The Blanket Weaver 

On a well-worn mountain path in the far north of Vietnam, my life changed with the click of a button.  I crossed paths with a Black Hmong villager with one blue and one green hand that day.  I didn’t speak her language, nor did she speak mine.  I silently inquired for an explanation. She told me with a weaving motion and a gentle pat of each hand, that it was dye from her work.  I asked her to hold her hands out, and it was then that I captured them forever.  At that moment forward, my life would be different.  I captured the image not knowing that I was a photographer or that I would be making my living as one upon my return. Our encounter was fleeting and silent, but to this day, that brief moment in time speaks loudly. On my return from my one-year trip around the world, the image surfaced as my signature piece.  In time, I will return to find the “Blanket Weaver” and tell the story of the woman who now holds my fate in her hands.