Between

Sailing requires time and a willingness to let the wind take you where it may. My husband and I spend every possible day aboard. We sail through rain, fog, sun, and stillness.

We love the intimacy of being on the boat and the uninterrupted time it gives us together.

Beyond that intimacy, sailing offers the possibility of discovery. It takes us to remote islands, dramatic coves, and small towns with one general store, a single restaurant, and people who are genuinely so friendly.

And then there is the beauty, the raw, magnificent beauty that can feel mystical at times and soft and inherently calming at others. It can be piercingly bright, but it is never too blue, too green, or too spectacular. I find a rainy afternoon as beautiful, if not more so, than what my husband calls “a Chamber of Commerce kind of day.”

Along the way, you also see playful seals, quirky sunfish, majestic whales, elusive puffins and petrels, and powerful hunters like eagles and ospreys. Solitary sailors drift toward the horizon, and lobster pots wink at you through the fog. There is always something that calls for you to stop, look, and to reach for your camera. But that is not what this collection is about.

I believe in a collective consciousness.

You must not only be open to listening to what the universe wants you to tap into, but you must be technically ready to execute. For more than forty years, I have been working on creating imagery, editing photography, and through my degree in art history, with its focus on the history of photography, and the daily practice of always having a camera in my hand, I believe the universe is revealing the world it wants me to share.

I have come to understand that my most creative moments occur in the threshold between being asleep and awake. In that suspended state, the mind is open and receptive. Inspiration is fluid and there if you are listening.

Between inhabits that space.

These photographs explore the universe’s openness, the mind holding onto distant memories, the search for clarity within fog, and the fleeting moment when darkness becomes light. Horizons fade. Familiar forms dissolve. Solitary points of light suggest a presence without actually revealing it. Sea and sky merge until it is difficult to know where one ends and the other begins, and light feeds the power of the moment in between.

The collection is also about the interior space created through isolation—not loneliness, but a chosen stillness that allows for reflection, connection, and spirituality. These are not simply photographs of places encountered while sailing. They are photographs of moments when the visible world seems to open into something larger: the quiet, mysterious space between what we see, what we remember, and what we sense is there.