it. Three elegant creatures guarding absolutely nothing of material value. No treasure chest. No secret passage. Just water, light, and time doing what they do best when no one interferes. I imagine them clocking in for their shift, checking the perimeter for ripples of unnecessary drama, then approving the day with a subtle tilt of the head.
This is how I experience making art. Not as invention, but as recognition. I do not place meaning into the world. I notice where it has already decided to stand. The cinematic quality comes not from spectacle, but from restraint. From letting the story remain partially unsaid. From trusting that the viewer, like the lake, will reflect back something personal.
Guardians of the Lake is not about egrets. It is about the quiet authority of stillness. About watching without consuming. About allowing beauty to exist without demanding explanation. If there is a narrative here, it unfolds slowly, the way memory does. Out of order. Soft around the edges. Tinged with humor simply because taking oneself too seriously would break the spell.
I left the lake unchanged. Or perhaps it left me that way.
Artist Statement
My work begins with listening. I am drawn to moments where the world briefly arranges itself into quiet narratives, where ambiguity is not a problem to solve but an invitation to stay. Guardians of the Lake reflects my ongoing exploration of stillness, presence, and the subtle humor found in restraint. I create images not to explain the world, but to sit with it, allowing viewers to bring their own stories to the silence.