The Golden Gate Bridge is one of the most photographed landmarks in the world. Its soaring orange towers and sweeping span across San Francisco Bay are instantly recognizable, even when blurred or partially hidden. Yet sometimes the best photographs aren’t about capturing the obvious view, but about finding a new angle that feels both familiar and strangely unfamiliar.
That’s exactly what happened on this walk along the shoreline. Instead of aiming my camera directly at the Golden Gate, I found myself drawn to a rusted chain post, weathered by years of salt spray. What started as a casual stop quickly turned into a lesson in patience, balance, and composition.
Finding Beauty in Rust and Texture
We hadn’t planned this shot. My wife and I were wandering near the waterfront when I noticed the massive chain, corroded and clinging stubbornly to its post. The textures were impossible to ignore—flakes of rust, cracks in the steel, and the unmistakable weight of time.
I started circling the subject like a hawk. Crouch low, shuffle sideways, lean forward, back up—each small movement shifted the balance between the rusty steel and the blurred Golden Gate Bridge behind it. It was a compositional tug-of-war between decay and triumph, and I wasn’t sure which one would win.
The Struggle Behind the Shot
Of course, composing the image wasn’t the only challenge. The ground was slick with salt water, which made kneeling impossible. So there I was, bent over at the waist like an aging gymnast attempting a warm-up routine. At 60, my back, knees, and balance all decided to betray me at once. Each adjustment of the tripod felt like an Olympic event. My wife, ever supportive, kept her distance—probably so she could honestly say later, “I have no idea who that man was wobbling like a folding chair about to collapse.”
And yet, the struggle made the final composition all the more satisfying. The rusted chain claimed the spotlight in sharp detail, while the bridge softened into a hazy silhouette in the background. It wasn’t the classic postcard view, but something more personal: a photograph about endurance, time, and the beauty of contrasts.
An Unfinished Conversation with the Golden Gate
Even as I packed up my gear, I knew I’d want to return. I imagined this same scene in blue hour, with the bridge’s lights glowing against the twilight sky, the chain still anchoring the foreground. For now, though, I carry this image as both a small victory and an unfinished conversation with the Golden Gate.
It’s a reminder that fine art photography isn’t just about capturing perfection. Sometimes it’s about the weathered details at your feet, the unexpected textures, and the willingness to bend—literally—to find a new perspective.
There are certain trips that linger in your memory long after the bags are unpacked. One of those for me was a long weekend in Brooklyn with the kids. We filled the days with subway rides, pizza slices, laughter, and the kind of endless walking that only New York City demands. But for me, some of the most meaningful moments happened at night—alone on the rooftop of our Brooklyn hotel, camera in hand, staring out at the glittering Manhattan skyline.
I must have slipped up there half a dozen times that weekend, drawn by the energy of the city that never seemed to sleep. The view was breathtaking—towering buildings, thousands of glowing windows, and the Freedom Tower shining like a beacon above it all. One night around 11 p.m., I captured the photograph you see here. It wasn’t just another picture of New York City; it became a time capsule of who we were then as a family.
That night, as I quietly put on my jacket, my oldest stirred and asked, “Where are you going, Dad?” I whispered back, “To take pictures of the city.” She blinked, smiled, and said something that has stayed with me all these years: “Camera on, dude.”
It was such a simple phrase, but it felt like a reminder to stay present. To keep noticing. To hold onto the fleeting beauty of family, travel, and the small in-between moments that slip away too quickly.
Looking back now, with the kids grown and living their own lives, I treasure that Brooklyn rooftop even more. The city skyline is timeless, but our time with our children is not. The photograph reminds me that life, like New York at night, is brilliant and fleeting. It’s a gift to be noticed, captured, and remembered.
Looking into Lower Manhattan from a rooftop in Brooklyn at night in foggy weather with the Freedom Tower
So whenever I see that image, I hear my daughter’s voice again: “Camera on, dude.” And I remember to keep the lens open—not just on the city, but on the moments that matter most.
