Behind the Piece: Safe at Home
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Some pieces begin with beauty. Others begin with a moment that makes you smile every time you see it.
Safe at Home started on Sanibel Island at J.N. “Ding” Darling National Wildlife Refuge, where large groups of American white pelicans had gathered out on the water. Many were resting far off on a small island, while some of the younger pelicans seemed to be working through the awkward, energetic process of learning to fly and land well.
This particular pelican gave me a moment I could not let go of.
As I looked back through the images, there he was — wings spread, feet forward, splash rising beneath him — and all I could think was that he looked like he had just slid safely into home plate. The pose had that unmistakable burst of energy, that little flash of drama and fun that immediately felt bigger than a standard wildlife photograph. It felt like a play at the plate.
That is where the idea for this mixed media piece began.
Rather than simply presenting the pelican in its original setting, I leaned into the feeling the image gave me. The bright white bird, photographed on a pristine lake, was reimagined in a playful baseball-inspired world with a home plate landing, stadium lights, a nostalgic scoreboard, and muddier water that pushed the concept further into story. The goal was never strict realism. It was to create something lively, imaginative, and full of personality.
What I love most about Safe at Home is that it invites joy. It is meant to feel lighthearted and energetic — a piece that can appeal to baseball lovers, bird watchers, and anyone who enjoys artwork that brings movement, humor, and a little conversation into a space. More than anything, it should spark a grin before it sparks analysis.
The original pelican image was captured using my Sony a7R IV with a Sony 200–600mm G lens and a 2x converter, allowing me to reach out across the water and catch the action as it happened. What began as a wildlife moment became something more playful in the studio — proof that sometimes a photograph holds not only what happened, but what it feels like it wanted to become.