This year, I hit the ground running. On January 1st, I felt nothing but optimism, and was bright eyed and bushy tailed: ready for work, ready for love, ready to keep pushing forward. And then, all of a sudden, my life took a major turn, and I found myself figuratively locked outside in my underpants in the snow. Which is, of course, sometimes just how it goes.
In February, Rebecca Solnit gave a reading at the 92nd Street Y that I was fortunate enough to attend. I got to hear a bit of this passage read aloud when she was introduced.
From A Field Guide to Getting Lost by Rebecca Solnit
"A happy love is a single story, a disintegrating one is two or more competing, conflicting versions, and a disintegrated one lies at your feet like a shattered mirror, each shard reflecting a different story, that it was wonderful, that it was terrible, if only this had, if only that hadn't. The stories don't fit back together, and it's the end of the stories, those devices we carry like shells and shields and blinkers and occasionally maps and compasses. The people close to you become mirrors and journals in which you record your history, the instruments that help you know yourself and remember yourself, and you do the same for them. When they vanish so does the use, the appreciation, the understanding of those small anecdotes, catchphrases, jokes: they become a book slammed shut or burnt. Though I came out of this house transformed, stronger and surer than I had been, and carrying with me more knowledge of myself, of men, of love, of deserts and wildernesses.
The stories shatter. Or you wear them out or leave them behind. Over time the story or the memory loses its power. Over time you become someone else. Only when the honey turns to dust are you free... Heartbreak is a little like falling in love, in the way it changes everything with a kind of incandescence, as though the beloved has stepped away and your gaze now rests with all the same intensity on all the items of the view that close-up person blocked."
Thursday, March 1, 2012
Monday, February 20, 2012
Friday, January 27, 2012
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Saturday, January 14, 2012
2012 - the year of the little red pickup truck
In June of last year, I saved up enough dough for the little red pickup truck of my dreams - a 1996 Toyota Tacoma. I bought her, and I thought she really needed a name, so I named her Harriet Ethel Truck. She is so mighty fine. (See actual picture below.)
I had to say farewell to my faithful old 1996 Toyota Tercel - it was very hard to say goodbye. But, I have always - since childhood - dreamed about having a space of my own to sleep in that I could also drive around in. Plus, my packed Tercel typically looked like this: a mountain of gear stuffed into a tiny 2 door car with a small, cleared out area on the driver's side. Usually with a tripod whacking me in the back of my head whenever I stopped. Whenever it rained, I still had to put up my tent - there was no way to lay down in the car without unpacking it. The added space really makes quite a difference.
Here is a self portrait of me and the White Beast at the end of a rural farm road back in 2008. Not gonna lie, I still miss my little white car.
So here is what happens now: I am in the process of figuring out how to build out the back of my truck so I can sleep comfortably in it. I am meeting with a carpenter friend this week or next to discuss the details. I plan on building a little bed on the right side with shelves underneath, a little table to work on, and a small area to lash my darkroom in so it doesn't go bumping around. Here is my non-architectural and probably very idealistic drawing:
One of my goals for the year is to spend at least 3 months on the road shooting.
It's gonna happen.
Here is to 2012.
And here is a little song for you to tap your feet to.
Friday, January 13, 2012
Mountaintop Dance Crew featuring DJ Hot Tub
Boone, North Carolina
September 2011
Throwback to summertime. Good people. Missing my bared feet.
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