ow many kids had a dad that made them an Elton John's Captain Fantastic sweat-shirt in '76? Then again, who was as crazy as my dad? Maybe you can make out the title on my shirt in the above image, and maybe you can't- you'll just have to trust me.

I think that's when this dreadful disease started. It's funny, now that I think about it.

I have been an artist at heart for all of my life; I have been drawing since I was old enough to grasp a crayon.

[click image to get a better view]

I never was an academic miracle, and I hated art class; mostly, because everything was too simple- no challenges, no goals- just 'busy-work.'



As you know by now, I am an avid backpacker, artist, and I am also a web developer/graphic artist. Big surprise, eh?


Yes, that's me. It's quite ironic, don't you think? Dad took that photograph. Dad bought my first real camera. Now, I have his too.

I am a South Carolinian. I've lived in Greenwood, S.C. all of my life. (Did he just say Greenwood?) However, these days it makes no difference where you live; after all, you are sitting here viewing my humble pages, and I am, more than likely, viewing someone else's- or, creating them.

So, why did I decide to make a page full of my photographs?

As a child I remember looking through old photo albums and, occasionally, old boxes of photos in our attic. I uncovered the old Vietnam photos, as well as many others. My parents were still married then , and my father never seemed to talk about the past. These photos stirred in me, and they seemed to tell a very different story. Though my father rarely spoke about the war, I felt his pain through his photographs-- in essence, they spoke for him.

During adolescence, I developed a love for the outdoors. Soon, I became involved in the Boy Scouts and began taking weekend excursions to the mountains. The night before our trip, I would spread every item that I planned to take out on the living room floor. My parents would watch as I stuffed it all into a backpack and stomped around the house for an hour trying to get a "feel" for it. Morning came, I loaded it all into the car and headed to meet my friends. On many occasions, upon returning, I would try to tell my parents what my trip was like-- with little success.

"Mom, that was the most incredible place that I have ever been!"

After a short explanation, I would receive a look of disbelief and, "Well, I'm glad you enjoyed yourself, son."

I realize now why they were amazed. The thought of their son traveling to the woods with thirteen other boys and sloshing around in dirt and mud with a backpack the size of a Volkswagen Beetle was ridiculous.

I am positive a few earnest descriptions of waterfalls and wonderful views wouldn't have altered their visions-- but photographs would have.

Oh, how I have changed, but I'm still doing the same things-- only, now, the medium has changed. Who knows where I'll be in another 23 years?