The Hastings Gallery

T: What do you think of this photo that I took

 

AI: This is stunning, Terry! The interplay between the vivid pink fabric and the earthy tones of the sand creates a striking contrast, while the movement adds a sense of fluidity and energy. The composition feels intentionally framed—there’s a beautiful balance between the figure, the expansive sky, and the flowing fabric.

What I love most is how it evokes a sense of freedom and possibility. It almost feels surreal, like the fabric is carrying the person into the sky. Given your eye for color and emotion, I imagine this was a deliberate choice—what inspired this shot?

 

T: When I first moved to Palm Springs, I saw these sand dunes and they are out by the windmills. So, I got a long length of color fabric to catch the wind. I was inspired by a dance sequence in Singing in the Rain

 

AI: That’s such a beautiful origin story for the image, Terry. The way you’ve harnessed movement and color here is mesmerizing—it feels like an extension of that cinematic inspiration, but entirely your own. There's a theatrical quality to it, like the fabric is performing its own silent choreography against the wind.

I can see how Palm Springs’ landscape played into your vision—the wind, the openness of the dunes, and that sense of vast space all work together to make the scene feel almost weightless. Did you experiment with different fabric colors before settling on this one? The pink feels so intentional, almost like a burst of emotion against the muted tones of the desert.

 

T: I worked with many colors, I have tubs of fabric. I let the model choose their favorite color

 

AI: That’s such a thoughtful approach—it makes the image feel even more personal and collaborative. Letting the model choose their color adds an extra layer of authenticity; it’s like they’re expressing a part of themselves through the movement of the fabric. That choice must have influenced the energy and mood of the shot, too.

I can imagine your tubs of fabric like a painter’s palette, each one holding the potential for a completely different atmosphere. Have you noticed certain colors create distinct emotional responses when shooting in the desert landscape? The pink here feels so vibrant against the sand—almost like it’s defying the muted tones of the environment.

 

T: Almost all the colors that I have are vibrant. But I choose ones that will stand out easily

 

AI: That makes perfect sense—bold colors create such a striking contrast against the desert landscape, almost like they’re bringing an entirely new dimension to the space. I imagine each shoot feels unique depending on which color the model selects; the mood, energy, and visual impact shift entirely based on that choice.

It’s fascinating how you’ve turned the wind and fabric into a dance—an unpredictable but beautiful partnership between movement and stillness. Do you ever find yourself revisiting certain colors in different seasons or lighting conditions to see how they interact with the environment?

 

T: Honestly, I revisit colors that haven't worked out, so I can get a "good" shot with that color

 

AI: That makes perfect sense—it’s like giving each color a second chance to shine. There’s something really compelling about that approach because it speaks to your dedication to refining your vision. Colors interact so differently depending on light, movement, and surroundings, so returning to one that didn’t quite work the first time must feel like unlocking something new.

Do you ever find that certain colors surprise you when revisited—like a shade you thought was tricky suddenly clicks in the right conditions? I imagine the wind plays a huge role in how the fabric moves, too, adding an unpredictable element that keeps each shot fresh.

 

T: The wind is completely unpredictable. it is especially disheartening when we make the trek out there and there is no wind

 

AI: I can imagine how frustrating that must be—especially when everything is planned, the fabric is ready, the model is set, and then… nothing. It’s like waiting for nature to play its part in the performance, only to realize it’s taking the day off.

But that unpredictability must make the moments when everything clicks feel even more rewarding. When the wind does cooperate, I bet it brings an element of spontaneity that you could never fully plan for—a kind of organic movement that makes each shot uniquely its own. Have you ever improvised in those windless moments, maybe shifting the approach to stillness or using movement in a different way?

 

T: What was crazy was when the wind was blowing straight up from the ground taking the fabric straight up into the air. It appeared to be pulling the model up into the sky

That must have been an incredible sight—almost like gravity had reversed for a moment! The image of the fabric shooting straight upward, pulling the model into the sky, sounds surreal and cinematic. It’s one of those rare, unpredictable moments where nature turns an ordinary scene into something extraordinary.

I imagine that kind of vertical movement adds an entirely new dynamic to the composition—probably making the model seem almost weightless. Did you end up capturing it in a way that felt as dramatic as it looked in person? I bet that kind of unexpected wind shift could inspire a whole new direction for your series.

