2020: 6 (Film and Apple Pie)

Shooting film is very much like making an apple pie. You put so much effort into assembling the correct balance of ingredients, but you still have to wait for it to bake… and cool, before you even know if it tastes good or not.

In the world of “instant everything, order your food, your groceries, week, post text, chat, I want it now, I will not wait, I demand satisfaction” it is an almost meditative, zen like practice to shoot film. You don’t see what you get while you shoot. You aren’t sure if your film is even being exposed correctly. You have to wait until your film is developed before you see any results. And then, if you are like me and you scan your film, it is a longer process of scanning before the final, positive images pop up on my monitor.

Why do I do this? It slows me down, makes my shooting feel more intentional. The extra investment of time and money makes me value each image just a little bit more. I wait in anticipation to finally se my photos. Like waiting for a gift to arrive, or waiting for a stew to simmer on a stovetop for a few hours. It heightens my anticipation and makes the payoff more worthwhile every time. Even if my film is underexposed, or out of focus, or boring, or not “sharable.” It still have more substance to it.

If anyone would like to swap a nice apple pie for a few rolls of film, give me a shout.

2020: 5 (36 Exposures)

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I have been sick this week. Sicker than I have been in a long time. I got my annual flu shot, but it didn’t protect me from whatever ‘crud” I’ve been battling for the past 10 days. It really hit me hard this week. I missed two improv rehearsals, and three and a half days of work. And it is not done yet. While I sip some lemon, ginger and honey tea… and scan a roll of film I developed last night, I thought I would share 36 random thoughts that came to my mind this week. Maybe it’s the vast amount of over-the-counter medications, or the upended schedule of work and sleep that this illness has brought, but one thing being stuck in bed affords you is plenty of time for your mind to wander.

1: I have too many cameras. I am trying to weed out my collection, by giving cameras that I haven’t used in a long time one more chance to stay in my favor. Otherwise, I might “gift” it to a deserving friend, or it goes on Ebay. I shot my Olympus Trip 35 this week, and I’m scanning the film as I write these words. Not sure I need another zone focusing pocket camera.

2: I have too many cameras, and I bought another one this week. Damn you Ebay, damn you G.A.S.! Since I recently fell in love with a sexy little half-frame camera from Japan, I’ve been smitten by the unique format half-frame cameras provide. It is very “lomo-esque” in many ways. I really love the freedom of shooting this way, so I broke down and bought a Yashica Samurai from Japan. When it arrives, I’ll give you more of my thoughts on this oddity.

3: Courage is a rare quality these days… just watch the news.

4: Hot water is a gift from the gods. A hot shower, a hot bath, a hot cup of tea… all essential this week.

5: “Babylon Berlin” on Netflix is a binge worthy treat. Decadence and intrigue. Weimar Germany at its worst, and best. Bonus points for the opening titles, and the amazing theme song over each episode’s closing credits.

6: You can use Google extensions to block out your Facebook news feed and to block out suggested videos on YouTube. Who knew? I didn’t. But this tip via Joey Schweitzer / Better Ideas literally improved my life this week.

7: Posole vs Green Chile Stew from Garcia’s. Which is better? This is neck and neck for me right now.

8: A 20-something co-worker was listening to Duran Duran at the office this week. I turned him on to Kraftwerk. My Gen X, good deed of the day.

9: Eddie Murphy was great in “Dolomite Is My Name.”

10: If I am honest with myself, I admit that I fear living a life of mediocrity.

11: I could eat pizza or pasta every day.

12: Pulling the bed covers over my face never fails to make me feel like I’m eight years old again.

13: Regrets are a bitch.

14: John Green’s podcast “Anthropocene Reviewed” never ceases to amaze me. Or push me close to tears.

15: “The Candid Frame” is probably the best photo related podcast out there. Ibarionex just released his 400th episode. Quite an achievement. Every talk is quality.

16: Can I really commit to 36 of these?

17: Yes, it’s all about the follow through.

18: David Bowie’s album he did with Tin Machine in 1989 holds up pretty well 30 years later, though some of the lyrics could have used more polish.

