We covered the spectrum this year with Amazon, capturing 3 different campaigns for various departments. The first one was my favorite in terms of planing and logistics, and making sure the skill of anticipation was properly tuned. The 2nd and 3rd were more storytelling processes, highlighting the teamwork, effort and energy put into Amazon deliveries. Ultimately, this is a story about commerce and how it moves, and the people that move it, across the country.
For the 1st campaign we traveled to Los Angeles, piggybacking on a motion campaign. We captured the A to Z of Amazon delivery, specifically highlighting the new Amazon Intermodal container branding. From trains and tracks and yards, to trucks and the excitement of fulfillment centers, to passing planes, it was an extensive effort in planning, including loading a BNSF train with only Amazon Intermodal containers and traveling from Chicago to LA just for a mountain pass shot.









The 2nd campaign was a quick 1-day shoot of personnel delivering boxes, from the sorting centers to the delivery truck and on the streets to a front doorstep. The final assets land as classroom wraps where trainees will be taught the process. It was an in-the-moment shoot, often creating something out of nothing, whether camera angles, foreground elemental distractions or manipulating backgrounds to appear as if we were not located in the Pacific Northwest.
















Lastly we were in Virginia, where a man by the name of Bayar Palani has partnered with Amazon Relay to help deliver Amazon packages throughout the region. This partnership has helped Bayar grow his business exponentially and create the dream-life for he and his family. As an immigrant, whom traveled halfway around the world with his parents to seek better opportunity, he is a perfect example of what hard work, dedication, belief, and persistence take to open the right doors and fully live one’s dreams for a better future. He is the perfect example of what all persons should have the opportunity to create.

















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It was dripping; the sun shrouded by cloud, the cloud returning to damp where dew ran with rain and rain soaked into thick rivulets of sand. All these paths led to a tempest of gray salt, growling together as an always-temperamental Northwest coastline. We shouldered our loads, pack mules down scree slopes, each step sinking into the shifting earth.
Walking off the beach, skin tensing from the drying salt water, we turned and marveled at the temptation we left, but the promise of additional companions and a new adventure forced us back through the thick fern fronds and salal fields that guarded those secrets. We pulled into a freshwater bay to meet our other companions: Sam from Ocean Beach and Kris from hometown.
Each canoe weighed heavy in the soft mud as the four of us laughed, organized and inspected everything. We had the gear and a malleable plan. Now we needed waves. Under a milky afternoon, still with high, wafting clouds, we embarked waters teaming with perch, pikeminnow, coastal cutthroats and kokanee to a point of cache and then further across deeper waters into the middle of nowhere.
Camp One welcomed us with an evening storm that lulled us to sleep with the soft, synthetic patter of raindrops on nylon. As we emerged into the light of day two, all was sodden, the leaching wetness of winter – the rotting season. Nothing remained dry outside our expedition packs. And as we cooked packets of instant oatmeal, we scanned the angry horizon for signs of contour.
Camp Two was a sand bank, a small cove of great fortune that was ours, alone, for four days. From this vantage point, we watched the sea. Corduroy lines of swell marched like infantry. That clean A-frame was gone, replaced by a meaty little slab.
These instances were often the most memorable, the time away from time where scrutiny of an industrial civilization weighed weight upon a ticking time bomb. Omniscient and harmonious was the mind, free to soar in solitude like the eagles above, and glide like a Pelican upon the updraft of rolling sea. We found more scat; bear, raccoon, coyote. We stepped over the skins of dogfish and collected Japanese plastics from disasters far away and seemingly long ago. Then we ended.
The morning of our departure, the sun broke and alighted our long playful shadows across the sand as we slipped northward towards Camp One, back through the fern forest and salal fields to a freshwater point. We had work to do.
We slid onto the sandy beach, found our stores of wood and hardware, beer and fire, and set to work. Skyler repaired the lean-to with his fashioned door. Sam built a hot fire of cedar wood and lava rock, while Kris fashioned a shovel to carry the stones from heat to shelter. Over the course of three hours we took turns bathing in the sweet sweat of a traditional sauna, removing all traces of bitter cold from our bones. And then just before dusk we set off for home, just as we had done days prior when we entered the shadows of fern and salal that guarded the undiscovered surf in the wilds of our backyard.
































