Waiting to Breathe
Most of my work is created on scuba, immersed for extended periods, observing the natural behavior of marine life. I am accustomed to waiting — allowing the ocean to settle before I ever raise the camera.
Exploring the Cosmos emerged from that same discipline, but under very different constraints.
This image was created on a single breath hold — both subjects and photographer working within the same finite window of air. There is a clarity that comes with that limitation. Movement must be intentional. Light must be read immediately. There is no excess.
Underwater, light does not behave predictably. It fractures, fades, and dissolves into blue. Depth compresses distance. The surface becomes less a boundary and more a threshold. During this dive, I became aware that what I was seeing felt expansive — the patterns of light and form echoing something atmospheric, almost celestial.
The risk was not only physical, though working on breath always carries uncertainty. The greater risk was creative. I allowed the image to move beyond strict documentation while remaining faithful to the moment. I did not fabricate a scene, yet I also did not deny the sensation of vastness it carried. The final photograph rests in that tension — grounded in the ocean, suggestive of something larger.
Within my broader body of work, this piece represents a quiet inflection point. Much of my photography centers on precise, unrepeatable behavior beneath the surface. This image retains that authenticity, yet it reaches outward conceptually. It reflects the idea that immersion in the ocean can feel less like descent and more like suspension in space.
When viewed digitally, the work draws the eye inward. In print, it carries a different gravity. The tonal depth reveals itself gradually. The darker passages hold detail that unfolds over time. It is not a photograph that exhausts itself quickly.
Living with it changes the rhythm of a room. It introduces quiet. It invites pause. Over time, it becomes less about water and more about perception — about how thin the line is between what we observe and what we interpret.
The ocean has always reminded me of scale. It diminishes ego. It demands presence. Occasionally, it offers a moment that feels larger than its own boundaries.
This was one of those moments.
Additional works and ongoing studio projects can be viewed through my studio website.