19: I can’t decide if reading old journal entries from decades ago is a good or a bad idea. I was kind of dumb back then.

20: You could stay at a youth hostel for about 5 bucks a night in 1989.

21: Wow, three different thoughts, all about 1989, wtf???

22: There is a video posted on YouTube of a movie I acted in. A college film, made by some dear friends. I watched it last night. I was a bit of a “pretty boy.” And a bad actor. Or maybe I was pretty good for a guy who’s only previous stage experience was as a background thug in a high school production of “Fiddler on the Roof.”

23: The neighbor’s dog barks all day long while she is away.

24: Is it better to be a big fish in a small pond, or a small fish in a big pond?

25: Scanning film is meditative.

26: Photo District News is going away. After 40 years in print. That makes me sad.

27: Instagram is the devil. But a necessary devil?

28: How do you carry your burden of responsibility? I’m not asking this rhetorically.

29: Life is short.

30: I used to like the smell of stop bath. Now I prefer the lingering aroma of fixer.

31: I took the Jeopardy online test this week. I actually auditioned for the show a couple of years ago but didn’t get on. I blame this guy.

32: The new Destroyer album is well worth your time.

33: I listened to Tyler, The Creator after reading he won a Grammy. And I enjoyed it. Go figure.

34: I always want to know who got me sick. Like, who spread the germs that got my sick. I need someone to blame. Which is pointless, I know.

35: I got my wife sick. She can clearly blame me. She is also 100% tougher than I am. I’m a wuss when I don’t feel well.

36: I truly hope someone out there was entertained enough to get to this last thought. Thank you. Want a free camera?

2020: 4 (New Mexico in Photographs)

Having grown up on the east coast, one of the most common questions I am asked is how did I end up living in Albuquerque, New Mexico. It’s actually a fairly common query for anyone who is not a native of “‘burque,” or of New Mexico in general. In reality, many folks in the west have migrated here from other places. Many in search of warmer weather, a slower pace, a more affordable existence. All of these reasons could apply to my own experience, but none really get to the root of what appealed to me about New Mexico in the first place.

My first impressions of what New Mexico looked like came via artists. Like many people, I discovered the unique landscape and colors via the work of Georgia O’Keeffe and Ansel Adams. And though these initial views didn’t exactly call me to this place, it did shape my impression that New Mexico was nothing like the world I knew in New Jersey.

It wasn’t until a few years later, when I studied photography in college that the uniqueness and idiosyncrasies of New Mexico, and Albuquerque specifically, started to seep into my consciousness. I recall discovering the photos of Gary Winogrand, Lee Friedlander and Robert Frank. These artists each shot images here that conveys an oddness, a foreboding, a desolation unique to this place. I found these images perplexing. Not only in what they showed, but how they showed it. I have written elsewhere about Winogrand’s photo of an infant at the edge of the world, but there is also Robert Frank’s image of the desolate view of a lonely car on a distant highway, or his photo taken in a clandestine manner in a bar in Gallup. There is Friedlander’s image shot in downtown Albuquerque: a mishmash of poles, street lights, the Doghouse hot dog stand, and the wonderful dog itself. Toto, we’re not in New Jersey anymore.

Photo by Lee Friedlander

The more I learned of Albuquerque, the more enigmatic it became. That dark wizard, Joel Peter-Witkin, creating his jarring work in a South Valley studio. Is this place the freak scene he alludes to? “Who walks these streets after the sun goes down?” I wondered. Truth is sometimes stranger than fiction.

Photo by Joel-Peter Witkin

The images of Thomas Barrow, in his series “Cancellations” also held my attention. Of course, one might wonder why anyone would damage their own negatives in the way he was doing. What did it mean to cancel out a photo you took yourself, but still decided to print and display? But what I found more intriguing were the subjects of the photos themselves. Anyone who has spent even a short amount of time in Albuquerque would start to recognize Barrow’s locations, such as the big arrow at the corner of Carlisle and Indian School. As scan of his book would yield fodder for quite the scavenger hunt for a curious Burqueño.

