The More You Understand, the More You See

I used to think that connecting with nature meant going somewhere extraordinary. Then I started learning the birds.

I have lived in the Coachella Valley for more than a decade. Yet some of the discoveries that have changed my experience of living here most have happened in places I already knew: my backyard, a familiar walking route, a pickleball court.

During a competitive match, I might notice a Say’s phoebe perched on the net, then swooping down after an insect. Once, that might have been a movement at the edge of my attention. Now I recognize the bird. I understand something about what it is doing. Watching it can settle me and remind me that the match is just a game.

The bird does not need to do anything spectacular. My understanding has changed what the moment holds for me.

The more I understand, the more I see. That idea has become central to my photography, my work, and the way I experience the place I call home.

The birds were already here

About two years ago, I began studying the birds around me with the kind of intensity that tends to take over when something genuinely interests me. I wanted to know the birds I could see throughout the year, the ones that visited seasonally, and the characteristics that made each one recognizable.

Learning their names was a beginning. What really changed things was becoming familiar with them: watching their behavior, recognizing their habits, and developing affection for creatures I had spent years overlooking.

Before tournaments, I would go for a walk and pay attention to the birds. On the court, noticing them helped me step back from the pressure I was putting on myself. I was still there to compete, but the score was no longer the only thing happening around me.

I used to associate that feeling of connection with a grand view. I might drive to an overlook, look out across an enormous landscape, and feel plugged into nature. Studying birds made that experience much more accessible. I did not have to leave my neighborhood to find it.

Give me a good pair of binoculars and birds to watch, and, to me, it is the best television of all time. I get to be outside, breathing fresh air, watching something unfold in front of me. That alone has made me happier to live where I live.

I still love the big views. But my appreciation of the desert no longer depends on reaching one. A familiar place has become richer because I understand more of what is happening there.

Perspective becomes part of the photograph

That change in attention also changes what I can communicate as an artist.

My first-issue photograph of Chiron Burl at Fritz Burns Park is an example I can explain very specifically. I wanted the image to feel something like playing against him, rather than simply observing a player from outside the court.

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The opponent is in the photograph, but his placement gives the frame a sense of being inside the action. The scale of the net is deliberate. So are the view of Chiron and the chain-link fencing behind him. Those are elements I knew from standing on the other side of that net myself.

I also understood details that might not mean as much to someone unfamiliar with him, including his distinctive paddle grip. And I knew the park: which court offered the angles I wanted, what the background would contribute, and how the light changed toward sundown.

I did not arrive at those decisions through camera knowledge alone. Time spent playing, watching, and being part of that setting had given me something to work with.

Being a high-level player helped, but I would not reduce the advantage to skill or ranking. Simply spending so much time there mattered enormously. Familiarity let me recognize possibilities that I might otherwise have walked past.

The intention was not just to show you Chiron. It was to give you access to a perspective I had developed through experience.

Understanding elevates creative vision

In my six-part framework for evaluating a photograph, I separate technique, composition, emotional impact, storytelling, creative vision, and significance.

Perspective connects with all of them, but creative vision is where I feel its influence most strongly.

Understanding a subject helps me recognize what matters. It can tell me that a gesture is distinctive, that a background belongs in the story, or that a particular viewpoint might let someone feel the experience rather than merely identify the subject.

With Chiron, I was preserving a moment involving a person, a game, and a local park that mattered to me. Knowing those things made the story easier to tell. It also gave me more possibilities for how to tell it.

That does not mean expertise automatically produces great art. I still have to make choices: where to stand, what to include, what to leave out, and when to release the shutter. Knowledge gives me more to recognize and respond to. The photograph is what I make of it.

I explored another side of that relationship in my essay on Agnes Pelton, light, and the feeling of the desert. Here, the question is what happens when I keep returning to a subject long enough for my understanding of it to change.

Golf is the next layer

For a long time, golf was something I thought I would get to eventually. Now it feels like my next adventure.

Through real estate and Desert Oasis Insider, I spend time around beautiful courses. I have seen them in moments when the light, the day, and the condition of the landscape come together in a remarkable way. I have already made golf-course photographs I am proud of without needing to be a golfer.

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Studying a course’s history, observing it repeatedly, and considering its angles have already taught me a great deal. Playing will add a different kind of knowledge. I will be out there making decisions, trying to understand the course well enough to score, and experiencing moments that currently belong to someone else’s perspective.

I expect that experience to reveal different photographs—not because everything I have made so far is incomplete, but because I will have more ways of understanding what is in front of me.

My ambition is to become a scratch golfer. That is a goal, not a qualification I have earned. It also reflects something I know about myself: when I become deeply interested in something, I tend to go all in. That happened with pickleball, and I expect the desire to improve to be part of golf as well.

But the point of this article is not that you have to become exceptional at something before you can appreciate it or photograph it well. The perspective grows during the pursuit. It is available in the first lesson, the next question, the time spent observing, and the willingness to keep learning.

I want to get good. I also want to remain aware of what the process is already giving me.

Knowing a community from the inside

The same principle carries into my work as a real estate agent.

Take Sun City Shadow Hills. Learning its amenities is important, but a list of amenities is not the same thing as understanding the community. I need to go there, talk with residents, spend time in its spaces, and pay attention to how people actually experience the lifestyle.

Transactions add another kind of knowledge. So do the hours spent asking questions, breaking down what I have learned, and thinking critically about what it means for someone considering a home there.

That work is not separate from the way I approach photography. In both cases, I am trying to get beyond a surface impression so I can offer something more useful and more truthful.

I want to become the best artist and real estate agent I can be. More broadly, I want to become the best version of myself. For me, that means going deep enough to discover what I do not yet understand—not deciding that familiarity means there is nothing left to learn.

Desert Oasis Insider is a way of living

It would be easy to describe all of this as creating content for a website. That is part of the work, but it does not fully explain why I do it.

Desert Oasis Insider is my commitment to understanding my homeland. It gives me a place to organize my photographs, thoughts, and discoveries, and a way to share them with other people. The business matters, but the deeper reason is the life that grows around that commitment.

The more I learn, the more I notice. The more I notice, the more questions I have. And as those layers accumulate, I become more connected to the place I already live.

My hope is that residents and visitors can find their own entry point here. Explore the Nature, Art, or Days to Remember stories. Follow whichever subject genuinely interests you. Let an image or an unfamiliar detail give you a reason to look more closely the next time you are outside.

You do not have to share my interest in birds, pickleball, or golf. You do not have to approach a subject with the same intensity I do. There are many ways to develop a relationship with a place.

For me, the word underneath all of this is connection.

Learning to see more has helped me make photographs. It has also helped me love my home more deeply. Some of what I treasure most now was right in front of me all along.

Keep Exploring

Find your next layer of perspective

What Makes a Great Photograph?The six qualities I use to look more closely. Agnes Pelton & the Feeling of the DesertLight, place, and an artist’s way of seeing. Meet the Say’s PhoebeA closer look at the bird in this story. Bird Watching at the Salton SeaExplore another part of the valley’s bird life. SilverRock ResortExplore the course pictured in this essay. Sun City Shadow HillsLook more closely at a community and its lifestyle.