I’m Sandra Falcetta, the photographer behind The Bosun’s Daughter.

I was in Mystic, CT in October 2024 when I was captivated by a scene unfolding in front of me.

The river was busy that autumn day. I saw a man piloting a skiff across the water. He was standing at the tiller, navigating the busy river, dressed for the cold and wearing an old-fashioned cap. He looked as though he stepped straight out of an old movie — The Ghost and Mrs. Muir came to mind.

My imagination took over, and I began creating a backstory for this character. From there, it wasn’t much of a stretch to think of my father, who had served in the Coast Guard.

The name The Bosun’s Daughter took shape from a new photograph, an old story, and the creativity that continues to drive my photography today.

For years I tried to photograph all of it — weathered barns and lobster shacks, mountain overlooks and golden-hour hikes, roadside farm stands and the main streets of small towns I drove through. I’d wander the winding roads with my camera close by, pulling over whenever the light or character of a place stopped me.

Those photographs are still here, captured in my Galleries like Illuminated Shores, Weathered Fields, and Working Coast. But the longer I photographed New England, the more I felt I was trying to tell a story too big to tell well.

In October 2024, The Bosun’s Daughter gave my photography a home. The coast I photograph isn’t just a pretty picture. It’s also a place where people work — often before sunrise, in every kind of weather.

Every harbor is somebody’s workplace. Long before the day begins, sometimes in extreme conditions, lines are coming off the pilings and boats are heading out. This is where work begins before first light. I’m drawn to these boats, the people who run them, and the work they do — all part of the coast itself.

That’s why you’ll find as many fishing boats and working docks in my collections as lighthouses and sunsets. To me, they belong together.

Perspective is at the heart of how I photograph. A familiar harbor can feel completely different from the end of a dock at first light, from out on the water, or in the moments before the weather changes. Sometimes it’s simply a matter of standing somewhere different and taking the time to notice what’s there.

That change in perspective can reveal something unexpected in a place you thought you already knew. It can also create a connection to somewhere you’ve never been. That’s the warmth I look for in my photographs — a sense of recognition, inspiration, discovery, or memory that makes the image feel personal.

I write about the places I photograph for the same reason. The story can give you another way into the photograph — another lens through which to experience it.

That’s what I hope for every time. Either you discover somewhere new, feel inspired, or see somewhere familiar from a different perspective.

Every so often I travel further north. In Greenland I photographed the icebergs of Disko Bay off Ilulissat, home to the UNESCO-listed Ilulissat Icefjord. I also photographed the harbor town of Qeqertarsuaq on Disko Island, where brightly painted houses sit beneath basalt mountains.

It’s a long way from Mystic, but I found myself asking the same questions: how do people live and work beside this water, and what does the light do to it?