Photo by Thomas Barrow

There are also the photographs of Danny Lyon. His book “Pictures From The New World” had a profound influence on my perception of the New Mexico landscape, the light and cultural fabric of this place. The NYC born and bred photographer somehow ended up in Bernalillo, New Mexico… a refugee from the pressures of the relentlessness of urban life, I would guess. I would follow that same path in the early 90s, and here I remain.

There are others, as well. Miguel Gandert, Robert D'Alessandro, Douglas Kent Hall and Patrick Nagatani, for example. As a group, all of these photographers did more to introduce me to the complexity and confounding nature of life in the 505 than any visitor’s guide ever could.

2020: 3 (Vulnerability)

Being an artist can be an ongoing emotional challenge. I’m not talking about the idea of the “tortured artist.” That trope has been proven false numerous times. I am thinking about the way we share our souls through our work. We open ourselves up to judgement, to criticism, to ridicule… but also to the possibility of connection with a viewer; an understanding; a sharing of our vision. At the root of all of this, I believe, is the idea of vulnerability.

If you were ever an art student, you most likely remember critiques. You’d pin your assignment on the wall and prepare for the judgement of the professor and your fellow students. These exercises, though necessary for our development, were often excruciating moments to withstand. There is an inherent contract being forged during these moments. I am baring myself in front of others. I am opening myself up to be possibly humiliated… or lauded. I am making myself vulnerable.

Anytime we share something personal, we are making ourselves vulnerable. We are making an emotional investment in our act, and trusting the recipient will be considerate, be objective, be supportive, be kind. Of course, judgement doesn’t always meet our hopes. It is often the opposite… cruel, dismissive, or insensitive.

My personal experience has been one of constant evolution. Like most young creators, I did not like being judged. Even if I though my work was good (this was rarely the case) I did not enjoy exposing myself to criticism. We are told to develop “thick skin” in these moments, but often, as artists, our sensitivity is the antithesis of this approach. It took me many years to build the confidence to share my photos with the world. Years ago, I started a Tumblr to share my photos, but I did it under an anonymous name. It was far easier to share when no one knows who you really are. Slowly, I shared the work with friends I could trust. And eventually, I developed the courage to post my work under my own name. It wasn’t until a bit more than six years ago that I built this website, where I could have a permanent home for my work, under the url with my own name.

The steps to submit work to exhibitions and publications came slowly, but with those attempts, came some needed validation for my work. And when I took the steps to self-publish, I was truly committing to my own vision with confidence. The fact that I now write entries like this on a weekly basis is evidence to myself that I’ve come so far. And the root of all of this is vulnerability. I somehow am able to muster the courage to put my thoughts and my images out into the world, knowing there will be some who will be dismissive or judge me harshly. But there are also a few people who this work resonates with… I know because you’ve reached out from time to time. I am grateful for that. And I value the opportunity to share my thoughts and my vision with the world in a place of quiet confidence. It’s been an ongoing process, but one I am proud of.

2020: 2 (Mitch Epstein: Sunshine Hotel)

As I’ve mentioned in the past on this blog, I see it as a blessing and a curse that I live within an hour’s drive of the photo bookstore Photo-Eye in Santa Fe. It is a treat to be able to peruse their excellent collection of books. They have an outstanding selection, with many rare, out-of-print volumes on the shelves, next to the latest releases. There are a number of photo books I’ve had on my “wishlist” and of course, Photo-Eye had one that I would end up taking home with me.

I was glad to find a copy of the latest release by German printer-extraordinaire Steidl, the monograph entitled “Sunshine Hotel” by photographer, Mitch Epstein. As is the case with almost all of the books printed by Gerhardt Steidl, this hardcover book is gorgeous. The image quality is first-rate, the binding is stout and immaculate, the cover an intense red and white. One of the benefits of buying from Photo-Eye as opposed to Amazon is that not only can you actually hold the book, skim through the pages and really appreciate the quality, but also they happen to carry signed copies of books. This makes the purchase extra special and obviously, extra-collectable.

