When we arrived in St. Kitts, it was obvious from the first dive that water clarity was going to be a challenge. The ocean had a softness to it — not murky, exactly, but diffused, as if we were peering through a gauze of blue light. Having never been to St. Kitts before, I held out hope for those sweeping wide-angle scenes that show the full architecture of the reef. But after a few dives, I realized that clarity would limit how far the camera could see.

Rather than fight the conditions, I began to work closer — very close. I shifted my focus to the smaller subjects that often go unnoticed: Pedersen cleaner shrimp tending their hosts red-banded coral shrimp tucked between sponges, arrow crabs perched delicately on soft coral branches. Using a close-focus wide-angle setup, I brought the dome port right up to these creatures, letting their vibrant colors and minute details fill the frame while the hazy water behind them softened into a gentle wash of blue.

It became a study in intimacy. Each subject seemed to invite a conversation, an exchange of curiosity. The Pedersen shrimp, with their translucent blue-violet bodies, moved with both precision and poise. Nearby, the red-banded shrimp flashed white claws like a dancer in spotlight. The arrow crabs, long-limbed and cautious, posed as if aware of their own geometry.

Even the sponges and tunicates — the structural backdrop of the reef — carried a quiet brilliance. I found myself drawn to their colors: the deep purples, ochres, and yellows glowing faintly in the filtered light. The water clarity that had once seemed a limitation now acted like a natural diffusion filter, softening edges and turning each image into something dreamlike, almost painterly.

Underwater photography has a way of teaching patience and humility. Every dive becomes an act of adaptation — of working with what the ocean gives you rather than insisting on what you hoped to find. In St. Kitts, that meant learning to see beauty in proximity, to appreciate the small worlds within reach rather than the grand vistas beyond.

Without being underwater it is sometimes difficult to describe how visibility can go from fine to nearly soup. I asked one of my friends Omar Puentes if he happened to have taken any images of me shooting on a recent trip to Cuba where the water started out clear. I then added to the composition below images taken of me in St. Kitts at the bottom to show just how soupy it was in St. Kitts. Of course, I have seen much worse visibility underwater, but it certainly adds to the challenges of creating images.

Despite the “soupy” conditions, my favorite images from St. Kitts came from close-up compositions — including portraits of a Pedersen shrimp, red-banded cleaner shrimp, and the textured sponges they call home. Each piece captures the quiet grace of reef life when viewed from inches away rather than meters.

(You can explore a few of these limited-edition fine-art prints in the [Underwater Collection] — a celebration of detail, color, and the art of seeing small.)

St. Kitts may not have offered the crystal-clear visibility I’d imagined, but it gifted me something better: a reminder that even in imperfect conditions, there is always another kind of light to be found — one that reveals the subtle poetry beneath the surface.