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Best of Twenty Twenty-Five

January 1, 2026

Looking back on my work from the last year, the photographs remind me where I was, what I was thinking at the time, what I was feeling, what made me happy, and what challenged me. The camera serves as both witness and companion, and the photographs reflect the season I was moving through. In 2025, that season was full and demanding. It was a year marked by luminous highs and some pretty unwelcome lows, including a battle with breast cancer, which I won.

As my life became more focused, so did my photography. I stayed closer to home and paid more attention to what was in front of me. The work I created this year was less dramatic and, at times, darker. Stillness became both subject and practice. Practicing photography remained one of the surest ways to steady myself  when uncertainty and fear wanted to grab the wheel and drive the bus.

I cut back on teaching this year, by design and necessity, but I did step up to the role of speaker at two nature photography conferences, which I thoroughly enjoyed. Rooms filled with curious, thoughtful photographers was an important reminder of why I care so deeply about this work and this community. The conversations and experiences from those conferences fed me for the rest of the year. They also nudged me forward into thinking ahead rather than retreating into myself. Creative life, I was reminded, need not pause just because circumstances shift. Creative expression in all forms feeds the soul, including building a house from the dirt up.

As I look toward 2026, I feel a renewed sense of intention. I plan to write more, create more, and engage more deeply with people who care about art and nature. I want to spend unhurried time with the people who matter most to me, and I intend to make my health non-negotiable. And yes, I plan to spend a lot of time in our new Yosemite home this year. After everything 2025 threw at us, that feels like a very good place to land.

Top row: Wawona home under construction; Final artwork ready to deliver for The Ansel Adams Gallery solo exhibit; Kaya’s first visit to the climbing gym with the whole family. Bottom row: Anniversary dinner; Speaking at the Women’s Winter Photography Conference; scouting for the Moab Photography Symposium.
“First Flight” — We kicked off the new year as we often do — with a trip to see our winter visitors in the San Joaquin Valley. The day greeted us with a spectacular sunrise.
“Rocky Mountain High” — A foggy day in Rocky Mountain National Park reduced the landscape to near monochrome. Then, right at sunset, a warm glow lit up the fog, and grew before my eyes. February found me in Colorado to speak at a Women’s Winter Photography Conference. Meeting so many women and hearing their stories, each finding her own way into nature photography, was incredibly inspiring. I had just been given the news that I may have breast cancer, and would return home to a slew of tests to determine a diagnosis. It was wonderful to be in the company of women during this troubling time.
“Snowy Refuge” — After the winter photography conference, Gary and I spent a few days in Vail visiting his wonderful cousins and doing a bit of skiing with them. One morning, a small herd of does gathered beneath a large cypress tree at their home. As the sky lightened, I photographed them, entirely unbothered by my presence.
“Point Lobos Blues” — I spent my birthday on the coast in 2025 at Point Lobos State Natural Reserve with dear friends who kindly indulged my photography habit for the day. Birthday privileges, perhaps. At that point, there was still a great deal of uncertainty around the seriousness of my breast cancer diagnosis. Making photographs has long been one of my most reliable paths to calm, so I leaned into it whenever I could.
“Nap in the Kelp” — We watched this little guy for almost an hour. It took us a while to figure out that it was asleep, floating blissfully in the cove, a piece of seaweed draped over its belly to anchor it in place while he (or she) napped.
“Hardscape” — Spring also brought us to Borrego Springs in Southern California. The desert has always felt a little foreign to me as a subject. I am used to photographing the mountains with their poetic beauty. Trees, moving water, reflections. In the desert, another kind of beauty exists, equally poetic, if one looks at it in the right way. This was an incredibly difficult time for me. Of all my photos from that trip, this is the only one I liked well enough to share. Even now, looking at this photograph brings back incredibly painful memories.

By April, we were finally getting answers about my breast cancer, and surgery was scheduled to remove it. But much still remained unknown. Pathology of the tumor and lymph nodes would determine the next steps. During that long stretch of waiting, I learned more about staying in the present than ever before. I needed to stay close to home and to my doctors, so I photographed around our place in Wawona. Construction on the house moved forward at a steady pace, even as my attention shifted inward. Photography remained my refuge, and some of the work itself began to take on a noticeably darker tone, but some was brighter, more hopeful.

