The thing about dawn is that it can arrive suddenly—in a flash or flurry of color—or it can slip in quietly, little by little, until we suddenly realize the light has changed and the sun is rising. When we understand the environment, we begin to anticipate how a moment may unfold.

It was the expectation of a slow, gentle dawn that drew me to this scene. The calm morning promised simplicity: the soft lapping of water along the shoreline and the rising sun emerging behind the lighthouse at Makapuʻu Point on the Island of Oahu, Hawaii.

As I stood there, I asked myself what I needed to express. The answer was clear—the calmness and quiet of the coming day. Once I understood that, my task was to capture the scene in a way that reflected that feeling.

This image wasn’t created by simply showing up and pressing the shutter. It emerged from understanding how the ocean interacts with the land at different times of day and in different seasons.

That same understanding has guided me in other moments as well, helping me express the calmness and serenity I was both feeling and seeking.

Is it possible to be in a crowd and still seek the calmness? Such was the case while waiting for the sunset in Colorado recently.

This idea of developing a relationship with a subject feels increasingly rare in a time of rampant self-promotion, where photographers rush to collect as many “iconic” images as possible.

When I look at the work of photographers who have influenced me, I see a common thread: a deep understanding, familiarity, and fascination with a subject they were personally connected to. Those are the images—and the photographers—I remember.