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Posts from the ‘Adventures’ Category

Riding the River Into the New Year

The New Year did not arrive for me with fireworks or sudden resolutions.

It arrived quietly, carrying the weight of a long season of healing.

Both of my knees were injured last May—meniscus tears that turned ordinary movement into something slow, deliberate, and often painful. Healing has not been linear. It has been humbling. Some days my body whispered patience; other days it demanded it. I still cannot run. And yet, in that limitation, life kept inviting me forward.

Summer arrived anyway.

It was bittersweet. Hiking—one of my greatest joys—was reduced to shorter, carefully measured trails. There was inflammation, swelling, and the constant negotiation with pain. But instead of focusing on what I lost, I learned to ask a different question: How fully can I still show up?

The answer surprised me.

We traveled. We explored. We laughed. I maximized every return on effort—not by pushing harder, but by being more present. Family adventures unfolded that I will carry with me forever. New photographic editions emerged by the dozens. Chicago-area art festivals filled my calendar, not as obligations, but as celebrations of connection and creativity.

And then there was Yellowstone.

Something ancient awakened there. I made discoveries that felt less like photographs and more like conversations—with land, with light, with time itself. I fell in love with grizzlies, not as symbols of power, but as teachers of presence and respect. Later, in Sturgis, I created a photojournal of biker characters—raw, human, unapologetically themselves. Different worlds, same truth: authenticity always leaves a mark.

All of that work—every mile walked slowly, every image created through discomfort—quietly bore fruit. Those summer discoveries carried me across the finish line for my final three merits with PPA. They led me to something I had worked toward for years: the Master Photographer title, awarded by the oldest nonprofit photography organization in our field.

Not as a finish line—but as a confirmation.

As if that weren’t enough, just yesterday an email arrived from Rainbow Springs Art, our local gallery in Dunnellon. They accepted my work for permanent exhibition. Beyond the honor, what moved me most was who they are: an organized, talented, generous community of artists. They even offer a classroom within the gallery—and when I proposed teaching photography on location, they welcomed both the idea and my curriculum immediately.

The doors are opening because I am ready to walk through them—calmly.

Today, I’m sitting at the Palm Beach Gardens show, talking with customers, sharing stories of travel, wildlife, resilience, and art. There is an unexpected peace here. On Tuesday, I will walk a stage in Nashville, Tennessee, to receive that Master of Photography title—and instead of nerves, I feel grounded gratitude.

This year, I made myself a promise:

I will not let a single day—or a single opportunity—slip by unnoticed.

I will ride this great river of life at whatever speed it asks of me—fast when it surges, slow when it teaches.

We are leaving behind the Year of the Snake and entering the Year of the Fire Horse.

And yes—I feel on fire.

Not the frantic kind of fire, but the steady burn of purpose. Something in my core is brighter now. I finally understand why I must share my passion—not to impress, but to illuminate.

We are not here to suffer through life.

We are here to evolve.

Suffering and pain are inevitable. But meaning is a choice. Growth is a direction. I share my struggles not for pity, but for truth—so you can see that even in the darkest seasons, nothing is wasted. Everything has its place.

Piece by piece.

Discovery by discovery.

Lesson by lesson.

I may not be able to run right now—but I discovered swimming. I discovered flow. I discovered trust.

And perhaps that is the real mastery:

Not conquering pain—but allowing it to guide us toward a deeper alignment with who we are becoming.

Here’s to the river.

Here’s to the fire.

Here’s to a year lived fully—exactly as it unfolds.

💍 25 Years of Treasure Hunting Together

Today didn’t go quite as planned — and yet, it turned out perfectly us.

We had reservations for an island shelling boat ride, but as we were driving there, the phone rang: the trip was canceled due to a large storm developing over the Gulf of Mexico.

Instead of letting the storm chase us away, we chased it!

We quickly adjusted our plan and headed to Honeymoon Island, where the moody sky painted a masterpiece above the waves. Between thunder rumbles and salty wind, we wandered the shore treasure-hunting as the rain soaked us head to toe — laughing, drenched, and completely alive.

When the storm finally softened, the sky gifted us a rainbow and a glowing sunset — a perfect symbol of our 25 years together: light after rain, beauty through every storm.

We wrapped up our evening with a cozy dinner, filled with warmth, laughter, and quiet gratitude — the perfect atmosphere to celebrate our silver wedding anniversary.

And because every adventure deserves a twist, we finished the night at the movie theater, watching Tron — an unexpected, electric finale to a day that reminded us how much we love our shared adventures.

We came home fulfilled — hearts full, spirits renewed, pockets (and souls) filled with treasures of the day.

Here’s to 25 years of love, laughter, and adventure… and to all the new horizons ahead of us. ❤️✨

#SilverAnniversary #25YearsTogether #HoneymoonIsland #StormChasers #TreasureHunters #LucianoAdventures #ForeverUs

🌌 When the Sky Dances: How the Aurora Borealis Affects the Human Body and Mind

By Zsuzsanna Luciano, Fine Art Conservation Photographer

Last Year, I Lost My Direction Beneath the Northern Lights

Last fall, I found myself deep in the Wisconsin woods, bundled in wool and fleece, standing under a sky that shimmered like a celestial ocean. The aurora borealis was directly overhead for several hours – green flames twisting into violet ribbons, pulsing and expanding like some living cosmic entity.

I was there to photograph it. But something strange happened.

I lost my sense of direction. Not poetically. Literally. My inner compass—normally sharp from years of navigating wilderness—just shut off. I walked in the wrong direction for nearly an hour one night, convinced I was heading back to our camper.

I felt euphoric, mesmerized, and oddly disconnected from time. And it turns out, I’m not alone.

What Exactly Is the Aurora Borealis?

The aurora is caused by charged particles from the sun colliding with gases in Earth’s atmosphere. These interactions generate breathtaking light displays—commonly green, but also pink, purple, red, and even blue.

📚 NASA explains it here

It’s more than just pretty lights. The aurora is an electromagnetic phenomenon, affecting Earth’s magnetic field—and possibly us humans, too.

The Surprising Effects on the Human Body

🧭 1. Magnetic Confusion: Your Internal GPS May Malfunction

Did you know your brain contains tiny magnetic particles called magnetite? Like migratory birds, humans may use Earth’s magnetic field for orientation.

When auroral activity is strong, that magnetic field fluctuates—and that might throw off your sense of direction.

🔍 Scientific American: Humans may sense magnetic fields

When I was under the aurora for multiple nights, I completely lost my bearings. GPS helped, but something inside me wasn’t working the same. It’s both fascinating and a little spooky.

😵‍💫 2. Dreamy, Euphoric, and a Bit Foggy

Many aurora-watchers report experiencing:

A dreamlike or timeless state Deep emotional surges—tears, awe, peace Cognitive fog, forgetfulness, or mild confusion

Scientists suggest this could be due to:

Melatonin disruption (the light confuses your sleep-wake cycle) Electromagnetic brainwave interaction, which may influence emotion or perception Sleep deprivation and overstimulation from the experience itself

🧠 Study: Mood and magnetic field disturbances

Personally, I felt like I was floating through a lucid dream I didn’t want to wake from. My camera kept me tethered to reality, but barely.

📸 3. The Photographer’s Experience: Art, Exhaustion, and Ecstasy

Photographing the aurora is a unique blend of technical patience and emotional overwhelm. You wait for hours in the dark, monitor cloud cover, adjust your camera with freezing fingers… and then—boom—the sky explodes.

But it takes a toll:

Extreme cold (I’ve shot in -22°F with a camera battery tucked in my bra!) Sleep deprivation (auroras peak between 10 p.m. and 2 a.m.) Isolation and mental strain, especially during multi-night shoots

During one shoot in Iceland, I lived off trail mix and instant coffee for four days, barely sleeping between bursts of light and wonder. I wasn’t tired at the time—but I crashed hard afterward.

Are There Healing Effects of the Aurora?

Some believe auroras have healing properties, particularly in the realm of energy and bioelectromagnetism. While research is still emerging, anecdotal experiences include:

Vivid dreams and increased intuition Enhanced meditative or spiritual states A sense of deep reconnection with nature and the cosmos

📘 Curious? Explore Bioelectromagnetics Journal

Fascinating Aurora Facts

🌍 Other planets have auroras—Jupiter’s are enormous 👂 Some people hear them—a faint crackling or hissing sound 🐾 Animals, including whales and reindeer, react to auroral shifts 📸 You can photograph auroras in real-time with high ISO and a tripod 📱 Use apps like My Aurora Forecast to plan your night

Final Thoughts: When the Lights Find You

The aurora borealis isn’t just something to see—it’s something that happens to you. It changes your rhythm, your senses, even your perception of time and direction.

As a photographer, I live for these moments. But as a human being, I leave changed each time.

So if you ever find yourself under a sky that glows like a living flame, don’t be surprised if you forget where you are—or even who you are—for just a little while. That’s part of the magic.

About Me

I’m a fine art conservation photographer traveling across North America with my husband and son. When I’m not exhibiting at juried art festivals, I chase storms, wildlife, and the mysteries of the natural world. Follow along on IG or join my newsletter for behind-the-scenes stories and new limited edition art drops.


 Captured on the shores of Lake Michigan, this rare overhead aurora display lit up the entire night sky in cascading curtains of green and pink. I stood in complete stillness, mesmerized, as the lights reflected off the calm water—creating a mirror between Earth and sky. This was one of the moments where I truly lost my sense of direction and became part of the cosmic dance.

Chasing Stars and Stories: A Door County Night Under the Milky Way

by a Fine Art Conservation Photographer on the Road

Last night felt like a page torn straight from a dream.

Our little traveling trio—Mike, our son, and I—has been weaving a life full of art, nature, and motion. Weekends are spent showcasing my fine art photography at juried festivals, but weekdays? They’re for wonder. We wander, we search, we listen—for places that speak not only to the lens but to the soul. And Door County, Wisconsin, spoke in poetry.

All day, we had biked along winding trails, hiked rugged forest paths, and breathed in the wild air curling off Lake Michigan’s shore. I’d already filled my mind with compositions—fragments of roots, glimmers of water through trees, the play of light on old wood. But nothing prepared me for what the night had in store.

It was Mike’s idea, of course. “Let’s shoot the lighthouse with the Milky Way,” he said. I immediately reached for my PhotoPills app. I had exactly 57 minutes before the moonrise would wash the stars away. It was a race against time and light.

Back to the campground—gear check, layers on. Quick dinner, quicker frozen custard (because… priorities). Then we drove through the twilight to our secret spot, a little spit of land reaching out toward a forgotten island, where the lighthouse stood like a sentinel under the stars.

The air was crisp. The parking lot was silent. Our breath puffed clouds into the inky night. With each step across the narrow land bridge, waves whispered on both sides. The lake breathed in sync with us. The sky stretched endlessly overhead—dark and glittering, as if the universe was watching.

When we arrived, I instinctively knew the spot. The Milky Way curled right over the lighthouse like it had always belonged there. While I set up the panoramic composition, my fingers felt the chill, but my heart raced. Every frame was a story. The long exposure pulled starlight into the sensor like memory being etched into glass.

Then—magic. The moon began its gentle rise, spilling golden light across the lake in a shimmering ribbon. A path of light, just for us. I followed it down the shoreline, capturing reflections, silhouettes, the glowing bridge between earth and sky. Around every corner was another frame I had to make. It was one of those rare nights where nature gave everything, and asked only that you notice.

Eventually, it was time to go. My body ached. My eyes were dry. But I was filled to the brim. I knew morning meant another journey—another festival, another crowd, another long drive. But the light of the stars had already burned themselves into my soul. And the hush of the water? That’s a sound I’ll carry with me always.

This is why we travel. This is why I photograph. To catch those flickering moments when the world reminds us that we belong to it—and not the other way around.

Until the next story under the stars,

✨📸

—Zsuzsanna Luciano

Csillagok és Történetek Nyomában: Egy Éjszaka Door Countyban a Tejút Alatt
Zsuzsanna, fine art conservation photographer

Tegnap este olyan volt, mint egy álomból tépett lap.

Kis utazó triónk—Mike, a fiunk és én—egy művészetben, természetben és mozgásban gazdag életet sző. A hétvégéket a fine art fotográfiám bemutatásával töltjük a válogatott fesztiválokon, de a hétköznapok? Azok a csodáké. Barangolunk, keresünk, hallgatunk—olyan helyeket, amelyek nemcsak a lencsét, hanem a lelket is megszólítják. Door County, Wisconsin, pedig költészetben szólt.

Egész nap kerékpároztunk kanyargós ösvényeken, túráztunk zord erdei utakon, és beszívva a vad levegőt a Michigan-tó partjáról. Már tele volt a fejem kompozíciókkal—gyökerek töredékei, vízcsillanások a fák között, a fény játéka a régi fán. De semmi sem készített fel arra, amit az este tartogatott.

Természetesen Mike ötlete volt. „Fényképezzük le a világítótornyot a Tejút alatt,” mondta. Azonnal elővettem a PhotoPills alkalmazásomat. Pontosan 57 percem volt, mielőtt a holdfelkelte elmosta volna a csillagokat. Versenyfutás volt az idővel és a fénnyel.

Vissza a kempingbe—felszerelés ellenőrzés, rétegek fel. Gyors vacsora, még gyorsabb fagyasztott puding (mert… prioritások). Aztán a twilighton át hajtottunk a titkos helyünkre, egy kis földnyelvre, amely egy elfeledett sziget felé nyújtózott, ahol a világítótorony állt, mint egy őr a csillagok alatt.

A levegő friss volt. A parkoló csendes. A leheletünk felhőket fújt az inkább fekete éjszakába. Minden lépéssel a keskeny földhídon, a hullámok suttogtak mindkét oldalon. A tó lélegzete szinkronban volt a miénkkel. Az ég végtelenül nyúlt fölöttünk—sötét és csillogó, mintha az univerzum figyelne.

Amikor megérkeztünk, ösztönösen tudtam, hogy hol vagyunk. A Tejút éppen a világítótorony fölé kanyarodott, mintha mindig is ott lett volna. Míg beállítottam a panoráma kompozíciót, az ujjaim érezték a hideget, de a szívem dobogott. Minden egyes felvétel egy történet volt. A hosszú expozíció a csillagfényeket a szenzorba vonta, mint egy emlék, ami üvegbe vésődik.

Aztán—varázslat. A hold szelíden emelkedni kezdett, arany fényt öntve a tóra egy csillogó szalag formájában. Egy fényút, csak nekünk. Követtem a part mentén, rögzítve a visszatükröződéseket, sziluetteket, a föld és az ég közötti fénylő hidat. Minden sarkon egy újabb felvétel várt rám. Olyan ritka éjszaka volt ez, ahol a természet mindent adott, és csak azt kérte, hogy vegyük észre.

Végül elérkezett az idő a távozásra. A testem fájt. A szemeim szárazak voltak. De tele voltam. Tudtam, hogy a reggel újabb utat jelent—újabb fesztivált, újabb tömeget, újabb hosszú utat. De a csillagok fénye már belenehezedett a lelkembe. És a víz csöndje? Az egy olyan hang, amit mindig magammal hordozok.

Ezért utazunk. Ezért fényképezem. Hogy elkapjam azokat a pislákoló pillanatokat, amikor a világ emlékeztet arra, hogy hozzá tartozunk—és nem fordítva.

A következő történetig a csillagok alatt,
✨📸
—Zsuzsanna


“The lighthouse stood still, cradled by stars, as the Milky Way arched overhead—guiding more than ships, it lit a path straight to the soul.”