Lily Zhang Imaging

Photographed in the Pacaya Samiria Reserve during a high school field trip, this was one of my first exposures to wildlife photography and scientific fieldwork. We spent a week living on a research vessel, documenting life along the Amazon rainforest.

I took a summer photography course at Wellesley College, learning to shoot film, develop negatives, and self-print black-and-white images. This photo was part of my final project: a nine-image series captured near town, focused on street scenes and quite human moments. I barely know the darkroom steps now, but I do remember realizing: I love digital cameras, and I’m happiest photographing the natural world.

On December 23, 2019, I did my first official blackwater dive in Anilao. While many experienced photographers are used to seeing this common squid, I was in awe of every detail. When it suddenly swam toward me, I hit the shutter without thinking. I didn’t expect much until I saw the image: a burst of ink frozen mid-water, like a brushstroke in motion. From the very beginning, blackwater taught me to expect the unexpected.

Although the pandemic meant attending classes on a flipped day-night schedule, it also gave me the unexpected chance to explore the vast landscapes of northwestern China. This quiet moment unfolded in the deep off-season in November — a rare stillness in one of China’s most surreal landscapes. Known as the “Mirror of the Sky,” the salt lake reflects the world above through a crystallized brine surface. The rising sun paints the lake in shades of orange, emerging through a matrix of wind turbines that stretch across the horizon.

On December 31, 2021, I traveled from Anchorage to Fairbanks via the Parks Highway, navigating between winter storms. The temperature plummeted to -40°C, and I was enveloped by the majestic peaks of the Denali range. Somewhere along that frozen road, I quietly fell in love with the stillness and vastness of the snow mountains. That experience stayed with me. I began to seek out more road trips.

Photographed in July during my third blackwater dive trip — after earlier dives in the Philippines and Florida — this image captures the ethereal Venus girdle (Cestum veneris), the largest known ctenophore and the only member of its genus. The shimmering cilia of this comb jelly carried clusters of copepods as it drifted silently through the open water. It was also my first time diving in Hawai‘i, and I hope to return one day to explore even more — shipwrecks, sharks, coral reefs, and of course, more blackwater nights.

This was the first time I tried surf photography. Taken near noon, the sea shimmered with sunlight, and Mount Laoshan rose quietly in the distance. Outside the frame were high-rises, packed beaches, and the familiar bustle of a Qingdao summer — but through the lens, I saw it all from a new perspective.

When I moved to North Carolina, the Smokies greeted me with a warm welcome — hills ablaze in amber, rust, and gold. I've come to really appreciate the U.S. national park system, which makes it possible to experience landscapes like this so freely and intimately. This photo was taken at sunrise, using the nearby maple leaves as foreground to add depth and texture to the misty, layered ridge lines beyond.

After four years, I finally returned to Anilao, and this trip turned out to be my most productive blackwater dives yet. Among countless species, this tiny baby octopus, no larger than a fingernail, is the smallest subject I've ever captured. The moment I saw it in focus through my viewfinder, I knew: my blackwater trim and buoyancy control had finally come together. Worth every jellyfish sting!

In March 2025, I paddled the dark, tannin-rich waters of the Coharie River, where Indigenous-led efforts have restored its natural flow after decades of blockage. This year, I’ve been thinking more about how different communities relate to the land and water around them. For the Coharie people, the river is more than a landscape; it’s a living thread of history, care, and return.