Writing on places, light, and the act of looking
Before the city wakes, there is a window — perhaps twenty minutes — where Varanasi belongs only to the river, the smoke, and whoever is watching. I have stood on the ghats in that window more times than I can count.
Read article →The cold plateau offers no softness. It is beautiful the way a blade is beautiful — sharp, cold, and precise. Every frame you take there feels earned.
Read article →You don't find the tiger. You wait, and if you are quiet enough and lucky enough, the tiger decides to find you. That patience is the whole lesson of wildlife photography.
Read article →At the world's largest gathering, I was drawn not to the spectacle but to the edges — the solitary faces, the quiet moments between the surge and the chant.
Read article →You trek four days to reach it, and then you sit down and do not move for hours. No photograph I have ever taken has quite captured what the light does there on a clear afternoon.
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