This next series of photos was made in the Spring as I prepared for my exhibit at The Ansel Adams Gallery. I wrote about that period in more detail in an earlier blog post.

“Welcome Gift of Water” — This creek in Wawona swells with snowmelt in March before the trees have begun to leaf out.
“South Fork Merced” — My daily walks in Wawona often lead me here. I check the river level and keep an eye out for birds. In summer, this bend becomes a beloved swimming hole. But in April, it turns fierce, swollen with spring runoff.
“Spring Rhapsody” — Moody by nature, and even more so when the wind picks up. In spring, Bridalveil Fall finally steps into the light, its shifting form shaped by air as much as water.
“Crescendo” — Upper Yosemite Fall shows why it is such a powerful force of nature. The falling water is thunderous and unmistakably felt, not just seen.
“Ephemeral Fall” — This small cascade appeared briefly in spring, formed by snowmelt rushing down the canyon near our home.
“Swirls” — A nod to John Sexton’s photo of the same subject — swirling bits of cloudy foam on the river’s surface that resemble galaxies.
“Oaks and El Capitan” — The light danced around these Black Oaks while El Capitan remained obscure and yet looming dark in the background.
“Rhythmic Rhyme” — Nothing is ever ordinary to my eyes in Yosemite. Even after photographing this place for many years, the most simple scene can still captivate me.
“Flyby” — I’ve seen ravens flying in tandem near Upper Yosemite Fall countless times. This was the first time I got lucky and was able to photograph them right at the perfect moment.
“Petals and Granite” — Yosemite Valley is home to the Pacific dogwood, known for its huge white spring blossoms. This tree is a dogwood cultivar that produces pink flowers. To my knowledge, it is the only pink dogwood in Yosemite Valley.
“Morning Bridge” — A classic Yosemite view. Spring’s first lime-green growth begins to emerge, quietly announcing the season’s arrival.
“Whispering Veil” — Bridalveil Fall is my favorite waterfall in Yosemite Valley, and the one I have photographed most often. Its year-round flow keeps drawing me back. In spring, when the water is strongest, shifting winds lift the fall into a soft, swirling veil of mist, soft, like a whisper.
“Spring Arrives” — I’m completely smitten over the color green that emerges from the black oaks in Yosemite Valley. They look as if they were lit from within.
“Stonefall” — In morning light, El Capitan takes on the look of a vast waterfall, stone flowing where water never could.
“Curtains” — Summer passed quickly. I was in the middle of cancer treatment and wasn’t able to get out with my camera as much as I wanted. Once again, I turned my attention closer to home, in Wawona. We have a little cluster of ancient structures in town that are a curiosity. I am often drawn to old things as subjects. They contain hidden stories of the past, and the imprint of the people who occupied these spaces long ago.
“Self Portrait” — Another window, another moment. My reflection appears as I look into the past, an accidental witness hovering between then and now.
“Pillows and Stone” — September brought us to Moab, Utah. I was invited to teach and speak at the Moab Symposium photography conference, and I needed to scout Dead Horse Point State Park before I brought students to the location. I don’t usually get many usable images from such outings, but this one came together beautifully.
“Perspective” — In the desert, vast space and scale can bend your sense of proportion, shifting how distance and place are perceived.
“Desert Layers” — Atmospheric haze introduced depth to an otherwise overwhelming landscape, softening scale and revealing dramatic layers within the scene.
“Release” — I brought my students back to the edge of the canyon, hoping the light would come together. We were lucky. The desert gave us a classic sunset.
