Many of us are familiar with this Ansel Adams quote: Twelve significant images in any one year is a good crop.

I agree with his position. Quality is far more important than quantity.

In a variation on the theme, I decided to consider "significant" a little differently, evaluating work I've done throughout 2024 in the context of images that were the most meaningful. I chose twelve; one from each month.

I'll share some of them, along with their backstories:

January
I made this image on New Year’s morning in Grand Teton National Park. When I was living in New Hampshire, I created a tradition for myself: on the first day of January, I’d head out to the seashore in the darkness before dawn to wait for the sun come up over the Atlantic Ocean. If the conditions were conducive, I’d make a photograph. Whether or not I walked away with an image, though, it was a meaningful way to begin the new year.

This tradition of welcoming January somewhere out in nature is more of a challenge in the Intermountain West, however. GTNP, my preferred location, is nearby as the crow flies but further when driving, there are two mountain passes in between, and winter roads are often treacherous.

Last New Year's Eve I was fighting a lingering sinus infection. The prudent course of action would have been to set tradition aside, stay home, and turn in early - but I went to Jackson anyway to photograph the torchlight parade and fireworks at Snow King. Spending the night there meant I could be in GTNP before daybreak the next morning. The skies were cloudless but I got something even better than a colorful sunrise: beautiful, widespread hoarfrost thanks to a temperature inversion overnight. After photographing the delicate white décor, I was privileged to watch the sun's rays lighting the Teton Range on the first morning of the new year. Any time I'm able to step into January like this, it's memorable. 2024 began in a lovely way.

April
Shoot what interests you. I often give this piece of advice to aspiring photographers. There’s no reason you can’t work across genres. Though I’m primarily a landscape photographer, I shoot other subject matter, too. Chicago, my home city, is rich with interesting architecture. Whether it’s buildings, bridges, or outdoor art installations, I enjoy the challenge of depicting things (many of which I’ve seen hundreds of times) in creative ways.

This is Marina City, on the north side of the Chicago River. I saw in the Towers an open book. Of all the architectural images I've made in Chicago, this is one of my favorites.

May
This is first light on the northern Teton Range, made in late May. The photograph was successful, but the reason it’s especially meaningful to me has to do with events surrounding its creation. The day before, I’d seen Grizzly 399 twice – both completely random sightings. The second time, I happened upon The Queen and her yearling cub near Signal Mountain campground, where I was staying. I was returning at dusk from scouting this location, where I planned to work the following morning if the air was calm enough.

My vehicle was immediately behind that of a park ranger, who had slowed nearly to a stop. Even before he turned his flashers on, I knew there had to be a large animal nearby. I lowered my window and scanned the opposite roadside. There were 399 and Rowdy, only about 30 feet away, making their way through the underbrush, moving parallel to the road.

My camera was sitting on the front passenger seat but I didn't reach for it; I did not want to lose sight of the two of them. I was content simply to watch 399 and her youngster. Talk about a front row seat. Before long they disappeared further into the trees, the deepening dusk eventually hiding them from sight.

The spot from which I made this photo was a stone's throw from where I had twice seen 399 the day before - and the only time I had ever seen her two times in a single day.

Five months later, she would be hit by a car in the Snake River Canyon and killed. Her cub has not been seen since; whether he made it safely to den for the winter is unknown.

Looking at this image is, for me, bittersweet. It reminds me of that magical day, not long after 399 and Rowdy had emerged from their den, with the whole summer ahead of them. It would be the last time I'd see her.

July
The annual Teton Valley Balloon Rally in Driggs, Idaho is a fun Independence Day holiday event. In advance of my first visit to the rally, I was thinking it’d be great if I could capture one of the balloons flying in front of Grand Teton. After arriving at the fairgrounds the first year and sizing up the situation, I quickly realized how slim the chances would be of making that photograph a reality. Contrast is a beast: you’re shooting into the sun as it is rising. And given the direction of prevailing winds, creating a composition including both the balloons and the Tetons is a tall order.

Still, after a few years, I figured out how I might be able to make the photograph. Mother Nature came through on this day with unusually calm conditions: so calm, in fact, that many of the balloons were able to return to the fairground after their flights (something that, as the event announcer indicated, almost never happens). This unexpected twist worked in my favor, giving me a few more opportunities to capture a balloon in just the right spot.

September
Between June and September, I was at String Lake in Grand Teton National Park at 0-dark-30 on many mornings. Although I never regretted watching the day begin from there, I was striking out time after time with the camera (socked in with fog, not a cloud in the sky, etc.).

I’m nothing if not persistent, though. I was finally rewarded with good conditions one morning in mid-September. After having invested so much time and effort to capture something at String Lake, I made what turned out to be my favorite autumnal image from the 2024 foliage season. Ironically, this isn't what I thought I'd be shooting; I had intended to feature Mount Moran.

December
After a few lackluster seasons for The Christmas Project, this year was fantastic. I was back in an area that is reliable in terms of lights: lots of lights.

In a departure from typical landscape photography, the conditions aren’t particularly relevant when photographing holiday scenes outdoors. Whether or not it's cloudy, or windy, or snowing, none of that matters. I’m just looking for a “purple sky” – that window after sunset and before the sky loses all color. Some ambient light adds dimension to the composition.

On this late afternoon in Chicago, I was gifted with intense sunset color, which completely changed things. I had to begin shooting earlier than usual and needed to compose hastily in order to incorporate the intense pink. These were good problems to have, I assure you.

Unexpected fantastic conditions, back in my home city, and working that location with my brother are some of the reasons I chose this as my most meaningful photograph of the month.

As we stand on the threshold of a new year, I wish for you good health and happiness, and - of course - plenty of great light and interesting subject matter. Happy 2025!