I made this work during a journey through the American Southwest to mark my 50th birthday—an emotional milestone shaped by the recent death of my estranged father. We hadn’t spoken in years. There was no final conversation, no resolution, only a lingering sense of unfinished history. With so much unsaid, I felt the need to move, to step out into a place wide enough to hold it all.

My wife made the trip with me. Her presence grounded me in a way I didn’t know I needed. Though the emotions were mine to process, I wasn’t alone. She gave me space when I was quiet, shared the awe of each new view, and bore witness to the moments I couldn’t yet explain. Together, we moved through the vast silence of the desert, canyon by canyon, mile by mile.

I’ve always felt closest to God in nature. There’s a sacredness in these places that speaks without words. And during this trip—through Utah and parts of Arizona—I felt that presence more deeply than ever. The land listened. The land held steady.

These images are part documentation, part reflection. They’re not just about the beauty of the terrain, but about what I carried into it: questions, grief, the weight of years, the complexity of family, and the quiet strength of love beside me. I didn’t find closure. That was never the goal. What I found instead was space to feel it all honestly—and a deeper sense of connection to something eternal, something that asked nothing of me but to be there.

What’s Left Behind is about more than a physical landscape. It’s about spiritual ground, emotional weather, and the enduring grace of being seen—even when the path ahead is uncertain. These photographs are a record of that pilgrimage—toward understanding, toward presence, and toward peace.