After a long day of RV travel and setup just outside of Badlands National Park, I found myself drawn back outside as twilight gave way to night. The air was still, and the last sliver of golden light clung to the western horizon as I set up my gear. The park’s surreal landscape may be its daytime claim to fame, but after dark, the sky steals the show.
As the light faded, the stars began to pierce through—first a few, then hundreds, then thousands. The Milky Way arched overhead, its galactic core burning bright in the southern sky. It always amazes me how alive the night can feel in these remote places. There was no wind, no traffic—just the hum of my intervalometer and the sudden, haunting howls of coyotes echoing in the distance. It’s that kind of eerie sound that makes your neck tingle, even when you know you’re safe. I found myself subconsciously drifting closer to the camper, the glow of its interior light a quiet comfort in the dark.
In this photograph, I tried to capture not just the sky, but the feeling of that moment. The open prairie, lit faintly by starlight, adds context and contrast to the brilliance above. The soft lights on the horizon remind us of the few others out there, tucked away in their own corners of the dark. It’s a reminder that beauty doesn’t just live in national parks or famous overlooks—it lives in the spaces between, in the quiet, forgotten stretches of the land, where the night sky tells its ancient story to anyone willing to look up and listen.
That’s how long it took us to tow our RV from the misty forests of New Hampshire, across endless ribbons of interstate, through seas of cornfields and roadside diners. Somewhere along the way, our GPS betrayed us, steering us straight into the tangled surface streets of downtown Chicago—at rush hour.
It was chaos. The kind of chaos only an RV weaving through brake lights and potholes can create. Nerves frayed. Tempers tested. We spent that first night curled up in a corner of a Walmart parking lot, the distant drone of semi-trucks lulling us into an uneasy sleep.
But then, everything changed.
As we rolled into Badlands National Park the next morning, it felt like the world exhaled. The scenery shifted from flat monotony to something ancient and raw. Golden grasslands rippled in the breeze. Eroded cliffs rose from the earth like the exposed bones of forgotten giants. The air felt different—clearer, quieter. Time slowed.
All the stress of the journey melted away.
This image—“Layers of Time”—was taken not long after that soul-restoring moment. Bathed in the soft glow of late afternoon light, I stood in stillness, taking in the elegant complexity of the land. The amber grasses in the foreground, the weathered textures of the canyon wall, the subtle gradient of the sky above—it all spoke of deep time. Of endurance. Of change. Of natural beauty shaped not in hours or days, but in centuries.
It reminded me that journeys—whether cross-country or internal—rarely go as planned. But sometimes, a wrong turn leads exactly where you need to be.
Why This Print Belongs in Your Space
“Layers of Time” isn’t just a photograph—it’s a moment of arrival. A meditation in warm earth tones and quiet textures. Whether you’re decorating a rustic cabin, a minimalist office, or looking for a gift for the National Park lover in your life, this image brings with it the spirit of exploration and the serenity of wide, open spaces.
Perfect for:
Rustic or minimalist interiors
Gifts for road trippers, explorers, and National Park enthusiasts
Meditation rooms, studios, or calming workspaces
Printed on archival-quality materials to preserve the richness and detail of the landscape, Layers of Time serves as a daily reminder that beauty often lies just beyond the struggle.
This photograph is more than just a still frame—it’s one of 700 captured over the course of a time-lapse shoot during blue hour at the iconic Arthur J. Ravenel Jr. Bridge in Charleston, South Carolina. I spent the better part of the evening watching the sky fade from indigo to deep navy, the crescent moon rising perfectly into position, and the bridge lights coming alive one by one. It was a dance between steel, sky, and patience—and I was lucky enough to be there for all of it.
What I didn’t expect, however, was to become part of the evening’s entertainment.
