Fine Art Landscape Photography Prints

⇦ Back to Galleries

Daylight Dune


Early evening light on Mesquite Sand Dunes in Death Valley National Park, California.

Fine art landscape photography prints

If you are looking to decorate your home or office with fine art landscape photography prints, I'd be honored to help you with your needs. My Limited Edition Fine Art Nature Prints are gallery quality and the utmost care is taken in every step of the process, from in-field capture of the photograph, to bringing it to life, to printing and production, and to my customer service. Nature photography wall art is the perfect way to bring the calming simplicity of the natural environment into your home decor, breathing life into the spaces you enjoy with a splash of color, texture, and quality.

This gallery shows a few of my best selling fine art landscape photography prints. You can also visit my collections to view other options.

If there is something specific that you're looking for and can't find, please don't hesitate to reach out to me and I'll do everything I can to ensure you're taken care of.

upper butte creek, waterfall, spring, ferns, moss, forest, oregon, clover, oxalis
, photo

Trust and Love


Upper Butte Creek Falls as seen through a window of mossy forest, spring clover, and ferns.

On September 24, 2015 I celebrated five years of sobriety.

Five years is a lot of days strung together. 1,826 in fact. For someone who couldn't go more than 12 hours without a drink, 43,829 hours is one hell of a long time. And wouldn't you know it, after all of those hours it has just become routine. I don't mean that being sober has become routine, I mean that everything that I need to do daily has become routine: The thoughts and feelings I go through, the way I deal with emotions, the things I have to believe, and the things I have to trust.

Trust is a tough one. I had to trust people I didn't know. I had to do the things that they told me to do and I had to just believe them that it would work for me as well. And even to this day I still have to just trust that everything will work out and that somehow it will be ok as long as I work hard and stay straight.

I also had to rebuild trust in many of the damaged relationships. Coworkers, friends, and family bonds were all compromised in one way or another. There are a lot of things that I did wrong back then and I have accepted that. Hell I do a lot of things wrong now. But I know that I am rebuilding those relationships with the people I love, as well as with myself. "What doesn't kill us..." right?

I know that I don't have to be scared of my emotions and go through life numb. I feel love more strongly. Sure there can be a lot of bad feelings in life, but they need to be felt. Tom Waits sings "If I exorcise my devils, well my angels may leave too. And when they leave they're so hard to find." The bad is needed to feel the good. And I feel both more deeply now. I cherish that love more knowing that I put it on the line and with how important that love is to me now, I don't want to risk it.

And so I continue these daily routines. They're not perfect but they're working for me. I just have hold the trust and love dear, be the best person I can be at any given moment, and just know that it'll all be ok.

alder, tree, forest, hoh, olympic national park, washington, photo



A single alder tree betrays the uniformity of the rest of the forest along the Hoh River in Olympic National Park, Washington.

oregon, crater lake, snow, sunrise, artist-in-residency, photo

Frigid Dawn


Sunrise on the morning of the first snow of the season at Crater Lake Lake National Park, Oregon.

Crater Lake National Park is a magical place. At 1,943 ft. it is the deepest lake in the United States, the second deepest in North America and the ninth deepest in the world.  The waters are fed only by precipitation and snowmelt, thus making the waters extremely pure, clear, and blue. In early October 2014, The subalpine environment was my home for two weeks as an artist-in-residence through the National Park Service.

Taking on the residency was overwhelming. For one, it was a major escape from the stresses of life in the city. The gratitude I felt at being awarded the opportunity was immense and surreal. On the other hand, I had a focus of being there and that was to communicate, document, or highlight the effects of climate change happening within the park through my photography. Taking on this project, an external influence on my work, was something I had never dealt with and something that I struggled with.

I realized in those first few days that I needed to shed expectations and create the photos that I normally do. I needed to connect with the environment on an emotional level. I feel that when I am disconnected, the photos I take lack a certain kind of soul. They feel empty to me. Flat. I believe that having emotion in my work is my best tool for communicating via imagery and that hopefully, viewers on the other end are also able to feel that connection, or at least get an idea of how I feel about nature and why it's so important to me.

