Oregon Museum of Science & Industry

اوریگون میوزیم آف سائنس اینڈ انڈسٹری

I was hired by the Oregon Museum of Science & Industry (OMSI) to take photographs that accompanied their redesigned website. The assignment asked for work that ranged from still life pictures of beautiful "thunder rocks" native to Oregon, to Portaiture, to photojournalistic work that captured the behind-the-scenes look at  what the designers and artisans do to make an exhibit come to life. 

Amidst the quiet hum of machinery, a person with short, defiant curls stands resolute before shelves brimming with metal rods and bars. The white shirt they wear is stark against the muted backdrop of the workshop, partially obscured by a dark apron whose deep pockets carry an air of both utility and secrecy. A blue bandana is jauntily tied around their neck, hinting at both practicality and personal style, while yellow safety glasses rest comfortably against their chest—tools that tell the story of their craft as much as they shield them from its sparks. There’s an unspoken poetry in how they inhabit this space—a blend of tradition and tenacity that speaks volumes without uttering a single word.
In a small room adorned with colorful posters that tell stories of distant lands and borrowed dreams, a person sits quietly on a chair. Their hair is cropped short, revealing the gentle contours of their face. A blue sweater drapes over their shoulders, complementing the vivid yellow of their pants—a juxtaposition both striking and harmonious. Around them, cables snake along the floor like silent sentinels, witnesses to an unspoken narrative. There is an air of contentment in their demeanor; they smile softly and glance towards something unseen. It's as if they're embracing a moment of stillness amidst life's relentless motion, finding solace in this modest sanctuary intertwined with threads both literal and metaphorical.
The individual stood quietly, their presence both understated and significant. Their long hair cascaded gently over their shoulders, creating a soft contrast against the dark blue short-sleeved shirt they wore. A black necklace hung around their neck, simple yet imbued with personal meaning. Behind them unfolded a vivid tapestry—a wall adorned with countless small square samples, each one a splash of color that demanded attention. The vivid hues danced in the light, framing this solitary figure who seemed to float between the world they inhabited and the realm of vibrant possibilities behind them.
In a quiet workshop where the air is filled with the scent of sawdust and creativity, a man with a beard stands behind an array of vibrant materials laid upon a well-worn table. His black T-shirt fits snugly, accentuating his sturdy frame, while his right forearm bears the intricate tattoo of a tree—its branches stretching out in delicate detail. The backdrop reveals tools and equipment meticulously arranged, speaking to countless hours of labor and skill. From one side of the room, an expansive window welcomes streams of natural light that pour in generously, casting soft shadows and illuminating particles in their tranquil dance through the space.
In the dimly lit workshop, a bearded man stood among an array of cold metal rods and intricate equipment. He wore a gray cap pulled low over his brow and a black sweatshirt emblazoned with the words
In a narrow room saturated with the scent of machine oil and anticipation, she stands—a woman whose shoulder-length green hair starkly contrasts her serene smile. Her glasses catch the light in a thoughtful glint, framing eyes that seem to carry stories untold. The yellow shirt she wears adds a splash of warmth against her practical denim overalls, both worn with an easy confidence that speaks to years spent navigating this mechanical jungle. Behind her looms a shelving unit in pleasant disarray, each compartment crammed with boxes meticulously labeled, parts abandoned by their time and purpose yet held onto with care; gears and circuits resting like artifacts awaiting reincarnation. This is her realm—where chaos finds order under her knowing hands. The scene captures not just the clutter of parts but the essence of creation itself; every piece has potential, every label a promise fulfilled through deliberate action.
In the pale afternoon light filtering through the window, she sat at her desk, her shoulder-length hair catching glimmers of sunshine. Clad in a blue sweater that matched the steady color of her eyes, she smiled softly to herself. The desk before her was an intimate curated landscape: a vibrant potted plant whose leaves reached outward like open palms and an orange water bottle that stood as a silent sentinel. Behind her, colorful posters on the wall added splashes of whimsy to the room's ambiance. Beyond the window's frame, lush greenery whispered stories in a language only nature speaks—carving out a tender embrace around this serene sanctuary.
