The Egg Watch
This began with one of my favorite stream photographs. What first caught my eye were the moss-covered boulders. They were rounded, weathered, and strangely egg-like, almost as if the stream had been holding them there for years waiting for me to notice.
That resemblance became the doorway. I added eggs among the rocks, unusual birds overhead, and a fox below. Then one bird came down to confront the fox, and suddenly the quiet stream had a story: protection, danger, and new life all gathered in one place.
What I like most now is the contrast. The mossy boulders feel ancient, while the eggs feel like pure beginning—old life beside new life, both sharing the same stream. And the stream itself feels like more than scenery. It becomes the quiet force creating life around it. The moss, the eggs, the birds, even the tension in the scene all seem to rise from that same flowing source.
That is why this picture still feels young to me. The rocks may be old and the stream may be ancient, but the scene is full of beginnings, movement, curiosity, and life.
The Watcher at the Cove
I see this photograph on the screensaver of my phone every couple of days, and after a while it started feeling like it was calling my name: Do something with me. So eventually, I did.
I’ve always loved this coastline. The shape of the shore gives the picture a wonderful sense of distance, like you could keep walking along it for quite a while. At the same time, there’s something powerful about the water. You get the feeling the tide could come in hard here, and you’d better know where you’re standing when it does.
It isn’t a typical sandy beach, and it isn’t quite the kind of rocky coastline people usually picture either. The surface has its own texture and character, and that was part of what kept catching my eye.
For this version, I didn’t want to disturb what was already there. I added a small watcher on the shore and something larger moving beneath the water—a sea serpent, perhaps, although I like that you can’t quite tell. The figure is small enough that anyone looking at the picture can imagine standing there themselves.
Sometimes a photograph doesn’t need a new world built on top of it. It just needs one small doorway into the world that was already there.
