Friends and fans sometimes ask me why I spend more time writing songs these days than taking photographs. Since both have been such significant parts of my creative life, I thought I’d share my thoughts in the form of a self-interview, taken from questions I’ve been asked.

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Q: When did you realize songwriting would take center stage over photography?

A: There were a few moments that made it clear to me. Photography and songwriting are closely aligned in my heart — I love them both. But with landscape photography, the kind of work I’ve always pursued, so much depends on timing. You’ve got to be in the right place at the right time. Weather plays a huge role, travel can get expensive, and the equipment is heavy. A lot of it is skill, of course, but there’s also an element of luck — and that perfect moment can be elusive.

 

Still, I always loved the time spent in the wild, even when no photograph appeared. Just being there, part of the universe, meditating on nature, listening to the wind — that’s still something I seek out every day on walks or bike rides.

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One turning point came years ago, when I was still a full-time photographer but also starting to write songs for Sony Music in Nashville. I was on a photo trip and staying at our little camp on the Greenbrier River during a rainy weekend. There were no photographs to be had, but I realized I could write songs 24 hours a day up there. That was a big realization: photography required equipment and circumstances, but songwriting didn’t.

All I needed was my mind and my imagination.

 

And in the last seven or eight years, as my spinal condition worsened, carrying heavy gear into the wild just wasn’t an option anymore. At that point, the decision was made for me — I had to let go of photography the way I used to do it. Songwriting, though, has remained with me, and it keeps me going.

 

Q: Is there a particular memory from your photography days “in the wild” that best captures what you loved about it?

A: The wonderful memories from my photography days are too many to name, but it’s less about a single moment and more about the feeling that came with every experience. I always thought of it as capturing the “decisive moment,” as André Kertész described it. He was a documentary photographer who would find a composition on a street corner and then wait for something to happen — an action, a gesture — that made the frame come alive.

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I worked the same way with landscapes. I’d find a composition that I knew had potential, and then I’d wait: for the light to shift, the wind to blow, a bird to fly through. That waiting — being totally open, one with the universe — is the part I loved most.

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When it all came together, you had something you could share. A print or an image that might move someone almost as much as it moved you in the moment. Often, people would tell me my photographs reminded them of a special place or memory of their own. That connection — being able to give someone back a piece of themselves — made it addictive.

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Even now, as I sit outside writing this, I catch myself watching clouds roll across the sky, seeing compositions appear and dissolve. That’s always been the way I work: lock down a tripod, set the frame, and then wait for the universe to step into it.

 

Q: When you think about songwriting now, is there a moment that shows why it fits better with your life today?
 

A: Once again, it’s not just one moment — it’s many. That’s what I love about songwriting. In a way, you’re writing songs 24 hours a day. You collect personal observations, overheard conversations, lines from movies, and little phrases that come to you. I jot down titles all the time. Most of the time, I just go about my life — and then, suddenly, something grabs me and says, “Okay, I’m ready.” That’s when the song comes out.

 

One memory stands out: about a year ago, our church received as a gift a 1929 Steinway piano. I’m not really a piano player, but I love the way different instruments feel and sound, and I sometimes go down to the sanctuary to sing during the week. One day, I sat at that new piano — not thinking about a particular title I had written down a few weeks before — and I hit a chord. It was a D minor. The song was in the key of C, which made that D minor a two-chord. You don’t usually start a song on a two minor — most songs begin on a one or a five. It was such an unusual way to start, and I’d never written that way before. But right there, with that unexpected chord, the entire song came pouring out of me in one take. It blew my mind!

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I’m still shaping that song today, because when they arrive like that, they feel important. It’s like you’re not really writing them — you’re just receiving them. And unless you’ve had that experience, it’s hard to put into words. But that’s what keeps me writing. It fits my life because I can create anywhere, anytime, without equipment or planning. The songs show up, and I try to catch them. Then, of course, the work begins, shaping them into something you can share.

 

Q: Who have been some of your biggest musical influences, and how do you hear them showing up in your songwriting today?

A: I grew up in a very musical family. There were and are talented musicians on both sides of my tree. My dad played saxophone in big bands and cover bands, and my mom grew up playing piano before becoming the pianist in our church. My dad loved jazz, my mom loved just about everything, so our house had everything from Harry Belafonte to Henry Mancini to John Coltrane spinning on the record player. And then along came Elvis Presley.

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We also watched Ed Sullivan every Sunday night, and looking back, I realize just how much that show shaped me. That’s where I first saw Elvis, James Brown, The Beatles, Sammy Davis Jr. — all these incredible performers. They all got inside me at a really young age.

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In the late 1960s, when singer-songwriters started emerging, I was drawn to people like James Taylor, Jimmy Buffett, Gordon Lightfoot, Jackson Browne, and Van Morrison, who remains a huge influence on me. And, like most of them, my writing mostly comes from experiences and lessons learned in my life. 

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Vocally, though, I probably picked up more of a soulful style — influenced by Motown, Van Morrison, Delbert McClinton, and others. People have always told me my voice carries some soul in it.

 

More recently, my friend Larry Groce — longtime host of Mountain Stage — told me something that stuck. He’d heard my band, The Soul Doctors, and some other projects over the years, and he always thought of me as a soul singer. But when I started writing my own songs, he was surprised by the diversity. He said he’d expect a soul tune, but then I’d bring something completely different. That’s one of the freedoms of writing for myself now: I don’t have to worry about selling it or fitting into one box. The songs show up, and if you’re listening, they tell you how they want to live.

 

Q: What do you want your fans to take away from knowing that you’re writing more than photographing these days?

A: Over the years, people have told me how much my photography has meant to them. I photographed children and families for years, creating what feels like historical documents of people growing up. Some of those “little people” are adults now, and I still know them — those relationships are really special to me. 

With landscapes, people often tell me, “I’ve got your photo in my office — it makes me feel good every time I see it.” That’s humbling, and it means a lot to know something I created could bring a smile or a good memory to someone else.

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I hope people see the joy and the love with which all of my work — photography and now songwriting — has been made. I only share what I believe has enough merit to stand on its own, and my goal has always been to encourage people, make them smile, or make them think. I believe I’ve been able to do that with photography, and now I want to do the same through songs.

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And before it’s all said and done, I hope I can write a couple that really have legs — songs that stick around long after I’ve left this little blue dot. I’m grateful to still be creating and thankful that I have something to share.

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