From the first Brownie box camera when I was 12 or 13 and the capture of the image of a single elm tree in the middle of a cow pasture, I have always been drawn to images of nature. Drawn by the play of color and light on the clouds at daybreak and nightfall, I've taken far too many photographs trying to capture that exquisite play. I've learned the value of capturing sky beauty in my memory, rather than on film, in those moments when I've been without a camera or filmless.

I come from northern New England, grew up far enough away from the ocean to not consider it commonplace. The rising sun on ocean ripples – the sheen of afterglow on wet sand – the scattering of gulls – the dizzying glaze of eye caused by sand drawn back in the skim of the dying breaker – catch my senses and my camera in visits to the Atlantic coast in Maine.

Rising before the sun in June is a feat, but possible, as is writing morning pages while perched at the sea's edge with the sun rising before me. Cormorants and ducks dive; a song sparrow sings five variations of his musical theme; the scents of rugosa roses, seaweed, and salt water tickles my nose. My day begins of transposing the eye's imagery to the camera's film and then to your eyes as observer of what I chose.

Mario Acevedo

Ginny Amrose

Dixie Clark

Pat Pendleton

Cherie Staples

Bill Stuber

Catherine Trunfio