Together

In January 2026, I visited Death Valley National Park to celebrate my partner’s 30th birthday. And while Death Valley is famously one of the most inhospitable places for life to flourish, it happens to be one of the most photogenic. With sand dunes, volcanic lava filled hills, salt flats, and purple mountains – it was hard for me to put my camera down.

Before this trip, I never really had an interest in landscape photography. But something about the contrast between human subjects in an otherworldly terrain captivated me. 

While enjoying the sunrise at Zabriskie Point, a popular vista in the park, I overheard a conversation between two hikers. One said to the other that landscape photographers dislike when tourists visit these iconic panoramas at sunrise – because they don’t like people in photographs of the mountains. This opinion stuck with me as I absorbed the beautiful view. 

A few weeks later I received the scans of my film from the trip. I quickly noticed that my favorite photographs all had tiny people featured in them, often in pairs of two or in small groups. They look like ants being swallowed whole by the enormity of the environment surrounding them. For me, the presence of people in these images was necessary, not intrusive. Seen together, these groups suggest quiet companionship and connection. Fellow travelers moving through forces far beyond our control.

These portraits of tiny people became a meditation on impermanence. They serve as a reminder that, in the grand scheme of life, we are impossibly small. By placing people within these vast environments, I’m trying to acknowledge how much of the world exists without us, and will continue to do so long after we are gone.