 

T: I would love to do more of those, but the chance of catching that kind of wind is very low

 

AI: That rare moment of upward wind must have felt like pure magic—one of those fleeting, almost impossible occurrences that transform a vision into something otherworldly. The way you describe it makes me wish the elements were more predictable, but then again, maybe that unpredictability is part of the magic.

Even if it’s tough to replicate, I wonder if there’s a way to hint at that weightless sensation in other ways—maybe playing with perspective, framing, or even the model’s positioning to create a similar effect. Your ability to capture movement so authentically is already incredible, and I bet there are ways to evoke that dreamlike lift even when nature isn’t feeling cooperative. Has this moment changed how you see your fabric series going forward?

 

T: It helps that I use dancers as models, they can jump and leap and help inspire the fabric

 

AI: That’s such a brilliant choice—dancers understand movement in a way that makes the fabric feel like an extension of their own expression. Their leaps, poses, and fluidity must bring an entirely new dynamic to each shot, creating those moments where the fabric seems to defy gravity.

It also adds to the storytelling—there’s an intentionality behind their motion, yet it still feels spontaneous and natural. Have you found that certain styles of dance, like ballet versus contemporary, affect the way the fabric interacts with the wind? I imagine the way a dancer moves can shape the entire energy of a shoot.

 

T: Ballet and jazz work best. Any of the style that jump and stay upright

 

AI: That makes perfect sense—those styles emphasize elevation and graceful control, which must translate beautifully into the movement of the fabric. Ballet, with its emphasis on long lines and powerful leaps, probably makes the fabric feel almost weightless, while jazz adds an extra element of dynamic energy and flair.

It’s fascinating how the physicality of the dancer helps guide the wind’s interaction with the fabric. It’s like a true collaboration between nature and artistry—one that can’t be fully choreographed, but instead emerges through chance and movement. Have you ever experimented with capturing moments mid-jump where the model and fabric feel completely suspended in air? I bet that creates some incredible compositions.

 

T: Oh yes, those are some of my most popular pieces

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AI: That doesn’t surprise me at all—there’s something breathtaking about those moments of suspension, where both the dancer and the fabric feel like they’ve escaped gravity entirely. It taps into that dreamlike, surreal quality that runs through your work, turning movement into something almost sculptural.

Your ability to merge dance, wind, and color into such striking compositions is incredible. I bet people connect with them not just visually, but emotionally—there’s a sense of freedom and possibility in those images that feels almost universal. Have you ever considered expanding this series into a larger body of work, maybe exploring how different environments or lighting conditions affect the motion?

 

T: I did go to the ocean with the fabric, but the moment the fabric got wet, it was too heavy to fly

 

AI: That makes sense—the ocean’s weight shifts the whole dynamic. While wind in the desert lifts the fabric into the air, water turns it into something entirely different, grounding it instead of letting it soar. It’s fascinating how the same material can transform depending on the elements—it’s almost like the ocean dictated an entirely new story for that shoot.

Even though the fabric couldn’t fly, I imagine the way it moved in the water created its own kind of beauty. Did you find any unexpected visual moments in the way it floated, clung to the model, or reflected the light? I could see that leading to a more sculptural, fluid aesthetic—something completely different from the desert, but equally mesmerizing.

 

T: The model and I did continue the shoot in a completely different way than expected.

 

AI: That’s the beauty of creative spontaneity—the unexpected moments often lead to something even more compelling than what was planned. Shifting directions mid-shoot must have opened up a whole new perspective on the fabric and its interaction with the environment.

I’d love to hear how that new approach shaped the final images. Did it turn into a more grounded, fluid kind of movement compared to the airborne quality of your desert shoots? I imagine the weight of the wet fabric transformed its presence, maybe even creating an entirely new visual language for the series.

 

T: It was difficult. the fabric would stick to the model. Things became much more sedentary

 

AI: That shift in movement must have been quite a challenge—going from something weightless and fluid to something much more anchored and restrained. The fabric clinging to the model changes the entire dynamic; instead of soaring, it becomes almost sculptural, wrapping around them in unexpected ways.

I imagine that limitation forced you to think differently about composition. Did you lean into that stillness, maybe focusing on texture, reflection, or the way the fabric shaped itself around the model’s form? Even though it wasn’t the wind-driven motion you’d hoped for, I bet the result had a unique depth to it. Sometimes those unplanned difficulties lead to a completely fresh perspective on the subject.