A person wearing yellow safety glasses, a blue bandana, and a white shirt operates a lathe machine. The individual is focused on the task under a protective screen in a workshop equipped with lighting and machinery.
The steady hum of the metal lathe filled the workshop, a background symphony to the day's labor. Clad in a black apron that bore testament to countless hours of craftsmanship, an individual stood at the helm of the machine. A wristwatch peeked out from beneath a rolled-up sleeve, its hands moving in synchronization with his own; both wrists guiding the iron as it transformed under their touch. Each pass of the lathe carved off curls of metal, sending them flurrying down like so many silver autumn leaves. They scattered haphazardly across workbench and floor alike, bright against somber concrete—evidence of ceaseless creation and precision. In this cocooning press between skill and substance lay untold stories—the silent language between human endeavor and inert material brought vibrantly to life with each turn.
Two women work on a woodworking project in a workshop. The woman in the foreground, wearing a white shirt, blue scarf, and safety glasses, uses a tool on a wooden frame. The woman in the background, wearing yellow, also works on a wooden frame. A safety sign is visible.
In the workshop, bathed in the clarity of a bright afternoon, six individuals stand assembled around a nascent wooden structure. Dressed in the comfortable garb of their daily lives—jeans worn thin from use, flannel shirts soft with repeated washing—they toil with deliberate ease. Their faces hold smiles that suggest camaraderie as much as accomplishment, some turning momentarily to acknowledge the presence of a camera. Hands grip familiar implements—hammers and screwdrivers—that speak to both mastery and labor. The space behind them reveals an expanse cluttered yet orderly in its chaos: sawdust strewn on workbenches, planks leaning haphazardly against walls, chisels resting alongside sandpaper sheets. It is within this environment—both casual and collaborative—that they craft not merely an object but a shared experience. Here, amidst wood shavings and unspoken understanding, their efforts coalesce into something tangible and collective.
In the dimly lit room, where shadows seemed to dance around the edges of perception, a figure stood quietly at a table. The person's hair—neither entirely straight nor curled but existing somewhere in between—framed their face with an unkempt grace. The vivid red of their apron contrasted sharply with the darkness of their shirt and the surrounding gloom, creating an almost cinematic interplay of colors. One could not help but notice the patch on the apron:
Deen-Sanwal_OMSI-55
The butterfly, likely a Blue Morpho, unfurls its wings in a breathtaking display of cerulean vitality. The iridescent blue of its wings shimmers with an almost ethereal glow, each edge traced in darker hues that lend depth and contrast to its delicate form. Against the simplicity of the neutral background, this ephemeral creature becomes an anchor for the gaze—a momentary pause amidst the continuous churn of life’s myriad stills.
The hands, steady yet tender, hover over the cardboard box with a certain reverence. Inside, cradled in the gentle embrace of the box's confines, lies a vibrant blue butterfly—its wings spread as if caught mid-flight. A magnifying glass is positioned precisely by those diligent fingers, its lens capturing and amplifying every delicate pattern etched on the butterfly’s fragile wings. The wooden surface beneath adds warmth to this meticulous scene, grounding it in an everyday reality even as it explores the intricacies of nature's craftsmanship. Light from a nearby window spills over this intimate moment, illuminating both hand and magnified wing in an interplay of shadow and clarity—a study in quiet fascination and respect for life’s minute details.
The butterfly wing, captured in a close-up, unfolds like an intimate secret. The vibrant blues ripple across the surface, where patterns form and reform with each play of light. Here, delicate textures emerge—an interplay of shimmering azure and inky depths that magnify the fragile complexity of nature's smallest marvels. Each iridescent scale on the butterfly’s wing radiates an ephemeral beauty, a fleeting glimpse into a world where time pauses to reveal its intricate design.
