THE BACKEDGE
Shaped by the culture of the Colorado mountains
05.07 —
05.14.2025
FILM
PHOTOGRAPHY
"You have to leave the city of your comfort and go into the wilderness of your intuition. What you'll discover will be wonderful. What you'll discover is yourself."
— Alan Alda
LOCATION : COLORADO, USA
CHAPTER ONE :
Home going
It had been five years since I last made the journey to the Sangre de Cristo Mountains in Colorado. I felt a gravity pulling me back toward that wilderness—the place that holds so many of my childhood memories. Committing to the trip was difficult, but eventually I packed my bags and spent four days alone on the road, driving from California to Colorado.
The journey was lonely and beautiful, a storm of mixed emotions—as most meaningful experiences seem to be. Leaving required a confrontation with the part of myself that is afraid to trust intuition. A flat tire in the middle of the Nevada desert, navigating small-town stores under staring eyes, and the endless stretch of America’s loneliest highway unfolding ahead of me—these became my trials. At times, I felt like Ulysses, making my way home against improbable odds.
CHAPTER TWO :
The Backedge
This rustic log cabin in the woods is the only place in the world where I feel unequivocally at home. It was built generations ago by my father’s family. There is no running water or electricity, yet somehow it offers everything I could hope for.
A creek of fresh glacier water runs endlessly nearby, where we dunk our heads to wake ourselves in the morning. Days are filled with the sound of aspen leaves rustling in the wind, and at night we light a fire in the wood-burning sauna to warm our bodies and breathe deeply. Growing up, this wilderness was my greatest teacher. I am always grateful to return to its womb.
CHAPTER THREE :
Bear Basin Ranch
Across the valley from the Sangre de Cristo range, in the Wet Mountain region, sits a land trust and horse ranch. My maternal grandfather helped establish this stewardship while he was still alive. It has long served as an anchor for members of my family—a place to retreat when they were lost or had nowhere else to go.
Visiting Amy and Gary, who still tend the land and continue ranching here, felt like slipping into an alternate reality. Their kindness and generosity almost allowed me to forget where I came from. They patiently guided me in working with the horses and navigating the harsher realities of this lifestyle. These moments of dissonance remind me of the complexity of my presence here. In some ways, I belong—this is my home. In others, I remain a stranger: a queer body from a distant city, carrying a different way of moving through the world.
CHAPTER FOUR :
Home coming
I did not return home alone. My partner flew out to Colorado to meet me and accompany me on the long drive back to California. Inviting her into this world of mine felt both strange and beautiful—to witness the cabin, the one-road town of Westcliffe, and the place where my journey in this lifetime began.
As we drove slowly west, I thought often about what it means to share this perspective with others. How meaningful it might be to express—even imperfectly—how much can be learned from stepping into the world without a fixed destination, guided only by curiosity and the courage to discover what waits for us on paths we have never walked before.