For those of you unfamiliar with Mitch Epstein or his work, he is of a generation of American photographers who worked almost exclusively in color, starting in the 1970s. At the time, color photography was not taken seriously in fine art circles, and it was only through the work of Epstein, Stephen Shore, Joel Meyorwitz and of course, William Eggleston, that color photos gained wider critical acceptance. It is somewhat curious that Epstein’s work has not gotten the same kind of attention as that of Eggleston or Shore, in particular. In my opinion, it is as strong and as important as those other lauded photographers. This book might go a long way to move Epstein to the forefront in the minds of the admittedly niche audience that I happen to be part of.

There is something so “American” about this book. Starting with the title, which I interpret as a metaphor for the Unites States itself. A place of escape, a place of hope, a place to aspire to, but also a place of temporality, of false surfaces, of pain, of winning and losing at the game of capitalism, as a place of fear, of hatred, of loneliness and sadness. These photos convey every side of the “American Dream.” The lonely roads that Robert Frank explored 50 years before, now windswept and covered in blowing snow when captured by Epstein. Our great monuments to democracy, now hidden or protected behind anti-terrorism barricades. Decay, debris, remnants of brutal natural disasters, all shown in subtle, tactful framing and realistic tones. The great experiment of the American experience is seen on these pages, in all its glory and folly. Peppered throughout are images that show us not only how we used to live, but also how we live today. The fashion may change, but the looks on the faces remain the same.

The book opens and closes with photographs taken on the Standing Rock Sioux Reservation. I think this is fitting, as all the work in-between was created on land that our forefathers took from the indigenous tribes, through a variety of dubious means. Does this make “Sunshine Hotel” a political book? One may think so. In larger sense, how can any creative statement at this time not bear some subtle political stance to it? At the same time, I think of Epstein as a documentarian, first and foremost. Of course, he is also an artist, one of great depth. His images are made to ponder individually, assessing the lives of those shown, the story behind the places. But also, in a grander way, it is an exploration of what our nation looks like, reflected in the mirror that is Mitch Epstein’s camera. I highly recommend spending time at the Sunshine Hotel, where you can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.

2020: 1 (My First Camera)

Proust had his madeleine. I had a Pentax K1000. My first camera, when I was a freshman in high school. An all manual film camera. The small battery only supplied juice for a simple light meter. The needle would move as the shutter speed or aperture got changed. When the needle was in the middle of the + and -, it meant that the exposure was correct. Snap the shutter. A satisfying, mechanical “clunk.” Manually advance the film, with a slightly tensioned advance lever. Ready for the next picture. 24, maybe 36 exposures. Then, the wait. The film, manually rewound into it’s canister, needed to be developed. Black and white… I would do myself. Color needed to be dropped off at the pharmacy or supermarket that had a one-hour photo lab. Then, finally, the results. Did my shots come out at all? Did they look as I imagined they would? There was magic in every step of the process. That magic is still something I get from photography.

I don’t remember when I got rid of that old K1000, but I do remember I had upgraded to a Nikon FM2. I believed at the time that the Nikon made me a more “serious” photographer. That was many years ago. I have had many cameras since then, many different formats, both film and digital. But deep down inside, I always longed to hold a K1000 in my hands again. Yes, with the advent of Ebay, that desire could have been easily satisfied, for an inflated price, of course. I never could justify buying one in that manner, for whatever reason. So it was a great surprise, under a randomly unrelated premise, that I found myself inside a Savers thrift store this week. I always make a point of checking out the electronics section at thrift stores, though I never find anything of worth. I’ve heard stories of people stumbling upon a used Leica at a ridiculously low price, but I suspect those are tall tales shared on various user forums and YouTube videos. This week however, I found it… a model of my first camera. This particular K1000 was covered in dust, the lenses smudged, the meter didn’t work, and it was attached to a crappy old, knock off brand flash unit. Price tag: $12. The firm advance worked, and the shutter fired… sounding accurate to my ears. I paid the low price, figuring it would be worth it, even as a paperweight.