As I watched the first light of day illuminate the horizon on the morning after the first snow of the season, I was awestruck at the scene. The landscape took on a whole different feel than what I had been seeing for a week. The snow played in harmony with the color of the lake. I could feel the crisp air rushing into my lungs and the quietness of the snow covered landscape in the early morning was almost deafening. It's these moments that cover me in goosebumps and, at times, bring me to tears.

In these kinds of serene conditions it's hard for me to imagine the violent, cataclysmic eruption that happened almost 8,000 years ago, quickly and dramatically changing the landscape. It's also easy to forget the changes that are occurring slowly and quietly, some of which we humans play a major role in. All I know is that I can't take these natural environments for granted. I owe it to myself, to my son, and to the earth itself.

intimate, abstract, sand, dune, death valley, national park, california, photo



An intimate abstract view of soft light on sand dunes in Death Valley National Park, California.

water, sunlight, pebbles, abstract, abiqua, oregon, photo

Stained Glass


Flowing water and sunlight create an abstract stained glass effect on pebbles in Abiqua Creek near Scotts Mills, Oregon.

high desert, foliage, winter, light, morning, eastern sierra, california, photo

Early Bright

Fine Art Limited Edition of 100

A tapestry of high desert foliage in its winter dress is illuminated by the early morning light in the Eastern Sierra region of California.

trees, snow, winter, yellowstone national park, wyoming, steam, photo



Steam from a nearby geothermal pool shrouds the remains of trees during a winter snowstorm in Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming.

larch, snow, enchantments, washington, tree, photo

Stand Strong


A lone larch tree in The Enchantments strives to bask in the light while it endures a snowy gust of wind. Stand strong little guy. I know how it feels to have to focus on the bright side while riding out the struggles in life.

aspen, trees, oregon, steens, autumn, photo



A grove of aspen trees in their autumn dress catch the early evening light in Steens Mountain Wilderness, Oregon.

In autumn of 2016 I felt the need to disappear.. the need to be surrounded by vast, empty landscapes where I could feel my insignificance in the world. A place where I could exist in quiet introspection. A place to isolate, avoid, purge, face, absorb, and be born again. A theoretic center of my universe.

I knew that in deep south eastern Oregon I could find exactly that and so I left Portland midday and drove the 8+ hours non-stop to the Steens Mountain Wilderness. Arriving at midnight, I fell asleep near the summit in forceful wind which rocked the truck throughout the night and left a buildup of rime across its surfaces. I spent the calmer morning drinking coffee and eating breakfast while watching the clouds dance on the face of the mountain that faces the Alvord Desert Playa.

I had only seen some parts of the Steens Mountain area on a previous visit in which the majority of the road was still closed by snow. Arriving in the dark and having my first glimpses of the area be shown in a bath of morning light only made the cathartic nature of the morning much more pronounced. I didn't worry about photographing that morning. My intent was to purge.. to breath... to feel alive.

I spent the next couple of days exploring back country roads on the western slope of the mountain, still with the focus less on photography and more on being. When I saw a stand of aspens across the gorge I checked my topographic map and lo and behold, a four wheel drive road cut straight through the heart of it. It was the first time I had ever seen such dense stands of aspen in autumn colors and I gleefully drove the road, marveling at the beauty of the early evening light being filtered through the dense yellow foliage. I found a place to park and wandered the forest looking for compositions. Frustrated with the challenge of trying to photograph such chaotic scenes, I walked back towards the truck and as I rested my mind this arrangement of trees stood out to me just inside the forest line. It was exactly what I had been looking for photographically and as I wrapped up shooting the scene, a gentleman and his wife emerged from the trail near my truck and we got to talking.

It turned out that they were staying in a Bureau of Land Management bunk house not too far away, one that he and his grandfather built before their land had been acquired by the BLM. Our talk was brief and we retired for the night. I walked to the edge of the gorge and watched the shadows fall across the land while I ate dinner. As twilight fell away, I laid in my truck with the doors open searching for constellations. It's so dark in that corner of the state that I had a hard time even finding the Big Dipper with how many stars were visible. I focused on the breeze moving across my skin in the deafening silence of the night. I think they call it deafening silence because it's so quiet that there's actually an overwhelming drone of white noise, possibly the sound of blood rushing past your ear drums.

