Add your promotional text...
Colorado has always carried a particular kind of appeal for us. My wife grew up there, and together we spent several years surrounded by mountains that shaped the way we see the world. Even now, whenever we return, the draw is not just nostalgia but the landscape itself. The high passes, the endless sky, the way the air thins and sharpens as the road winds upward. Our favorite thing has always been simple: to drive into the mountains, letting the curves of the road reveal new stretches of forest, streams cutting across granite, peaks suddenly breaking open against the horizon. It is a place that never feels static, always shifting with light and weather, always offering something different to anyone who looks closely. On this trip, that same beauty became the setting for a day of creating, transforming familiar ground into a living canvas.
For my wife, the idea of creating fine art nudes in the mountains had lived quietly on her bucket list for years. She has always had an instinct for photography that runs deeper than mine. She has the ability to find balance, to recognize light and shadows, and to frame a body against its surroundings that comes as naturally. Still, there are dreams that require the right convergence of time, place, and people before they can come to life. Colorado offered the place, and on this trip, the people were there too. Our friend Matt helped us set everything up, offering his generosity to make the vision possible. And with Luna Wolfe stepping in as model, we had the final piece. The presence that could embody both rope and landscape. What had long been imagined was suddenly within reach.
The mountains brought something to rope that no studio ever could. Light sifted differently through the trees, fractured by branches before it reached the ground. The air carried movement. Lifting hair, shifting fabric, tugging at rope so that nothing ever stayed still for long. The ground was uneven, the trees unyielding, the water cold and insistent. Rope became less a tool of control and more a way of listening, of adjusting to what the land asked of us. Between two trunks that had stood for decades, jute stretched as if it were simply another strand of the forest, a line among bark and root. The tie no longer belonged only to the hands that placed it, but also to the place itself, as though the mountains had accepted rope as part of their own design.
The stream introduced its own challenges and gifts. Water clung to the jute, darkening its fibers and tightening its grip against skin. What had been light and pliable in the dry mountain air grew heavy and insistent once soaked, tugging with each shift of Luna’s body. The cold pressed itself into the scene too, stealing her breath in short bursts, raising goosebumps across her skin. To make it possible, I stepped into the stream myself, letting the icy current numb my legs as I tied so she wouldn’t have to move across uneven stones while bound. It was a small adjustment, but one that allowed her to remain fully in the rope, grounded in stillness while the water carried past us both. The photographs from that moment hold a layered truth: rope as both weight and anchor, endurance shaped not just by fiber and knot but by the living force of the mountain stream itself.
Looking back, what stays with me is not just the rope or even the images themselves, but the way Colorado shaped the entire experience. The mountains weren’t a backdrop so much as a partner, Trees standing as anchors, water testing our endurance, light shifting to remind us that nothing is permanent. For Sherri, creating fine art nudes in this landscape was the realization of something she had carried for years, and the added bonus of seeing her vision come alive through rope felt like closing a circle. For me, standing in that cold stream, tying with jute soaked and heavy, it was a reminder that rope is never confined to studios, rings, or carefully controlled spaces. It can live wherever trust, intention, and presence allow it to.
Colorado gave us more than photographs. It gave us a chance to place rope within the living world, to let mountains, rivers, and forests share in the dialogue we usually reserve for ourselves. That is what I mean when I think of rope in practice, it is not just repetition of ties or refining technique, but bringing rope into spaces that change it, deepen it, and remind us of what it really holds. On this trip, rope became a way to honor both the place and the people, a way to belong again, if only for a moment, to the mountains that have always called us home.