Today, I celebrate 71 years young—71 orbits around the sun, 71 revolutions through the grind and glory of this awe-filled, fleeting life. My heart swells with gratitude as I reflect on the journey, a mosaic of moments and memories captured, framed, and frozen through the lens of my ever-faithful companion: the camera.
I’ve always said that to be a great photographer requires two traits—humility and humanity. These have been my compass, guiding not just my work but my way of being in the world. For every photo I’ve taken, there are countless I’ve missed, and that truth keeps me grounded, open, and endlessly curious. I am far from being a know-it-all about life; in fact, the older I grow, the more I am humbled by all I do not know. Life is both vast and intimate, and photography teaches me to embrace this duality—to stand small in the face of wonder while reaching out with compassion.
I swear a lot. I drink a lot. I ride my bike a lot. I trip a lot. I’m alone a lot. I muse a lot.
Some days, as I grow older, fly by with bullet speed, their hours vanishing like morning mist. Other days stretch out, heavy and languorous, as though the universe has decided to press pause. But whether the moments rush past or linger, I have learned to meet them with the same sense of awe that I bring to my photography. Each one is an offering, a fleeting frame, a chance to capture something that feels bigger than me.
Everything in the universe is bigger than me.
I remain, contentfully, dust in the wind.
As a practicing atheist, my faith might seem an oxymoron to many. But it is very real to me. My belief lies not in the divine but in the human, in science, in evolution, and in the enduring power of love, art, and connection. And though I do not claim to follow his faith, I continue to love the man, Jesus of Nazareth, whose humanity inspires me deeply. My grind and glory both stem from this grounding: a reverence for life’s imperfect beauty and an unshakable commitment to keep showing up for it.
Click.
It’s hard sometimes to believe I’ve been a photographer as long as I have. Photography is all I’ve ever known, the only thing that ever truly stuck with me. My camera is not just a tool but an appendage. Dorothea Lange once said, “You put your camera around your neck along with putting on your shoes, and there it is, an appendage of the body that shares your life with you.” Indeed, I have shared my life with a camera—it has been my witness, my confidant, and my means of translating the world’s light, color, and design into something tangible and timeless.
I’m habitually curious about how the subjects, scenes, and scenarios I frame will ultimately look in a photograph. As Garry Winogrand so aptly put it, “Photography is not about the thing photographed. It is about how that thing looks photographed.” It’s a great reminder that the essence of photography lies in the photographer’s vision and how they capture the subject, rather than just the subject itself. This philosophy has fueled my lifelong obsession with light, color, and design—the triumvirate that defines not just my photography but the way I see and experience the world.
I have survived two marriage experiences and experiments, and I am a better man and person from both of them. I am surrounded by love, support, and caring, often in large doses. I am lucky.
Of course, it would be a flat-out lie to say I have no regrets or insecurities. I have plenty of each. But I keep them both at arm’s length, never letting them grow larger than my ability to manage them. Regret is a companion, yes, but not a master. It reminds me that I am human, that I have lived, that I have dared to care.
I have a body and mind full of proud scars.
My dearest family—Shannon, Emma, and Audrey—are my life. No exaggeration, I would die for each of them. They are my anchors, my light, my reason. This is the first year I’ve experienced, as an adult, without my own parents. Their absence makes my orbit feel, at times, unmoored. But their legacy remains with me, steadying my course.
I have no idea what the coming year will hold, but if it’s anything like the last… bring it. I’ll meet it with the same awe, the same wonder, the same gratitude that has carried me this far. Life, like photography, is a dance of light and shadow, and I intend to keep dancing, keep clicking, and keep seeing.
As Frank Sinatra so eloquently sang:
“For what is a man, what has he got?
If not himself, then he has naught.
To say the things he truly feels
And not the words of one who kneels.
I did it my way.”
And so, here’s to 71 years, to the journey so far, and to all the frames yet to be filled….my way
Jack