The geode sits before me, a polished capsule of time, its surface a testament to nature’s patience. Intricate patterns weave through its core, layers upon layers narrating eons in hues that transition from deep reds and browns to calming grays and pure whites. In the center, crystal formations emerge like ancient secrets brought to light. Against the black backdrop, it rests—an artifact brushed with history, holding within it an untold story of geological wonder and quiet splendor.
The geode, cleaved with expert precision, exposes its secret interior to the discerning eye. Within its heart lie mesmerizing currents of blue, green, and white—evoking the serene yet relentless dance of the ocean's embrace. Encasing this aqueous tableau is a rugged shell of reddish-brown stone that has been polished to a gleam, reminiscent of well-worn earth shaped by time’s patient hand. The stark black backdrop serves as a silent witness, intensifying the vivid beauty and intricate details captured in this natural masterpiece. Each contour and color seems a testament to both fragility and resilience—an echo of life's quiet complexities unfurling within its crystalline core.
A triangular fragment of driftwood, its surface a canvas of marine history, resiliently clings to life. Tiny, round barnacles huddle close like miniature sentinels, dotting the wood in delicate clusters. Other marine organisms intersperse amongst them, forming a mosaic of oceanic existence. Against the stark blackness that frames it, every contour and imperfection is accentuated—the roughness palpable even from a distance. Time has etched itself onto the piece; the weathered texture narrates stories untold by seas that have come and gone.
Set against an obsidian background, the mineral specimen's rugged texture immediately catches the eye. Its earthy, brown hues evoke a sense of ancient terrain, whispering stories of its long journey through time. A slightly crumpled and yellowed label clings to its side, hinting at origins rooted deep within Deschutes County, Oregon. The inscription is partially obscured by time's embrace but still offers enough detail to connect the past with the present. The display creates a silent recollection of place and history, both enduring and fragile in their coexistence.
A polished fragment of petrified wood rests silently against a backdrop as dark as the midnight sky. Its surface, a harmonious blend of earthy browns and captivating turquoise hues, seems both ancient and eternal. Intricate layers dance within the turquoise expanse, their complexity a striking counterpoint to the gentle, unassuming patterns of the wood's natural grain. The piece speaks to time itself—a tapestry woven from eons, capturing fleeting moments in stone.
Against an inky backdrop, the rock lay like an undiscovered relic. Its variegated complexion, a symphony of red, brown, green, and blue tones that seemed almost otherworldly. The exterior remained rough and jagged, a testament to its journey through time and elements. Yet at its heart was a wondrous contrast – a smooth marbled section where blue mingled with green in quiet harmony. It was as if the rock bore within itself both turbulence and tranquility, chaos and calm – embodying the paradoxes of life itself.
Against a backdrop as dark and unyielding as night itself, the brown and tan agate geode sits in reverent silence. Its swirls and patterns hold stories untold, each intricate design a testament to time's patient artistry. Layers upon layers unfurl before the observer's eyes, revealing textures that speak of ancient processes, of earth's slow but purposeful crafting. The mineral formation exudes an almost sacred beauty, untouched by human endeavor yet deeply resonant with those willing to pause and truly see. In its quiet elegance lies a world waiting to be discovered, a natural marvel carved by forces far removed from the humdrum of everyday life.
In the midst of an unyielding black void, there rests a rock of modest proportions yet intricate character. Roughly triangular in its asymmetry, it presents a tableau of textured brown layers—each one whispering the story of time's silent passage. The jagged edges, unrefined and natural, fend off any illusion of perfection. From light brown to dark sienna hues, the rock’s colors undulate like memories etched into its surface. These shades speak volumes about its rugged journey through eras unknown, quietly demanding contemplation from those who dare to truly see it.
The rock sat silently, rough and unyielding, its surface a mosaic of dark brown and gray. Against the abyssal black background, it appeared both monumental and mundane, a relic of nature’s artistry. Attached to it was a small label: “Warm Springs, near Spirit Ground, Esc Co., Oregon.” These words whispered tales of distant lands and ancient times. The rock seemed to carry within it the echoes of those who had once stood on its ground—perhaps lives lived long ago in an Oregon now altered by time yet somehow preserved in this solitary fragment.