I took it home, cleaned it thoroughly. The lens was fine, no scratches. I went to Walgreens and bought a new battery, hoping that was the reason the meter was not operating. I popped the battery in AND IT WORKED! I went out immediately and shot off a test roll of film and dropped it off at the local lab. The next day, I picked up that roll and it was all properly exposed and the images looked great. I can hardly contain my joy about finally finding this camera and using one again after all these years. It feels like those first days of discovery, decades ago. Like sinking your teeth into a delicious cookie you only ate as a child, the sensory memories come flooding back. Well worth a 12 dollar investment.

2019:52 (Turning A Page)

At the beginning of 2019, I made a list of things I wanted to accomplish in the coming year. Most folks make resolutions, but I realized that that was too firm of a demand on my own accountability. The word “goals” was much more palatable for me, and though some goals went unrealized, I was able to reach a few on my list. One of my goals is being fully realized with the writing of this specific post. 

I wanted to post to my blog, once a week, every week, for the entire year. I do see the degree of absurdity in maintaining a blog of any sort in the last year of this crazy decade. I cut my internet teeth in decades past, and was consumed by the great blogging crazy of the mid-aughts. But as the years flew by, and I began to take my photographic work more seriously (which included creating this website about five years ago) I realized the value of having a repository for my thoughts here, as opposed to succumbing completely to the whims of the social media platforms I detest but can’t seem to ignore or abandon completely.

Speaking of social media… I keep coming close to deleting my Facebook account, but I realize that it is the only way I stay connected with a certain number of important people in my life. I also admit that I would not be as culturally, politically, or social aware of broad trends if I was not on the privacy and soul sucking entity that is Facebook. However, with the demise of the Latent Image Collective, I had one less excuse to jump on the platform. Still, out of boredom, mostly, I still find myself scrolling through the virtual lives of people that I only virtually know, peppering my feed with “likes” or “loves.” I don’t know what the value is, really. I convince myself that it is a necessary evil, and that I need to be on Facebook in order to bring my creative work to as wide an audience as possible, including those rare but appreciated folks who opened their wallets to financial support my books and exhibits this past year. But I still drift away and back again, and I suspect that at some point I may take the drastic step of having my wife change my password so I can’t log in every freaking day. I also continue to wrestle with Instagram, but somehow rationalize it’s use because it is a photo-based platform. But the chasing of ‘likes” gets so tiring after a while, and I need to be able to see the value in my own work without the need of constant, external validation, most of which means nothing more than catching the eye of a few dozen scrollers. Resolution of this issue is TBD.

One of the benefits of a weekly posting on my blog has been that I can remember where my brain was at different points in the year. It was a nice exercise in pondering my work, my interests, my travel, my book purchases, my book publishing, my exhibitions, my health, my successes, my failures, my moments of joy, my moments of pain and sadness. There’s been plenty of all of it. Such is life. It also gives me a sense of achievement to know I was able to keep up this challenge for a full year… though some weeks were a struggle to come up with something relevant to share. Other weeks I felt like I was sharing too much of myself, but I wanted to take this exercise seriously. And I wanted to be honest, truthful, earnest when I posted. I fear the world lacks this kind of revealing of one’s real thoughts and feelings. The perfectly curated life on social media is damaging to our collective psyche, and I hope that some of ramblings here have shown someone (anyone) else that it’s ok to share your thoughts in this manner. Which leads me to yet another question. Who actually reads these posts of mine? I do see that there has been an uptick in traffic to my website via this blog, but I have no idea who you are, what you think, or even why you came to this site to begin with. I am grateful for any attention given to my photos and my words, but this exercise is still a selfish one, and I think regardless of who sets their eyes on it, I must continue to try to find a way to express myself. This blog will most likely continue into 2020… I’m not sure if it will be weekly, I’m not sure if it will be a quasi-diary, or what else it might entail.

