winter, fading.

So here I lay, in the snow covered hills
nake and pale
I whisper to you of my love you do not see,
with such delicate a breath
the sound may not reach your ears
until you are an old man
withered and grey
Because then you will see all that I was
and gently, all that I was not.


I'm starting to wrap up my time in Vermont- just three more days left. I'm ready, for ohio, for spring, for loved ones... Winter is starting to break here and spring is creeping its way in, but a few small snow flurries here today reminded me that it's not quite spring yet, and I'm still here. so be here. I'm starting to sort it all out- the photographs I've taken, the things I've written, the things I've learned, the things I've felt... So I think the next few posts are going to be catching up on some of the work that I've done in my time here and lessons learned. I'm not sure why sometimes I really love to post little personal writings with open-ended-pictures-without-people... I hope it's not too annoying or dull, and I'll try to post some more pictures with people in them. I swear I take them often.

lawrence jones, 1800's military band man


spring heart.

Driving up winding roads, hard dirt, deep ruts.
"Mud season" is on its way (so they say)
Fields covered in snow, cradled by these mountains,
dance and tangle with the sunflower fields in my mind.
A tender spring heart waits inside this pale winter flesh, ever patient.

I dreamt of a woman; her old oak soul, her sapling heart.
Gentle footsteps caressed the hills, and her breath,
a traveler's wind, moaning through the twisted roads;
As twilight's inky murk bleeds, so too her black hair grows long
into the shadows of crooked trees.

field notes: I was driving home the other evening and i heard these birds clamoring wildly from a field... as winter is just finally starting to melt here, I've been hearing a bird here and there, but hearing this really made my heart leap.. spring is just waiting at the door.


pieces of inspiration

These are a few things that I've come across recently that I thought I would share.

stunning, haunting beauty... by Vincent Moon:

The Escape (Chinese Requiem) from vincent moon / temporary areas on Vimeo.
(This one is reposted from Peter McCollough www.petermccollough.com/blog)

A newly rediscovered film of Bas Jan Ader:



hiding in the stairwell

Town meetings have been the big news happenings here recently- I never knew about this classic form of local government that still happens here in parts of New England until I started the internship. Interesting stuff. I'm going to share more pictures later but for now I just wanted to put up a few pictures of these girls.. even though I only photographed them for a couple of minutes, they really made me laugh and made being at a budget meeting so much more bearable- they are really sweet and awkward 8th grader who are best buds- they were forced to go to the meeting to sell snacks in order to raise funds for the 8th grade trip so instead of working they sat in the hallway and giggled loudly about boys outside the window. They were wearing almost identical outfits, and even their names rhyme; Chelsea and Kelsey. I love awkward young teenagers. maybe I should do a documentary on the awkward years? Blending in would probably be no problem.. I mean after all, I still get asked while photographing high school events what grade I'm in.


Golden memory.

It was a day in late July. Humidity hung thick and tired like the low necklines that clung to sweaty teenage collarbones. Heavy tangled hair flowed in messy rivers over red, peeling shoulders. Fields sprawled out for miles, hugging Ohio, loving their elderly tenders, forsaken by youth with better things to do. Rural teenage wasteland. The car rolled slowly out of the driveway, tires sinking in the melting tar, rolling, moving forward, nowhere to go but going. Late afternoon, the day’s last stifling, clammy sigh… I drove to where my mother had told me to go, just a few miles down the road, with my new camera in hand; it had been a birthday present for my 18th birthday and besides pushing the button I hadn’t a clue how it worked. Tires roll onto the flattened dirty grass on the side of the road. And there it was… acres of sunflowers, glowing brightly in the golden sunlight. I remember standing on the hood of my purple car, looking out over the land. The flowers were golden, the sunlight was golden, my heart was golden… I remember feeling like I could die right there and then, and I would die happy. For the perpetually anxious and fearful teenager that I was, it was one moment where I was quiet enough and open enough to feel the soul of the universe come rushing in, and be one with it all. I pushed the button a few times, hoping that I could remember that moment with a photograph.

Since then, I’ve pushed the button thousands of times. Maybe hundreds of thousands of times. And, to me, this is one of the most meaningful photographs that I’ve ever taken. It’s by no means a “good” photograph… No composition, no technique, the light is not utilized well… but it was a moment in my life that filled my heart so completely, that to look at the photograph and remember that is amazing. The picture has followed me everywhere that I’ve moved around to in the last few years- it’s a reminder of home, of love, of warmth, of youth, of that golden moment, and most of all why I keep pushing the button- for the love of life, to try to capture in some small way the beauty of that moment, the bittersweet tragic beauty of being human and being aware and being alive and being one moment closer to death, and what a miracle to be able to hold onto a moment visually, and if the universe happens to explode with enough life and connection at that moment and you can actually FEEL something while looking at the visual record of that moment… my god. Looking at this photograph makes me want to keep trying, hoping that eventually I will be able to tell a story of life, and of the beauty of being human, and make other people feel when they look at my photographs. Also, it always amazes me what we bring into a photograph- how the beauty we felt at that moment in time changes the way we see, and will continue to see that photograph… And it can be such a mystery how someone else will feel when they see that very same picture. It’s just amazing what our experiences bring into our perspectives.

Oh sweet memory.
Oh sweet sight.
Oh sweet desire to share beauty and human connection.

There’s an old saying; One man’s shitty picture of a sunflower field is another man’s golden treasure.


somewhere between now and sleep.
or sleep and dreams.
or is it in the mountains, the hills? the snow coated spring that hides deep inside?
or somewhere between the pale green and blue.
somewhere between october and now.
somewhere between the place on the back of your neck or was it your knee, or the back of your mouth, or maybe your heel...
somewhere between how i saw you that night, covered in blue, breathing fire, drowning in your drinking water, rising from the abyss.
somewhere between dreams.
somewhere between waking.
somewhere between.


blurry blues.

There is only one photographer scheduled for Sundays, and for this month I'm it.. I had to find two features before shooting a college hockey game at 2. So.. after a lot of ridiculously slow driving and gawking out the window at anything that moved, I decided to wander around White River Junction. There's something really charming about that town.. Slightly run down but with random bright colorful art and artist communities.. I started snapping some pictures, and they seemed blurry, but after working 12 hours yesterday and not getting enough sleep, I thought maybe I was just going crazy... I started taking pictures of a guy, andy, working on his truck in front of his bright blue house... blurry. blurrier. I start to get a headache looking through the camera and trying to focus it.. and then I look down at my 28 mm lens, and realize that it is broken, literally, and about to fall into two pieces. And this makes me very sad.

Sometimes I can really judge how I'm feeling by what lens I keep on my camera... It's almost always the 28. Especially when I'm feeling healthy, happy, courageous, and truly loving with the people around me. Most of the photographs that I've taken so far that I truly feel connected with, were taken in a situation as mentioned above, when I wasn't afraid to keep on the 28 and be within range of reaching out and touching the people in the pictures. I feel myself gravitating more toward the 50 when I'm feeling a bit shy... It's strange. Anyway... here's the progression of blur.

waaaaamp wamp.