“Castle in the Sky” — The light in Utah’s canyons reminds me of Yosemite. It finds the subject, lingers just long enough to click the shutter if you’re quick about it, then vanishes as quickly as it arrived.
“Wild at Heart” — As Gary and I blasted back from Utah to Yosemite, we decided to take some back roads. I was hoping to see wild horses which roam the Eastern Sierra and high chaparral along the Nevada border. I spotted this young foal and its mother grazing somewhat close to the road. This youngster kept a wary eye on me.
“Autumn Approaches” — I didn’t manage to photograph the Eastern Sierra aspen groves this year, but on our drive back from Moab, Utah, Gary indulged a stop so I could capture this early fall moment.
“Yosemite Maples and Stone” — Yosemite Valley’s Maple trees put on a spectacular show this year. I happened to be there just at the right time.
“Gateway Stone” — I couldn’t (and still can’t) decide which composition I like better — this one or the more intimate version. I decided to show you both. Feel free to share your preference in the comments section.
“Moon Over El Cap” — A nearly full moon rises over El Capitan just after sunset, while Half Dome still glows in the last light of the day.
“Fall” — Backlit oak leaves hang suspended in the foggy morning air.
“Aurora Over Half Dome” — I made a late-night drive up to Glacier Point to see if the aurora would show itself as it was reported to be visible as far south as Yosemite. To the naked eye, the aurora appeared as just a soft, faint glow above Half Dome, or what’s known as a “diffuse aurora”. But my camera easily picked up the color hiding in the sky. Yosemite never disappoints.
“Low Light” — Whenever I head down to Yosemite Valley to deliver prints to The Ansel Adams Gallery, I bring my camera along. These errands double as field time. I try to plan them around weather forecasts, and this particular morning followed a late-fall rainstorm. That usually means fog in the meadows. My favorite scenario.
“Granite and Oaks” — By late fall, Bridalveil Fall is reduced to a fraction of its spring volume, yet it continues to flow. A soft veil of water lingers in the background, misty and luminous behind the backlit oaks.
“Morning Star” – Two Yosemite classics in one frame: the prevalent Black Oaks and Half Dome. Fog was a bonus.
“Forest Light” — I’m drawn to scenes like this throughout Yosemite Valley for many reasons. This photograph was made in late fall, nearly at mid-day. Even then, the light finds ways to surprise, slipping and shifting in the most wonderful way.
“Beacon” — Light in Yosemite Valley is full of tricks, many of which I have yet to discover. This was a new one to me. A small tree clinging impossibly to the top of a pinnacle, briefly caught the light before night fell.
“White Cloak” — There are subjects I return to again and again. Each season reveals something I missed before. This small waterfall is a good example. It is a short walk from our Wawona home, so I frequent it regularly. In winter, the cheerful foliage and flowers that shape my summer compositions are gone. So is the energetic rush of early spring runoff. With those familiar elements absent, the scene changes character entirely. What remains feels spare and exposed. The rocks, usually softened behind a veil of water, show themselves more clearly, their smooth edges shaped by years of erosion. Photographed with my new Hasselblad X2D II 100C. Handheld. A slow shutter speed of 1/10 second, which still feels a little miraculous.
She is already my favorite new subject. Our first grandchild — a baby girl — arrived this spring, just two days before my cancer surgery. Thanks to modern medicine, I can look forward to many more years of making portraits of her.