I am happy to have had the opportunity to show my photos in several exhibitions this year. I am especially proud of sharing the walls at UNM with my four compatriots from the Tuesday Night Photobook Nerds hangout that happens every week at the High and Dry Brewery. The friendship and support I get from these gatherings have sustained me through some rocky moments over the past twelve months. I was also very proud of the “River, Ocean, Sea” exhibition that I shared with Fabio and Hean Kuan in the late summer here in Albuquerque. It was a fitting swansong for my time in the Latent Image Collective, and it was a true manifestation of the collaborative spirit that brought the group together in the first place. Lastly, my year was bookended by having my photos shown in Naples, Italy, at the Magazzini Fotografici. It was a dream of mine to have my work shown internationally, and it was so satisfying to have that dream realized.

The year is ending, and so is the decade. There has been so much tumult in the world, I can only hope that sanity and love can overcome the wave after wave of pain, hatred, war, division and death that seems to be in abundance lately. I am also aware that the world will continue on its path regardless of my input or concern, but that will not prevent me from trying to bring goodness, joy, love and art into it. I’ve embraced the existential aspects of my personality with gusto this year. I’ve experienced moments of transcendence, and also moments of extreme darkness. But I also learned lessons that will carry me forward, to enlighten my path, and to inspire me to keep creating. While I breathe, there is hope. 

Thank you for spending time with me here over the past twelve months.

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2019: 51 (Thank You)

Things are winding down, and the holidays are upon us. I am nearing the end of one full year of weekly blog posting, and realize that next week will be the big wrap up for the year (and the decade.) In the meantime, in no particular order, I’d like to thank a bunch of people, places and things that had a positive influence on my life and my work over the past twelve months.

Thank you Jesse. Thank you to my family. Thank you Tuesday Night Photobook Nerds: Justin, Brian, Dan, Roberto and Tyler. Thank you (and r.i.p.) Latent Image Collective: Karen, Fabio, Francesco, JM, Jeff, Connie, Shelly, Jola, Negar, Hean Kuan and Eden. Thank you Kent. Thank you Clarke. Thank you Magazzini Fotografici: Yvonne, Roberta, Valeria, and Rosella. Thank you Mauro. Thank you UNMH. Thank you Dr. Nir. Thank you Tom. Thank you Deborah. Thank you Fluoxotine. Thank you Lisinopril. Thank you CBD oil. Thank you Kristina. Thank you Luz. Thank you Adriene. Thank you pilates and yoga. Thank you YouTube. Thank you RK Venture: Richard, Dianne, Rachel, Becky, Mario, Mario, Lee, Nichole and Pablo. Thank you The Infirmary: Katy, Emily, Jill, Jenae, Hayden, Robb and Charles. Thank you Santa Fe Improv: Kita, Scott, Kirste, Rachel, Eric, John, Katrina, David, Pamela, Grace, Patrick, Adam, Evan, Michael, Brian, Benjamin and Gabe. Thank you Lindsay. Thank you Sean. Thank you Akash. Thank you Alice. Thank you Jeff. Thank you Cliff. Thank you Andy. Thank you Alan and Larry. Thank you Andrew and Stephanie. Thank you Yosh and Rebecca. Thank you Luciano. Thank you Gerhardt. Thank you Rocky. Thank you George. Thank you Matt. Thank you Sean. Thank you Dan. Thank you David. Thank you David and Nikelle. Thank you Phil.  Thank you A Small Voice. Thank you WTF. Thank you This American Life. Thank you A Candid Frame. Thank you Anthropocene Reviewed. Thank you B&H Photography podcast. Thank you Nick Cave. Thank you Big Thief. Thank you Netflix. Thank you Great British Baking Show. Thank you Silicon Valley. Thank you John Oliver. Thank you Magcloud. Thank you Adobe Lightroom. Thank you Spotify. Thank you Sirius XMU. Thank you Fellini. Thank you Japan. Thank you Kodak, Ilford and Fujifilm. Thank you Canon, Ricoh and Leica. Thank you Olympus Pen EE-S. Thank you Apple. Thank you Upslope Brewing. Thank you Dogfish Head. Thank you Marble Double White. Thank you rye, sake and eau de vie. Thank you Ruthie’s Bagels, and Zabar’s. Thank you pizza. Thank you Taco Tuesday. Thank you Roto Rooter. Thank you Just Sprinklers. Thank you Lyft. Thank you struffoli. Thank you Mary and Tito’s, Duran’s, Garcia’s, Farina, Thai 2, Golden Pride, Twisters, Jersey Mike’s, Ta Lin, Cafe Da Lat, Naruto Ramen, Freestyle Photo, Picture Perfect, Whole Foods, Jubilations, High and Dry, Humble Coffee. Goodbye Robert and Bob.

