 I took these photos just moments before I received news of my father's passing, and my life changed. Even in death he held the well-being of his family in his highest regard. To hear this news whilst immersed in the spectacular landscape of Yellowstone National Park was an immense gift. I am in his deepest gratitude. As I witnessed the sun set behind the horizon, the steaming geysers evaporate and begin their climb towards the heavens, I felt like I was witnessing my father's spirit. Death is not a morbid thought. Death is a great teacher. Life is precious. Life is brief. Suspended between heaven and earth, the ethereal and the solid, imagination and reality - an endless cycle of sublimation and deposition of matter.
 Getting a picture of my dad is extremely rare. Getting a picture of my dad inside my art studio is even more rare. This is one of the last photos I took of him. I liken my dad to a Snow Leopard: an extremely private, elusive creature, who's stories and adventures border on myth. He was one of the most fascinating creatures I have ever known. My father taught me many things. And although my mother taught me how to paint, my father taught me how to dream.
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