I ran into Ric and Phyllis the next morning and they pointed me to one of their favorite overlooks.. one where they had a plaque dedicated to their ancestors who had lived on the land and one of the most impressive places I had been to in the area. They later arrived at the same viewpoint and we talked for well over an hour. I listened as he told me the history of the land, who lived where in the area, the struggles of being a rancher, and the politics of losing his home. I heard his memories, learned some secrets of the area, and realized how much reverence he has for the land, something that we had in common amongst all the things we didn't. The topic of sobriety came up and I learned that he had over 20 years under his belt, his worn sobriety coin in his pocket which he pulled out to show me. It was then that I realized that the day prior was the six year anniversary of my own sobriety. I had been so deep in my mind and experience that I had completely forgotten. Once we parted ways I was overwhelmed with gratitude, and being alone in the middle of nowhere, I let it take me and run its course.

There's magic in those hills in south eastern Oregon. Some places just feel that way, you know? It's something very abstract and intangible, but extremely powerful that results in very tangible emotions. It gave me the soulful healing that I was desperately seeking and it gave me the opportunity to make some new friends while showing me that even though we come from completely different backgrounds and might have opposing views, the stuff deep down... the important stuff... we shared. The struggles, the appreciations, and the wonder. At the end of the day and at the center of ourselves, are we really all that different?

ocean, cliff, water, oregon coast, photo

Little Rivers


Water from a massive wave finds its way down an ocean cliff on the Oregon Coast.

ocean, morning, surf, waves, oregon, coast, photo



Late morning light on ocean surf along the Oregon Coast.

bandon, sea stacks, face rock, beach, oregon, photo



The iconic sea stacks on Face Rock Beach in Bandon, Oregon.

abstract, fungal, pattern, oregon, grape, leaf, coccomyces dentatus, photo

Mosaic Decay


An abstract of fungal patterns (coccomyces dentatus) on a fallen Oregon grape leaf.

cottonwood, tree, utah, winter, snow, photo

Cottonwood Snow


A cottonwood tree in the southern Utah backcountry rides out a heavy winter snowstorm.

rain, grass, autumn, washington, abstract
, photo


Evening light filters through wet autumn grasses in Gifford Pinchot National Forest, Washington.

One of my favorite things to do lately is to duck into a complete mess with my telephoto and see what kind of organization I can make out of it. It’s a fun and challenging way for me to approach scenes… one that gets me much more mentally and emotionally immersed in the scene instead of arbitrarily snapping photos of the obvious. This was taken at a location with a grand view of a mountain. Low clouds circled the peak and soft pastels of sunset light filled the sky. I, however, spent my time kneeling in the wet autumn grass and shooting the backlit rain that it was catching.

badlands, zabriskie, death valley, california, color, national park, photo

Zabriskie Dawn


Soft morning light illuminates the badlands of Zabriskie Point in Death Valley National Park, California.

Zabriskie Point is popular for good reason. The shapes and colors of the badlands are amazing and I can get lost in them for hours finding different compositions as the light changes. But more than that, the fact that I’m looking at the eroded sediments of a lakebed that dried up over 5 million years ago is pretty amazing as well. We’re flashes in the pan when it comes to time. Make the best of it.

utah, badlands, sunset, warm, light, colorado plateau, desert, photo



Warm late evening light falls across badlands of the Colorado Plateau, Utah.

For some reason I have the need to be reminded of how insignificant I am in the grand scheme of the world. I’m not sure why that gives me a sense of being. Maybe because it makes me much more grateful for any significance that I DO feel. It’s an odd thing.. wanting and needing to feel small. It somehow amplifies the experiences that I have. This is a place which gave me that feeling of insignificance. Standing on a cliff edge with the vast desert landscape of southern Utah spread below me, large features seemingly toy sized, the only evidence of another person being represented by a single light 30 miles away, and watching the light and shadow dance across the contours made it feel like that moment in time was made just for us. We were the only ones that existed in the world this night.

oregon, columbia river gorge, elowah falls, photo

Golden Elowah


Golden light falls across the scene at Elowah Falls in the Columbia River Gorge, Oregon.

