My first serious photographs were taken as a teenager, on a river trip through the Grand Canyon with my father. I have carried a camera ever since, shooting film through the 1980s and 90s and digital now.

I grew up between Madrid, Paris and Caracas, and have lived in the United States, Spain, Venezuela, Thailand, Singapore, the United Kingdom and France. Today I divide my time between Miami and Madrid.

My work is mostly about the sky, and about the rare moments when something on Earth lines up with the moon or the sun. An airliner crosses the face of the moon in a fraction of a second. To catch it I calculate angles, distances and flight paths in advance, using habits from a long career in finance. Then I stand in the right spot and hope the weather and the schedule cooperate. Most attempts fail. When one works, what you see actually happened: a real alignment, captured in camera, with no compositing and no replaced sky.

The moon is a subject on its own, too. It can rise huge behind a lone figure on a hilltop, or sit sharp and close above a city. The sun asks for the same planning in a different light: silhouettes against a setting disc, eclipses, and aircraft crossing its face.

Between alignments I photograph landscapes: dunes at sunrise, mountain lakes, coastlines, and the quiet hour when the light changes everything.

What ties the work together is simple: the best moments rarely announce themselves. You have to be there, prepared, and still watching after everyone else has gone home.