Charlotte Gibb is a contemporary fine art photographer based in the San Francisco Bay Area specializing in landscapes of the Western United States. Her images are often taken in familiar places for the well-versed landscape photographer, but she prides herself on her keen eye toward the subtle and sometimes overlooked beauty of the natural world. Growing up among the beautiful mountains of Northern California, she considers herself a student of life, learning about people, nature, music, and photography along the way. But always, her life-long passion for the wilderness shines through it all. Charlotte earned her Bachelor of Arts degree from the Academy of Art University in San Francisco and has exhibited her work in several solo shows throughout California. Her darkroom, long gone now, has been replaced with digital darkroom tools, and her style has evolved from a somewhat journalistic approach, to one that pays tribute to the natural world. 

Related Posts

Closing out the Year with some Christmas Magic
December 20, 2025
Spring in Yosemite: Water, Light, and the Long Arc of Home
June 1, 2025
Best of 2024 — A Year in Review
January 3, 2025

44 Comments

  • Connie McClaran
    January 4, 2026 at 7:02 AM

    Charlotte, you are a favorite of mine. To think I missed you IN PERSON at the Moab Symposium makes me ache with disappointment. I am so sorry to hear of your cancer travails, and so happy to hear that modern medicine has led you to freedom. Freedom to create!
    Thank you for sharing the best of your year with us – always an inspiration. Each new photo I scrolled to my immediate thought was, “oh! THIS is my favorite!”. And I love how you ended it with the portrait of your new granddaughter – a symbol of new beginnings, and the beauty of Life. Congratulations! I’ve been saying since I became a grandparent that it’s so much fun, we should’ve done that first…
    I look forward to enjoying more of your work,
    Connie

    • charlottegibb
      January 4, 2026 at 7:37 AM

      Connie, Thank you for such a generous and thoughtful note. I’m grateful to be on the other side of treatment and back to making photographs. “Freedom to create” says it perfectly. I’m so glad the work spoke to you, and that each image felt like a favorite as you scrolled through all of them. And yes, the granddaughter felt like the only possible ending. I loved your take on grandparenting first. You may be onto something.

  • Chick
    January 4, 2026 at 7:32 AM

    I’ve seen dozens of 2025 year-in-review galleries, but none of them can compare to the depth, beauty, and significance of yours. Such exquisite and singular work. Charlotte’s work. Facebook has not blessed me with the news of being your #1 fan but, if I am not, I am very close

    • charlottegibb
      January 4, 2026 at 8:03 AM

      Well, now my head officially doesn’t fit through the door. Thank you for that. Coming from you, Chuck, this is the highest praise. I’ve always said you’re the real deal. You have a distinctive voice, and you don’t try to emulate anyone else’s. That’s rarer than it should be. As for Facebook and the whole #1 fan thing… let’s just say the algorithm is deeply flawed. I already know that you’re absolutely top tier!

  • Scott
    January 4, 2026 at 8:03 AM

    Wonderful newsletter to start the year Charlotte. New beginnings for all of us once more. As I have mentioned before, your photographs are wonderful and I look forward to your newsletters.
    You asked for comments on the photo of the stone and maples and for me I like the intimate version a bit more. I like the fact the stone is a bit more prominent and the maple leaves are the fragile matter in the photo as they will soon fall and the stone will stand triumphant. Similar to you and your battle this past year.
    Anyway continued success with light and your good health. Thank you for your efforts in writig your thoughts and sharing them with your beautiful photographs. Both give inspiration as we enter this new year.

    Best Regards,

    Scott

    • charlottegibb
      January 5, 2026 at 7:30 AM

      Thank you for taking the time to weigh in on my Maple images. I agree with you about the balance. The stone’s strength contrasting with the fleeting nature of the autumn leaves is the message in both images, but the tighter frame puts a fine point on it. Thank you for following along and for starting the year with such generous encouragement. I’m grateful to have you here, and I wish you a healthy and light-filled year ahead.

  • David Suess
    January 4, 2026 at 8:32 AM

    Wow… Your images from just one year would be the envy of almost any landscape photographer to have in a lifetime. Thanks for your inspiration over the years and glad you have overcome your cancer. Looking forward to what you come up with in the coming year.

    • charlottegibb
      January 5, 2026 at 7:32 AM

      Thanks, David, for your kind perspective. It’s reassuring to hear you believe that my work has had staying power over time. I’m looking ahead with curiosity and a full memory card.

  • Ann Varley
    January 4, 2026 at 8:36 AM

    Thank you, Charlotte, for a beautiful review of your work. I’ve followed you for a few years now and find myself staring in wondrous awe at each posting. I’ve been behind a lens since the days of loading film and thumb advance levers, and while the evolution of gear across those many decades has provided an element of my style, I find my best inspiration in posts like these. I am still far too technically-brained, you see, so when I see your work and the work of others who have a solid technical foundation, but have keenly developed the creative-brain to see a frame before the shutter, I am seriously inspired. You have such a gift to see beyond depth of field, so to speak. Thank you for sharing it. Echoing the words of the other poster here, I’m also happy to hear modern medicine will have you watching that beautiful grandbaby grow up and making more photographs! Happy New Year!

    • charlottegibb
      January 4, 2026 at 9:02 AM

      Thank you for your generous comment. I started the same way, too. Film, thumb advance, counting frames, and learning patience. Even as the tools changed, the lessons were still there. I think of it as seeing first and worrying about the rest later, even if the rest is now buried in a menu somewhere. A solid technical foundation is important, but the real work begins when you stop letting it drive the bus. And yes, I am very grateful to still be here, making photographs and having a front row seat to watching my granddaughter grow up.

  • Skip
    January 4, 2026 at 9:05 AM

    There is something about you and the way your images feel that I find always sets you apart. I take photograph more for the search than the capture and that’s maybe why I can’t see (the love) I seem to find in yours.
    Wonderful and thoughtful work.
    Skip

    • charlottegibb
      January 5, 2026 at 7:34 AM

      Thank you, Skip. I love how you put that, photographing for the search rather than the capture. I think we’re probably looking for the same thing, just circling it from different angles. I’m glad the feeling in the work comes through for you, and I appreciate you saying so.

  • Jan Zovickian
    January 4, 2026 at 9:43 AM

    “Moon Over El Cap” and “Beacon” both gave me shivers. Thank you for sharing your beautiful work and your inspirational stories. So glad your health ordeal is behind you. Enjoy that baby!
    I’ve been a fan since seeing you and your art at our Piedmont Garden Club meeting several years ago.
    I will look forward to seeing the world through your lense when you post again.
    Happy New Year!
    Jan

    • charlottegibb
      January 5, 2026 at 7:36 AM

      Thank you, Jan. I’m so glad those two images struck a chord. I loved speaking at the Piedmont Garden Club. It was the first of several garden club talks I gave that year, and a memorable way to begin. I appreciate you following along, and yes, the baby is already stealing the show. Happy New Year to you as well.

  • Valerie Laney
    January 4, 2026 at 9:51 AM

    Charlotte, thanks so much for sharing your gorgeous images and the stories behind them — I feel like I was there with you while you discovered the mystical beauty of Yosemite. I absolutely love your work, each photo is a masterpiece in it’s simplicity and it is hard for me to choose a favorite.

    Thank you for being vulnerable and sharing your story of breast cancer…I am so thrilled that you are fully recovered. I too was diagnosed with breast cancer this summer, and I found great solace in getting out in the beauty of nature … for there is no better medicine for the Soul. The appreciation of life and nature’s beauty shines through each of your photos.

    I love your newsletter just the way it is….thanks so much for sharing! And wishing you a new year filled with many wonderful adventures, great joy and continued good health!

    • charlottegibb
      January 5, 2026 at 7:38 AM

      Thank you for writing such a heartfelt note. I’m deeply sorry you’ve had to walk this path too. I know how much being out in nature can steady you when everything else feels uncertain. I’m glad you found some comfort there, and I’m honored my photographs resonated with you during that time. I’m wishing you strength, gentle days, and continued healing in the year ahead.

  • Martha Montiel
    January 4, 2026 at 10:02 AM

    I throughly enjoyed reading your year end review Charlotte! Before I forget, “Yosemite Maples and Stone” is my preferencce but as you say, it is hard to choose.
    It was a pleasure meeting you, talking with you and working with you at the Women’s Photography Conference and sure hope it is not the last time.
    Your photography is inspiring and absolutely beautiful. I marveled and savored each image as I enjoyed my coffee this morning. I am so glad that you closed 2025 on a winning note and hope the future is brighter and even more amazing that it has been.
    Congratulations on that cute little granddaughter of yours!

    Cheers!

    • charlottegibb
      January 5, 2026 at 7:42 AM

      Thank you so much, Martha! And thanks for sharing your preference for Yosemite Maples and Stone. I think I like the tighter version too. The tree that bisiects the other composition bothers me a tiny bit. Anyway, it was a pleasure meeting and working with you at the women’s conference, and I hope our paths cross again. I appreciate you taking the time with my photographs, coffee in hand. And yes, our granddaughter has completely raised the bar.

  • Irene Searles
    January 4, 2026 at 10:31 AM

    Your work is always inspiring in your unique quiet way of transending moments of time and light. Thank you for sharing so much with all of us. Wishing you a year of improved heath, with much joy and renewed strength. Time with your grandaughter will be magical for you both.

    • charlottegibb
      January 5, 2026 at 7:45 AM

      Thank you for your thoughtful note. I’m glad the way I approach time and light resonates for you. I appreciate the good wishes, and you’re right. Time with our granddaughter already feels pretty magical.

  • David D Hiskey
    January 4, 2026 at 11:55 AM

    Thanks for sharing your many inspiring images. I defintely prefer the Gateway Stone image of the two.
    For me there is a more three dimensional quality that holds my interest as I am drawn into the image beyond the stone. It reminds me of how often in nature we something that attracts our attention like the stone, but as we linger we often see much more. Gateway Stone is an image that invites me to linger rather than to just note something beuatiful and move on.

    • charlottegibb
      January 5, 2026 at 7:46 AM

      Thank you for such a perceptive read of that image. I’m glad “Gateway Stone” drew you in the way it did. You might enjoy knowing there’s a third composition as well, a wider view that takes in more of the surrounding scene and shifts the emphasis again. Your observation about lingering rather than moving on is exactly how that photograph came together.

  • Mark Howenstein
    January 4, 2026 at 12:21 PM

    Charlotte:

    So many awe-in spiring photos here. YTou really captured the magnificence of Yosemite in these photos. I particularly appreciated the surrealism of Stonefall, the radiant color of Aurora over Half Dome, and the icredible detail of White Cloak (and handheld at that. Wow!). But the three that rally strike me are Crescendo and Spring Rhapsody which beautifully capture the roaring falls of the last spring, and Fly By which reminds me of my two lost brothers for whom the raven was their animal spirit. Such a fantastic photo!

    Thanks for such a plethora of wonder, so many from one of my favorite places in the world: Yosemite NP.

    Yours,

    Mark

    P.S. So sorry to hear of your bout with cancer, but so happy that you have come through the ordeal. Looking forward to many more images of the beauty of nature.

    • charlottegibb
      January 5, 2026 at 7:47 AM

      Thank you, Mark. I appreciate how specifically you spent time with the work, and your connection to “Fly By” is especially moving. I’m honored that image brought your brothers to mind. Yosemite continues to give us so much to reflect on, doesn’t it? I’m grateful you took the time to write, and for your kind wishes as well.

  • Barry Wolf
    January 4, 2026 at 1:21 PM

    Beautiful, sublime, emotional images as always! Very glad that you beat that scourge cancer so you can continue to grace our life with your images and words and spoil your granddaughter. Happy, Healthy New Year to you and Gary.

  • Sue Perse
    January 4, 2026 at 8:05 PM

    Charlotte, You have been my favorite photographer for a long time. Your work is so lovely! I can only aspire to it. I hope you continue to have good health. Your granddaughter is beautiful. My third daughter had hair like that. She had her first haircut at five months because it was hanging in her eyes. She had her first baby two years ago and he had the same hair!

    Sue Perse

    • charlottegibb
      January 5, 2026 at 7:49 AM

      Thank you for such a warm note. I’m honored you’ve followed my work for so long. Your family hair story cracks me up. Genetics have a sense of humor, don’t they. I appreciate the good wishes and your kindness.

  • Leslie Milbury
    January 5, 2026 at 5:22 AM

    Hello Charlotte. I am not a landscape photographer so I may not be the most qualified person to comment on your photos but these are absolutely stellar photographs and even more so given your trial with cancer this past year. You have an incredible eye for subject selection, composition and colour. When I saw those oak leaves I said to myself they look like they are lit from within and then I saw in your writing where you said they looked like they were lit from within. Amazing capture! I am glad you had your photography to help you in your darker times this past year. I will continue to follow your work with awe and appreciation. Thank you for sharing.

    Leslie
    Kingston, Ontario, Canada

    • charlottegibb
      January 5, 2026 at 7:50 AM

      Hello Leslie,
      Thank you for such a generous and observant note. You don’t need to be a landscape photographer to see light clearly, and your comment about the oak leaves tells me you do. I’m grateful the photographs and writing spoke to you, and I appreciate you taking the time to write all the way from Kingston, Canada!

