Yesterday in the Mara felt like a dream.
A mother giraffe and her baby moving across the horizon. Two lions stalking buffalo through the grass. Incredible wildlife at every turn, brought to life by our amazing guide, Ben at @isharakenya
As the sun set, we gathered with fellow travelers beneath a full moon that lit up the entire landscape.
Moments like these remind you how wild, beautiful, and interconnected life really is.
Grateful for every second.
William Shakespeare
Years ago I photographed Don King for the cover of a UK magazine. We waited approximately 47 business years for him to appear. When he finally entered the room, it felt less like a photoshoot and more like the arrival of a Roman emperor who had just discovered hairspray.
His office was absolute chaos in the best possible way. Gold everywhere. Giant framed portraits of himself. Random frog statues staring into my soul from every corner. It looked like Liberace decorated a casino inside a fever dream.
And then there was this framed piece: Don King above George Bush and Bill Clinton like some kind of holy trinity of American power. For people who don’t immediately see it — it’s basically a shrine to influence. Politics, celebrity, money, media, spectacle… all orbiting each other in one glossy gold frame. Republican. Democrat. Boxing kingpin. Different costumes, same theater.
That’s the thing about photographing powerful people — eventually you realize most of it is performance. Expensive performance, yes. But performance nonetheless.
Meanwhile I’m now at the stage in life where my dream is basically:
little house in the forest,
coffee,
birds,
good books,
and absolutely no television telling me civilization is ending every seven minutes.
Honestly the frogs may have been the wisest ones in the building.
Mary & Dylan
Mary waited 1,033 days to become a mother.
Not because she was unsure.
Not because she was incomplete.
Because life — and faith — asked her to surrender every timeline she thought she needed.
In 2020, she began the adoption process alone. Through years of waiting, prayer, heartbreak, healing, and trust, she kept saying yes to a life she could not yet see.
Then came Dylan.
A son whose name means “Son of the Sea,” arriving after years of prayer by the water, where she says God continually reminded her that she was already loved, already chosen, already enough.
Today I photographed Mary and Dylan for my series No Partner Required — stories about women who chose motherhood outside the traditional narrative.
Not stories about lack.
Stories about love.
About courage.
About becoming fully alive.
There are many ways to build a family. This is one of them.
𝐒𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐮𝐛/𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐝 𝐃𝐨𝐮𝐠
Doug Pursley—who I used to call Dougie Fresh—has lived a lot of lives. He once had a successful career in marketing and sales, the kind people stay in because the money is good. He didn’t. After years of moving between places and versions of himself, he’s now back near home in Minnesota, close to his two brothers.
These days, Doug lives in a local motel, LumberJill Lodge—pink doors, flower boxes, and antique photographs of female lumberJILLS in every room. He helps run the place in exchange for a room. To make money, he substitute teaches. Somewhere along the way, he became Super Sub Doug. (Some of the high school girls call him Super Stud Doug, which makes him wildly uncomfortable.)
He walks into classrooms with an easy, open energy. The kids feel it immediately. They don’t just listen—they light up. He makes them laugh, plays games, and gives them the space to be themselves. During an art class, he asked them to draw him: hearts around his face, “#1 Teacher,” “Best Teacher Ever,” and one kid who drew him as a devil. All of it felt right.
What they respond to isn’t perfection—it’s presence. Doug doesn’t try to control the room. He meets it where it is.
A man who stepped out of one version of success and into something simpler. And somehow, exactly right.
𝘓𝘶𝘤𝘬, 𝘞𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘪𝘵𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧—𝘪𝘯 𝘍𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴, 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘳𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘴, $2 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘝𝘍𝘞, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘵 𝘳𝘩𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘮 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦’𝘴 𝘢 𝘴𝘶𝘣𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘶𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘢 𝘸𝘪𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰 𝘩𝘦’𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦, 𝘢 𝘸𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘪𝘹 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭, 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴. 𝘕𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘴 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘺, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺.