Sunset Diva

This shoot came together in one sudden spark — I’d been sitting on this location for months, and out of nowhere the nylon-and-jersey pairing hit me like a mood. Teia’s strong, refined beauty immediately matched the simplicity I wanted: raw, sculptural, almost architectural. We brought in a simple ladder just to elevate her, literally — to give her a quiet dominance over the landscape. There were no plans beyond that. Just light, wind, and her incredible presence turning the hill into a runway.

Cliff Ashbury

Flower Power

The spaces I had scouted didn’t hold up, so I built this one in fragments—steps, sidewalks, a café table. I styled Vy myself, pulling socks with heels, sharp navy knits, and oversized glasses to push her into that Chanel-but-rebellious tension I wanted. The flowers weren’t an accessory so much as an anchor, a way to play innocence against defiance. Vy’s look—angular, striking, quietly subversive—turned the bouquet into something almost weaponized. I leaned into the in-betweens: slouch, stare, bouquet half-dropped. Nothing was staged beyond that. Just her presence, the flowers, and the thrill of making a whole story from a street corner.

Cliff Ashbury

Modern Hero

I’d scouted this block weeks ago; the city closed it the morning of our shoot, so I rebuilt the idea on the curb. I think in lines and silhouettes—long coat to cut the verticals, a low-brim hat and round glasses to erase identity and sharpen form. Andrew — young, a local-agency find — became my clean shape to draw with; the second I dropped the brim, he read less model, more myth. I centered him in the vanishing lane, let the city smear into bokeh, and kept his hands pocket-still so the coat carried the tension. No storyboard—just asphalt light, negative space, and the quiet thrill of a detour turning a street into a superhero origin.

Cliff Ashbury

BABAKAMER

I found this wall by chance, a minimal corner of a South African church marked “Babakamer”—the confessional. The geometry was irresistible: white plaster, hard shadow lines, a doorway like a stage. I styled Zuzana in black, pearls, and a brimmed hat to sharpen the contrast and lean into the secrecy of the space. It wasn’t about beauty so much as tension—her body half in light, half in dark, holding the doorway as if deciding whether to step in or out. The scene asked for stillness, restraint, confession without words. Nothing else was needed—just the sun, the shadows, and her suspended between them.

Cliff Ashbury

Out of Africa

The dunes were endless, shifting with each gust, and I wanted to capture that sense of impermanence in something human. I styled Zuzana in a loose-knit sweater, pearls, and a wide-brim hat—fragile pieces against the rawness of sand and sky. What struck me in the first frame was the wind taking hold of her, pulling strands of hair across her face, turning her into part of the landscape itself. Zuzana wasn’t posing; she was weathering, holding steady as the world moved. That was the picture I saw: strength wrapped in vulnerability, a portrait not of fashion alone but of resilience against a horizon that never stops changing.

Cliff Ashbury

Street Glam

San Francisco’s streets don’t gift glamour easily, so I leaned into their grit—brick steps, rusted hydrants, mirrors fixed to corners—and let Teia’s presence rewrite them. I styled her in a powder-blue jacket over a crisp shirt, thigh-high boots to sharpen the line, because I wanted her to feel like disruption: elegance dropped into the everyday. The mirror gave me distortion, a second Teia folding back at herself; the hydrant, something raw and industrial to play her against. My thought was always contrast—her softness, her poise, framed by surfaces that don’t care. That friction is the story: beauty holding its own in the most unremarkable of streets, turning ordinary city corners into something cinematic.

Cliff Ashbury

California Dreamin'

This one lived in my head for months: the cliffs, the Pacific stretched to forever, a look that felt both elegant and effortless. I wanted a frame that said leisure at its highest level — not staged luxury, but the kind you slip into when you belong there. I styled Dusan in a retro knit, sharp trousers, cap and shades, grounding him barefoot to keep the mood legere. He wasn’t just standing on the coastline; he was claiming it, embodying a certain Californian ease that’s half GQ cover, half daydream. The shoot became exactly that balance — rich, relaxed, and cinematic, with nothing added but sun, salt air, and a man who fit the role without trying.

Cliff Ashbury