  • kent gordon
    January 5, 2026 at 10:11 AM

    A “good” photographer can possibly shoot “Oaks and El Capitan” with a degree of success, but a truly great shooter can find, see, shoot, and post-process a shot like “Welcome Gift of Water”. (And I know it looks better in person.). Most folks do not see the little gems right near-by, and if they find an area that seems to perhaps have some promise, they don’t know what to do. You clearly DO know what to do in any given situation. The light branches with the dark ground/rocks in back, and the soft water together with great decisions as to what to emphasize with light, makes it truly special. I guess that by now you have figured that my eye is similar to yours. Incidentally, I think it is a great idea for any serious photographer to look back and see what worked and what didn’t work so well. (Thanks for reminding me of Yosemite, as I need to get back there myself.) West coast shooter, kentgordonfineart.com.

    • charlottegibb
      January 9, 2026 at 5:23 AM

      Thank you for your kindness and recognition of something I work hard to achieve: taking the ordinary and making it extraordinary. Looking back helps us move forward, or at least help us feel like the year wasn’t a total waste. It felt like I hadn’t been out shooting much at all last year, but that simply wasn’t true. I just stayed a lot closer to home. No exotic trips for me!

  • kent gordon
    January 5, 2026 at 10:26 AM

    SENTINELS” — First Place, 2016 Yosemite Renaissance 31, (on the winter section of your web site) is breath-taking.

    Guys and gals, go to her web site as there are many many more exceptional shots there. It’s a great education as to how many different types of subjects there are to get interested in, and the many different conditons that combine together to present shots that are there if even only once or twice in a lifetime. I’ll try to stop commenting now, but I am thrilled. Isn’t it exciting to bring to others something or someplace that was there, if only for a moment in time?

  • Steve Traudt
    January 6, 2026 at 3:52 PM

    What an enchanting review of your year! Your words and images are a salve for the winter blahs! It was so great seeing you at Moab. When Bruce first told me of his plans to restart the Symposium, he said he was inviting the best of the best. I told him that had to include you and he assured me that he was way ahead of me! Wishing you continued good health and seeing…

    • charlottegibb
      January 9, 2026 at 5:26 AM

      Thank you so much, Steve, and it was great to see you there as well. I’m glad my words and images helped take at least some of the edge off winter. Moab was indeed a gift. I felt honored and grateful to be part of that community.

  • Ace Batacan
    January 6, 2026 at 7:16 PM

    Hi Charlotte.

    You truly take wonderful photographs. They seem to come alive on their own. We actually have never bee to Yosemite so your work gives us a chance to experience the beauty of it all. I can almost hear mellow acoustic guitar music as we look at them. Congratulations on your upcoming home in Wawona. Your talent is a blessing to all of us who you share your work with. Wishing you the best on this new year. We’re looking forward to seeing more of your beautiful photographs.

    Best regards,
    Ace

    • charlottegibb
      January 9, 2026 at 5:28 AM

      Thank you, Ace. It’s always great to hear from you. We want our Wawona home to be filled with music, art, friends, and laughter. We can’t wait until it is finished. Please visit if you finally find yourselves in Yosemite! It is a place you must see at least once in this life.

  • David Kingham
    January 7, 2026 at 9:37 AM

    Stunning images as always Charlotte. I’m shocked to see so many treeless desert images, have you discovered your love for it now?

    I’m glad we were able to spend so much time together this year. I know it’s been a challenge in many different ways but you have been so strong through it all. We’re thinking of you guys, please let us know if you ever need anything.

    • charlottegibb
      January 9, 2026 at 5:34 AM

      Thank you, David. Apparently I can photograph places that feel foreign to me, but I never seem to really feel that deep connection with the desert the way I do when I’m in a forest. Maybe it just needs more time to work its magic.

      I’m also grateful for the time we had together this year. We’ve felt very supported. Hopefully, next year will bring all of us together again, maybe in Yosemite?

  • Garry Fritz
    January 7, 2026 at 1:52 PM

    It is always a pleasure to see your wonderfull work. 2025 is no exception – beautiful work. I think the very last image will alway be your favorite. Congrats on your granddaughter. I have 4 grand kids each one is a blessing and unique in their own way.

    • charlottegibb
      January 9, 2026 at 5:35 AM

      Thank you so much. I suspect you’re right about that last image. That little one has earned permanent residency in my heart. And congratulations to you on your four grandchildren. Each one really is its own small universe. I’m already beginning to understand that.