2019: 50 (Double Exposure)

Shooting film. I just can’t stop. I had a roll of black and white film that I had exposed during a series of drives up to Santa Fe earlier this autumn, and it had been sitting on my desk for at least a month since I finished it. In a moment of impulsive thinking, I decided that the photos on it were probably unremarkable. I though maybe I would throw caution to the wind and do a bit of double exposure experimentation. So I threw the exposed roll into my changing bag and pulled out the film leader tab, the resealed the roll into a new canister. All ready for another run through my Ricoh GR1. Since I was heading down to the bosque with my half-frame camera anyway, I decided a quick burst of a roll in the Ricoh was doable. No thinking, just shooting. Thankfully, I have a dependable local film lab that runs black and white film a couple of times a week. (Shout out to Picture Perfect.) So I didn’t have to wait long to see the results. I ended up doing the scanning myself, since I didn’t want to have the lab struggle with a lack of clearly defined image frames. Turns out my alignment wasn’t too far off, and the double exposures created some interesting looks. Nothing stupendous, but a fun exercise nonetheless. It can feel liberating to shoot a roll with such abandon. Knowing that things would most likely end up as a series of visual chaos can be a fun escape from the pressure and preciousness imparted on every shot I usually take. Plus there are moments of pure serendipity, where two images combine to create something completely new and unique. Might not be a regular approach for me, but every once in a while it will certainly shake things up for me.

2019: 49 (Observations)

I don’t know why, but it took me far too long to realize we are coming to the end of a decade. Ten years seems to have gone by so fast, as it does when you get older. Maybe when you’re younger, too? Once you slip from the bonds of the regimented seasonal / annual scheduling that school provides, and the ‘real world’ in all its shapes and forms throws you onto a treadmill… days, weeks, years seem to go by at a more rapid clip.

We’re at that time of year to reflect upon what has come, where we are, where we want to go. I’ve been dancing around these thoughts more deeply lately… I guess my existentialism is growing, fully developing into my modus operandi. I’ve been working on being present, feeling the here and now. The past is gone, the future is the future, all we have is now. All we ever have is now. Which feels at odds with my life as a photographer. I seize moments with our cameras, but what do they become? Tangible manifestations of past moments, memories caught in proverbial amber (or pixels, or grains of silver halide.) We gaze at our pasts through photos, equally as much as we do with actual memories. And what about the future? We plan, we prepare, we gird ourselves for an unknowable future, for me, with a camera in my hand. I plan trips to come. Locations to shoot. Projects to undertake and complete. Or not. Books to create. Photos to post. Website to update. Dreams to dream. Fantasies to entertain. Scenarios to imagine. Fears to avoid. Or face. Anxiety to dive deep into. Joys to find. Love to give, and to receive. What a mix we make in our minds. What a stew simmering in my own mind.

I know that over the next few weeks, when the holidays kick into overdrive, my melancholy will most likely shift to a more peaceful, middle ground, (a neutral gray) punctuated by moments of joy, of laughter. I know this to be true because even in my darkest moments, these gifts have somehow always arrived. Small bottles of hope that somehow wash up on the shore. This is a natural time of reflection, of course. A double whammy this year as we bid the “Teens” their farewell. 2020 is coming. The metaphor of perfect vision that looms on the horizon. What will I focus on? What will you? For me, this: It is today. It is now.