Recently I met a Brazilian singer named Rita Ribeiro. She has musical project coming up with two other vocalists and she needed some promotional photos. After reviewing my portfolio she commissioned me for the project. While I was in her office discussing the details with her sister, who is her manager, she showed me some crafts their sister who lives in the north of Brazil makes. She told me they needed some product shots of the decorative boxes and books their sister makes because they are planning on selling them on Rita’s website. They asked me if I would take some photos of the crafts as well.

At first I look I wasn’t sure what I would do with the material I was shown but I decided to take a crack at it. I didn’t want to just take a picture of the items by themselves because I thought that would be a bit boring. I wanted to create photos that complimented each of the boxes and books without distracting the viewer from the item itself. I was given 4 or 5 decorative boxes and something like 30 books. I was a little overwhelmed at first. I wanted to do a different photo for each item without repeating myself but with the volume I was given and my time frame of a week I was a little concerned I wouldn’t be able to deliver the goods.

However I found myself inspired and just when I needed the ideas they came to me, until about the 20th book. Then there were moments when I was throwing anything I could find into the frame, I was sapped for ideas. But in the end I was able to do each book differently and my client was very happy with the end result. They were taken completely by surprise that I would make the pictures that I did. They were expecting each book against a white background, a completely straight forward utilitarian approach.

They’ve been so happy with the pictures that they’re referring me to their friends and colleagues in the music and art scene here so it will be interesting to see what kind of jobs may be coming my way as a result of going the extra mile and doing the unexpected. The best of the photos I made for them are below.

I recently came across the blog of photographer Sarah Underhill. As I scrolled down her blog I was at first envious of all the places she’s been and then as I spent more time looking over her work I was struck by her unique vision and sense of color. I think some of her best work is from her Morocco series. I’ve seen other photos from Morocco in the past and have always wanted to visit because the colors there seem so intense and harmonious. Sarah’s work does justice to Morocco’s color palette. Based on the photos on her blog it looks like she’s been working in Asia, Mexico and India just to name a few. She clearly knows how to work in a variety of cultural environments.

She also has some great color abstracts on her flickr gallery. I could go on and on about her color work but it’s best to take a look at yourself, with every picture I wanted to see another.

It looks like she’s been doing a lot of work with the Army recently. It’s too bad such an eye for color is wasted on so much olive drab.

I was fortunate to once work for Magnum photographer Steve McCurry. I worked on developing the digital workflow system in his studio and was lucky enough to develop a friendship with him that lasted beyond my time working there. When people I talk to find out I’ve worked for Steve McCurry I’m often asked what he’s like or what I’ve learned from him. I thought I’d share what for me is probably the most important lesson I’ve learned from Steve. Perhaps it’s a lesson that will be of benefit to others.

On one occasion I went on a shoot with Steve McCurry in Rio de Janeiro Brazil. It was during carnival and we were going to various street parties in Rio de Janeiro photographing the people celebrating. On one of the days we were going to shoot a street party in Ipanema and Steve’s fixer had serious reservations about going to this particular party to photograph. Rio de Janeiro can be a dangerous and unpredictable city and although people are generally in good spirits during carnival, walking around with an expensive digital camera in a country with a lot of very poor people can invite trouble. In addition Steve was photographing a lot of people in amorous situations and very often, as Steve’s fixer explained, people during carnival aren’t necessarily kissing their spouse or significant other. Steve’s fixer was concerned that this particular party would be more dangerous than the others we’d been going to and was afraid to go because it would be quite likely that if Steve photographed the wrong people someone might shoot first and ask questions later. Steve’s fixer was genuinely worried about our safety and well being and if something happened he would have felt responsible. He and steve actually got into a bit of an argument over this. Steve explained that he’d been photographing in dangerous conflict/war zones for the past 25 years and he’d been in a lot more dangerous places than Rio de Janeiro, as dangerous as Rio de Janeiro can be. He went on to say that his options were to either stay in our apartment out of fear or he could go out and do his job, use his best judgment, and hope for the best. He told his fixer, “If someone wants to steal my camera I don’t care. If someone wants to smash my camera, I don’t care. I have a job to do.” He went on to say that if he was going to sit in the apartment in fear then he might as well have stayed in New York.

I learned more from this exchange than any other experience of being on this assignment with Steve McCurry. It gave me a lot of insight into how he has consistently produced some of the world’s most compelling images over the length of his career. On top of his talent and hard work, it’s his determination to get the pictures he wants that I believe puts him at the top of his field.

I spent a year in Brazil prior to going to New York and meeting Steve McCurry. I shot very little film during my stay. This was something I had a lot of regret about since it was likely the only opportunity I would have to spend a year in a foreign country. After witnessing the exchange between Steve and his fixer I realized the reason I had not photographed very much was fear. I was worried about losing my camera which would have been difficult and expensive for me to replace. I was afraid of confronting the people I wanted to photograph.


I came to a sobering realization. I wasn’t going to get any good photos sitting in my apt. in fear.