As I stood there behind my tripod, locked into position for the long haul, people kept wandering over with their phones out. Some smiled, others quietly hovered, and eventually someone stepped right next to me and asked if they could snap a selfie from my exact spot. I was a little surprised, but asked why. Their response? “Well, you look like a pro, so you must have the best angle.”
I guess I was flattered. Maybe it was the tripod. Maybe the camera. Maybe just the look of determined focus that only comes with battling swarms of mosquitoes for hours for the sake of the shot. But they weren’t wrong—this vantage point, with the graceful curve of the bridge stretching into the horizon and the moon resting perfectly in frame, was hard-earned and deeply considered.
This print captures a moment of structure meeting serenity—an architectural marvel grounded in steel and light, set against a sky that refuses to be anything but magical. It’s perfect for anyone who’s stood in awe beneath a bridge or has ever trusted the journey that comes from standing still.
To take a closer look at this image, please click here to see it in my Etsy Shop. There is no obligation.
I am not sure this image will ever win a photography contest, but as soon as we get home, it is getting printed and will forever hang on our wall. It is a composite of two images taken moments apart on a fixed tripod. As you can see, there is a frame for the rock covered in ancient petroglyphs and a frame for the stars. I could easily Photoshop in a galactic core image showing the brilliant center of the galaxy, but for me, that would ruin the picture.
The Sky shot for over fifteen seconds at 2500 ISO
The rock shot with a bit of warm light from a Lumicube
I always have, and most likely always will have a primal fear of the darkness in the wild. It took a lot of courage and the company of my wife to drive miles out on a dirt road in total darkness, hike up a cliff and set up the tripod to get this image, but here it is.
The real story is not that Anita sang showtunes to keep the animals away; it is not the technical aspects of the photograph. It isn’t even how it turned out. Even though I love it, I know there are better conditions to get this shot in.
The real story is what happened as we got back to the truck. As we made our way off the cliff and onto the dirt road, I looked to the Northwest as saw exactly what I expected, the galactic core. What I didn’t realize was how perfectly it was aligned with the dirt road. I said to Anita – One more shot, even though I knew I would have to get one of the stars and then play around lighting the road as if it led directly into the milky way.
I managed to get the tripod legs extended and then it happened. As Anita was starting another show tune, we both heard a guttural growl with a bit of a trilling at the end. It was close. We disagree on how close, but I would say less than 100 feet. Anita thought closer.
“GET IN THE TRUCK!” I said softly and calmly. NO, not my side, get in the passenger seat. “You get in the passenger seat” she calmly replied. Just as I was about to formulate a very convincing argument that she should go around the truck, closer to the gentle, harmless animal that made the noise, I saw Anita climb over the center console a swiftly as a Pronghorn Antelope. I then realized there was no need for an extended dialog about the matter. I quickly, not as quickly as she jumped in the passenger seat, but quickly threw the tripod in the back of the truck and took my rightful place in the driver’s seat. I was relieved when the truck started. The windows were up, the truck was running, and the lights were on. There was no need for all the adrenaline…the adrenaline kept flowing. We were about half a mile down the dirt road when we both started laughing.
Was it the ghost of an ancient artist objecting to Anita regaling the wilderness with modern music? Was it a mountain lion? What about a black bear? We will never know.
All I know is that this photo will always hang on our wall and forever remind us of the night we got up the courage to go deep into the wild night and got scared $#!t-less.
Photography for me can be relaxing, exhilarating, and is always therapeutic. This encounter took it to a whole new level, but I am grateful for the experience.
To view this image in more detail or purchase it, please visit my Etsy store click here to go directly to the image.
Silent Sentinel of Columbia emerged from one of those early mornings when the city feels both familiar and strangely suspended in time. Even though we have only been living in our new hometown for about three months, I had often seen the Adluh Flour Mill in Columbia, South Carolina—its iconic facade a quiet emblem of local industry and history. What intrigued me was how frequently it appeared in images from the same angle, almost as if the building was being observed but never truly faced. I wanted to change that by photographing it head-on, confronting the structure with a fresh gaze that honors its steadfast presence.