A polished cross-section of petrified wood stands against an abyssal backdrop, a celestial relic grounded in mineralized eternity. Intricate patterns of brown and tan weave through translucent veins, each strand echoing the whispers of ancient forests. The semblance to natural wood grain and knotholes is uncanny, a testament to time's transformative touch. Where the outer edges remain rugged, bearing scars of history's passage, the interior offers a contrasting smoothness—a tactile narrative where rough yields to refined, and chaos matures into clarity.
A rough, unpolished rock rests against a backdrop of infinite blackness. Its surface, an intricate tapestry of patterns in brown, beige, and white, tells a story etched by time. Swirls and layers intertwine across its textured facade, whispering secrets of the earth's ancient whispers. The rock stands like an artifact from a distant era, its beauty unmarred by the lack of refinement—a testament to nature's own artistry.
Encased within a mundane, brown exterior, the mineral bore an essence of raw simplicity. Yet, as if unfolding an intimate secret, its jagged interior revealed a remarkable dichotomy—a hollow sanctuary lined with lustrous reddish-brown crystals that beckoned with their silent allure. Each crystalline facet shimmered subtly against the modest white stand that supported it, stark and pristine beneath an encompassing blackness. The display whispered of hidden depths and unseen beauty, blending the ordinary with whispers of transformation—an unspoken testament to nature's ability to craft marvels in even the most unassuming forms.
The rock was an odd and curious thing, with its jagged edges and irregular contours that seemed untouched by time, partially encasing a polished section of reddish-brown mineral. Against the abyssal backdrop, this unexpected union presented itself: the rough, uneven surface of the stone barely concealing the smooth, glossy heart within. It was as if nature itself had sought to juxtapose these two textures—a rough exterior guarding a serene interior—creating a silent dialogue between tranquility and tumult.
Against an abyssal expanse of pitch-black, a rugged rock sits prominently. Its roughly triangular form draws the eye immediately, a mélange of earthy tones—brown interwoven with streaks of beige. Each facet of its surface tells a story, as if time has taken its chisel and etched intricate patterns upon it. The texture is uneven, almost palpably so; one can imagine the roughness under their fingertips. This solitary piece of earth stands in stark relief against the void behind it, evoking both resilience and timelessness in its unassuming strength.
On a stark black background, a rock specimen lay in muted stillness, its rugged surface mottled with shades of brown and beige. Time had woven its touch into the stone's fabric, rendering it both ordinary and extraordinary. Two tiny labels clung to its surface with quiet persistence—one boldly displaying
Against the abyssal black, the geode rests, its jagged shell rough and imposing. The exterior is an uneven landscape of pale gray stone, weathered and ancient. But within this coarse façade lies a sanctuary—an interior studded with reddish-brown crystals that sparkle like embers in a hearth. The dichotomy between the harsh outside and the luminous core mirrors life's unexpected moments of beauty amidst its rugged trials. It stands resolved on a white pedestal, elevated yet isolated, as if waiting for someone to decipher its silent narrative.
The image calls to mind a scene from a distant past, evoking the intimate artistry of nature itself. A close-up reveals the stone surface, bathed in an ethereal light that illuminates its colorful intricacy. Swirling shades of green and white intermingle with mystifying transparency, creating a visual symphony akin to long-ago mineral veins melding seamlessly into abstract art. The bottom of this tableau introduces deeper hues—rich browns and shadows—providing not just contrast but depth and dimension as if anchoring the ephemeral beauty above in something profoundly enduring.
A person with medium-length, vibrant orange hair leans over a plasma ball, touching it with one finger. The plasma ball emits colorful tendrils of light towards the point of contact. The background is dark, highlighting the subject and the glowing orb.