The waves broke over the stern of our small fishing boat as we huddled together to keep warm. The weather had turned dramatically from the previous day. We were heading back to the mainland ahead of schedule to avoid the rain and rough seas that would surely come by the time the ferry left later that day. My stay in Ilha Grande was short but it had positioned itself firmly in my memory. I was already thinking about when I might be able to return. I had seen so little of the Island yet at the same time experienced so much.

Sometimes it’s enough just to call something what it is. However, Ilha Grande (great island) just south of Rio de Janeiro is so much more than its name. During my time in Rio de Janeiro my friends have often spoken fondly of Ilha Grande with eyes glazed over as if in a dream, but each time my friends have gone I somehow was not able to go. It became a mission to reach the fabled island, to swim its transparent lagoons among the fish. After several missed opportunities I was beginning to think the island would remain but a distant fantasy for me. Until one day, the island’s patience came to an end and I was summoned.

Arriving at night I was unable to appreciate the beauty of the place. There wasn’t much light in the small village where the ferry landed which was a welcome change from Rio de Janeiro. For the first time in a long time I could see the stars.

Making our way around the island in the small boat we chartered we approached Lagoa Azul (blue lagoon). With the island’s small town out of sight it looked and felt as if we had traveled to another world. We floated onto the surface of a giant blue martini, the seabed garnished with starfish the size of dinner plates. Old dreams originating far across the Atlantic gently rolled onto beaches with sand the consistency of cinnamon. My friends wasted no time jumping into the drink with an urgency suggesting the boat was ablaze.

I followed their lead and jumped in myself. The shock of the cold water went straight to my core, the light-switch flipped, the room suddenly went dark.

The frantic knocking at my window gets my attention which has been trained on my car’s air conditioning as it fires up. The temperature is in the 90’s outside. I just got out of my last class for the day and I’m on my way to work in a shirt and tie and the last thing I want to do is sweat. I look up to see an old woman in a robe knocking on my window demanding “TAKE ME WITH YOU!” “TAKE ME WITH YOU!” Thoroughly freaked out I throw the car into gear and hit the gas. In my rear view mirror I see her standing in the middle of the street, the desperation on her face blurring as my distance from her increases. She was attempting to escape from the old peoples’ home across the street from my apartment. On an almost weekly basis I saw an old man attempting to escape. Walking down the street as fast as his tired old legs could take him he never got more than half a block before one of the home’s workers caught up with him and escorted him back inside. I often wondered what went on inside the place, what it was that so compelled this man, and now this woman to attempt an escape. Maybe it was the constant ambulance visits that undoubtedly left with a resident who wasn’t going to be returning. Maybe he just wanted out of this small dead-end town. I doubt he knew where he was going and he probably didn’t care. Perhaps he knew enough to know that at a dead end there’s only one place to go, out.

Desperate for a breath somehow I reached the surface and filled my lungs. I was exhausted, all of my strength had been sucked out of my body along with the heat. I wasn’t prepared for the water to be so cold. I made my way back to the boat and climbed in deciding I’d wait until summer time before jumping into the water again.

After drinking our fill of the big blue martini we made our way around to a small fishing village for lunch. Unfortunately I was reminded I wasn’t so far from civilization when I saw the other boats full of tourists gathering at the same place. Not that it detracted from the experience too much but for those of us who live in big cities its nice to get to places that feel as if we’re a world away from the one we left behind.

The trip back around the island to our original destination was quiet and peaceful with the sun slowly setting giving everything a golden glow. I was looking forward to what I would see the next day, our boat already reserved. However, it was not to be, the next morning brought rain and we made a hasty retreat back to the city.

Back in Rio de Janeiro, walking through my neighborhood I notice a weather-beaten man next to a bus stop with two small bags at his feet. As I pass by he looks up from the pad of paper he’s writing in and asks for a dollar for the bus.

The siren song of Rio de Janeiro is difficult to resist. With its warm climate and even warmer people it’s easy to do nothing here. In fact I’ve been doing nothing for far too long. This city is an intoxicating mistress.

Far away from the stressful working life I left behind I find myself lost in the simplest routines, with many of my days spent on the beach lazily watching the bronze bodies swing and sway their way to the sea. Intently observing the constant minute adjustments made to bikinis protecting sacred tan lines and trudging 20 ft. across the sand to get a sandwich from the Uruguayans camped out next to lifeguard tower 9, by the end of the day I’m somehow exhausted. While my nights are spent drinking beer with the friends I’ve made and learning Portuguese at a rate I’m a bit embarrassed about I feel like I’ve been gently woven into the fabric of this city.

I’m one of them. I don’t show up on time, I don’t call when I say I’m going to call, in fact I don’t care about much of anything but getting a good spot on the beach, a good cup of matte and meeting the next girl of my dreams. My friends tell me I’m Amerioca (American/Carioca). Carioca being the name given to people who are native to Rio de Janeiro. I can think of no greater compliment.

There’s a song called ‘Maneiras’ performed by Brazilian musician Zeca Pagodinho (and I think written by: Silvio da Silva) which starts:

“Se eu quiser fumar eu fumo, Se eu quiser beber eu bebo”

“If I want to smoke I smoke, If I want to drink I drink”


These words for me, sum up the Cariocas and their attitude toward life. An attitude that stresses life is to be lived and enjoyed to its fullest. Pleasure is the ultimate pursuit.