I dedicate this photo to the camera of my buddy Ted Gore.

I had originally shot this composition in a heavy downpour with flat light. It came out okay enough but while I was shooting this Ted had alerted me that his camera wasn't functioning. We had spent the day shooting in some serious rain (for Oregon's standards) and while Ted took precautions to protect his camera (and honestly.. didn't even have it out in the rain much), the wetness permeated his protective barriers and caused damage.

I  was feeling rushed. Not only did I want to get his camera into the bag of rice we had in the car.. but I was also worried about my gear. So we hoofed it back, did what we had to do, and called it a day.

I liked this comp enough that I went back two days later in the evening. The rain had stopped, the flow of the water was lighter, and we were treated to a glorious golden light show. The sun was still cresting the canyon wall and it illuminated the foreground trees. The falls is recessed back enough that it was shielded from the light which really helped balance the photo.

Aside from Ted's bad luck and the heavy rain the first day, we had a killer weekend of great spring conditions, awesome people, and good times.

Sorry about your camera, Ted!

oregon, ramona falls, water, waterfall, photo

For Dreams


Direct light strikes Ramona Falls in Mt. Hood National Forest, Oregon.

I've been fighting a lot of personal battles lately. Though I ALWAYS try to be optimistic, hope, dream, and give it my all.. sometimes I let it get the best of me and negativity becomes a more dominant trait. People who know me well know that I absolutely CANNOT continue to feed that energy or succumb to  it. The consequences for myself and those around me are pretty grave. I've done a lot of work to steer from that direction.. but the pull is still very real.

My relationship with nature is very personal to me. It's profound and hard to convey. When I can finally let my worries and negative energy slip away, if even for a couple of minutes, I am overcome with emotions to the point of tears. Goosebumps cover my body. It's a moment of warmth coursing through me that I don't get every time I go out.. but when it happens I KNOW that I am in the right spot in life. That feeling is what living should be about.

I've avoided Ramona Falls for over 10 years. I tend to avoid the popular hikes, especially in the summer. However the summer is pretty much only when you CAN hike this trail. What I learned about this trail is that it's popular for very good reason. The trail gains elevation so gradually that it felt like walking on flat ground. Ramona Creek gently meanders and cascades along the trail through a literal carpet of moss and ferns. The sunlight poured through the trees from a cloudless sky, diffusing into warm golden light. The temperature was perfect.  

It's hard to not photograph the creek. Part of my relationship with nature is that I must literally FEEL it. I get into it. No waders, no waterproof socks, no tiptoeing on rocks. I enjoy feeling the glacial waters permeate my clothing and chilling my skin. I enjoy the process of becoming so immersed in the elements that I become one with them. That is when I can get into my creative process. I become balanced. My heart is open. My soul is at ease.

When I stepped out of the creek and realized that my shooting partners had continued on ahead, I was hit with my moment. Here I was alone, for the most part, in a fairytale setting. I stepped into a ray of sunlight and closed my eyes. For 5 minutes I stood there and absorbed. I tapped into every sense I could and LIVED that moment. The sound of the water, the smell of the forest, the warmth hitting my face, the cool wetness of my clothing, and the bright sun piercing through my closed eyes. I let it overtake.. overwhelm. I opened my eyes and looked around. I was content. Instead of rushing from one place to the next like I normally do in my life I slowly walked on. I shuffled my feet through the pine needles, looked more intimately at my surroundings, and thought 'THIS is what life is'.

To me, there's no faster therapy than the nature that surrounds me. I'm so incredibly grateful that I live somewhere with such easy access to diverse natural settings. I'm working towards surrounding myself with nature on a more constant basis so that I can live more balanced. That road will be a hard one full of uncertainty and sacrifice... but I have hope that the view at the end is nothing short of amazing.