To achieve this perspective, I knew I’d have to prepare carefully. Using a 17mm lens gave me the flexibility to counteract the distortion that such a large building can introduce up close. The real magic, however, was in the pre-dawn light. There’s a rare stillness before the city fully wakes—no bustling crowds, no distractions—just crisp air and quiet shadows. The sky was scattered with clouds that lent the backdrop a gentle texture without overwhelming the composition. This soft interplay of light and shadow heightened the building’s weathered textures and emphasized the bold typography branded across its front: “ADLUH FLOUR MEAL FEED ALLEN BROS. MILLING COMPANY.”
The building itself felt like a sentinel, standing watch over decades of change in Columbia. Its surface, textured and worn, speaks to endurance and a story that’s more than bricks and mortar. The two silos rising on the left punctuate the scene with a functional elegance, reminding us that this is not merely a relic but a living piece of the city’s fabric. The monochrome treatment was deliberate—I wanted to strip away distractions and allow the contrasts, lines, and textures to tell the story in pure form. Black and white gave the image a timeless quality, connecting past and present in a single frame.
Creating Silent Sentinels of Columbia was part technical challenge, part meditation. I rose before dawn with a simple plan and a cup of coffee, embracing the stillness of the weekend morning downtown. Standing there, camera poised, I felt the pulse of the city beneath the quiet surface. Every detail—the texture of peeling paint, the crisp lettering, the steel silos’ sturdy shapes—confirmed the building’s role as a steadfast witness to time, change, and resilience.
This piece isn’t just a photograph of an old mill; it’s an invitation to see the extraordinary in what often goes unnoticed—to recognize strength in endurance, and beauty in the quiet steadfastness of a place that has quietly shaped the identity of Columbia. I hope it offers viewers a moment to reflect on the stories embedded in our shared environments and to appreciate the silent sentinels that stand guard over our collective histories.
Nestled in the heart of Utah’s rugged desert, Goblin Valley State Park is a hidden gem for photographers seeking surreal landscapes, dramatic lighting, and an unforgettable connection with nature. This unique destination, known for its whimsical hoodoo rock formations, offers an otherworldly experience, especially during the quiet hours before sunrise and just after sunset. Whether you are a seasoned fine art photographer or an adventurer with a camera, Goblin Valley provides endless inspiration and opportunities to capture breathtaking images that speak to the soul.
Just before Sunrise from our 2023 trip
The Magic of Goblin Valley’s Hoodoo Rock Formations
The defining feature of Goblin Valley is its incredible concentration of hoodoos—tall, thin spires of rock that have been sculpted over millions of years by erosion. These formations, resembling goblins, mushrooms, or even fantastical creatures, create a landscape that feels like stepping onto another planet. Photographers visiting the park will find an endless array of compositions, from sweeping vistas showcasing clusters of hoodoos to intimate close-ups highlighting the intricate textures and shadows formed by the elements.
Unlike the more famous hoodoo formations of Bryce Canyon, the goblins of Goblin Valley are much smaller and densely packed, creating a labyrinthine environment where light and shadow interact in mesmerizing ways. The best times to photograph these unique formations are during the golden hours, as the low sun casts long, dramatic shadows that enhance their eerie appearance.
The Otherworldly Atmosphere Before Sunrise and After Sunset
One of the most enchanting aspects of Goblin Valley is how quiet and surreal it feels in the moments before sunrise and just after sunset. As the first light of dawn begins to illuminate the valley, the landscape takes on an ethereal glow, shifting from deep purples and blues to fiery oranges and pinks. This transition provides a perfect opportunity to capture striking fine art images that evoke a sense of mystery and wonder.