A lone figure, draped in a vivid red lab coat that spills down to their knees, stands with quiet assurance behind a polished table. Their eyes are concealed by matching ruby-red safety goggles, reflecting the flicker of multicolored liquids housed within an array of beakers, flasks, and test tubes. Every vessel is filled to different heights; some brimming with amber hues that evoke memories of autumn evenings, others glowing a verdant green reminiscent of fresh spring shoots. On the table's edge lies an assortment of additional safety goggles—each pair appears untouched, waiting in silent readiness. Against the starkness of the solid black backdrop behind them, this scene pulses with both mystery and meticulous order—a world contained within glass boundaries yet teeming with untold potentialities.
In the corner of a dimly lit, forgotten workshop stood a venerable industrial machine, its presence both commanding and nostalgic. The left side featured a robust cylindrical component, its surface worn smooth by years of diligent service. To the right, an elaborate network of pipes and valves sprawled out like veins in an aging hand. The entire contraption was swathed in a coat of black paint which had begun to yield to the relentless passage of time; patches of rust clung to it tenaciously, narrating tales of bygone days when it hummed with purpose. Metal textures, etched and scarred by countless cycles, bore silent witness to the myriad hands that had once coaxed life into this relic—an artifact from a temporal chasm where electrical and mechanical craftsmanship intertwined with human toil and aspiration.
The machine loomed in front of her, a relic from another era. Its surface was a tapestry of age and utility, black and smudged with the heavy-handed strokes of time. Tubes snaked out like veins, entwining with bolts that anchored them to an inscrutable purpose. At the heart of this mechanical beast, a large circular chamber sat heavy and silent. Against it leaned a shattered panel of glass, each fragment conspiring to recreate the machine in ephemeral reflections. Light danced on these shards but could not erase the story etched into metal—the rust clinging stubbornly to its crevices and scars borne from countless days spent in service. This device had lived many lives before meeting her gaze—a testament to craftsmanship sustained by necessity yet marked by inevitable decay.
In the dimly lit room, the vintage industrial machinery stood like a relic from another era. The complex gears and levers were intricately interwoven, each piece meticulously designed with a purpose that spoke of ambition and precision. Among the metallic intricacies, a logo—
The photograph presents a tableau of three distinct animal skulls, meticulously positioned in a linear array against the starkness of a white backdrop. On the left, there looms the formidable silhouette of a canine skull, its sharp contours speaking to an existence once defined by predation and instinct. Next to it rests the ethereal remnant of a deer, its delicate antlers reaching skyward, as though in perpetual search for lost forests and fields. The line concludes with the massive structure of a bovine skull on the right; expansive horns unfurl majestically from its broad cranium, evoking images of pastoral life and agrarian rhythms long stilled. In this silent assemblage is captured both the beauty and melancholy intrinsic to nature's inexorable passage.
The animal skull lay serenely on a plain, light-colored background, its large, curved horns and pronounced teeth reminiscent of a forgotten era. The bleach-white bone gleamed under the deliberate lighting, each crevice and contour brought into stark relief. It exuded an eeriness that was compelling yet unsettling—a relic of life now stilled but whispering stories long left untold. In its silence, there was both a haunting vacancy and an alluring mystery that beckoned one to ponder the delicate boundary between existence and oblivion.
There it lay, striking in its silence—a remnant of a creature from another world, or so it seemed. The skull of what was once an alligator or crocodile could be found suspended in time and air. Its teeth stood at rigid attention, sharp and unforgiving, reminiscent of diminutive daggers outlined against the backdrop’s gentle ambiguity. The bony ridges running along its upper and lower jaws suggested years spent mastering survival; each ridge a testament to resilience etched into its very form as tangible records of growth and turmoil. Patterns emerged within the textures—a topography that bespoke strength and predatory grace. Against this neutral expanse that cradled it, the skull spoke volumes—not through speech but through silent whispers absorbed by anyone who dared to look closer. Here was nature’s artistry rendered in bone; beauty enshrined within menace.
A cluttered workspace filled with electronic components, wires, circuit boards, and tools. Two hands are seen soldering on a project, with a green sign in the background that reads
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