A fairly frequent alignment of Venus and Jupiter about 30 minutes before dawn
After sunset, the fading light creates an equally magical experience. The hoodoos become silhouettes against the soft pastel hues of the twilight sky, offering opportunities for stunning long-exposure shots. With minimal light pollution, Goblin Valley is also an exceptional location for night photography. The Milky Way often stretches across the sky, creating an awe-inspiring backdrop for the alien-like rock formations below.
Walking Through the Valley of the Goblins: A Photographer’s Retreat
Exploring Goblin Valley with a camera in hand is a meditative experience. Unlike some popular photography destinations that require hiking to reach the best compositions, this park allows you to simply wander among the goblins at your own pace. There are no defined trails within the main valley, which means photographers can freely explore and discover unique perspectives without the constraints of a marked path.
Don’t forget the details when you explore any area. The torent of water that left this mud behind tells its own story.
The act of searching for the perfect composition becomes a fulfilling process in itself. With every turn, new formations reveal themselves, bathed in ever-changing light. Whether capturing the intricate details of weathered sandstone, the interplay of shadows, or the vastness of the valley stretching toward the horizon, every moment spent in Goblin Valley feels rewarding.
Tips for Capturing Stunning Fine Art Photography in Goblin Valley
If you’re planning a photography trip to Goblin Valley, here are some tips to ensure you make the most of your time:
1. Visit During the Best Lighting Conditions
Sunrise and sunset provide the most dynamic light, enhancing the textures and depth of the hoodoos.
Blue hour and twilight create a dreamlike quality that is perfect for artistic compositions.
If shooting midday, take advantage of deep shadows and high contrast to create dramatic black-and-white images.
Allow at least 90 minutes before sunset to hike down into the valley and find your copmpositions. As many times as I have been here, I still end up scrambling just as the light kicks off.
2. Use a Wide-Angle and Telephoto Lens
A wide-angle lens helps capture the vastness of the valley and the density of formations.
A telephoto lens allows for isolating unique shapes and compressing elements for a more intimate perspective.
3. Experiment with Long Exposure Photography
During twilight or at night, use long exposures to capture star trails or smooth out any movement in the clouds for a mystical effect.
A sturdy tripod is essential for these types of shots.
4. Incorporate Human Elements for Scale
The goblins can appear deceptively small or large depending on perspective. Adding a person into the frame can provide a sense of scale and make compositions more engaging.
(Actual full size people)
5. Respect the Fragile Landscape
Goblin Valley’s formations are delicate, and stepping on them can cause irreversible damage. Always stay on stable ground and avoid climbing on the hoodoos.
Turning Your Goblin Valley Photography into Fine Art
Goblin Valley’s landscapes make for stunning fine art prints that appeal to nature lovers, collectors, and interior designers alike. The striking textures, earthy tones, and dreamlike qualities of this park translate beautifully to large-format prints that can enhance any space. Whether printed on high-quality canvas, metal, or archival paper, these images serve as timeless reminders of the wonder that nature creates.
For photographers looking to sell their Goblin Valley fine art prints, optimizing your website and online galleries for SEO is crucial. Using keywords such as Goblin Valley fine art photography, Utah landscape photography, hoodoo rock formations, desert photography prints, and unique wall art can help attract collectors searching for breathtaking images of this incredible location.
Conclusion: Why Goblin Valley Should Be on Every Photographer’s List
Goblin Valley State Park is a truly special destination for photographers who appreciate surreal landscapes and immersive experiences. Whether capturing the warm hues of dawn, the intricate textures of the hoodoos, or the brilliance of the Milky Way above, every moment spent in this valley is an opportunity to create art that resonates.
For those who have yet to experience Goblin Valley’s magic, there’s no better time to plan a photography trip. And for those who have already walked among the goblins, there’s always another angle, another light, and another story to tell through the lens.
To support the blog please browse my fine art photography collection and consider bringing a piece of this enchanting landscape into your home or office today! Click Here
