Perpetual Motion

2:03 am. I was just in the bathroom and could hear the sounds of a girl crying from down the hall... they build the walls thin here. I wonder what made her weep. I also wonder if maybe I just imagined it.

I thought I would put up some pictures from a few weeks back. They were from one of the days that it really hit me how quickly things would change... I've been expected a change for myself for some time now- a new town, a new path.. but it was realizing that everyone else's life is changing too that really shook my brain. Everything is changing. so fast.. too fast. and maybe at the same time, not fast enough.
I've had this feeling of standing on the edge of the cliff, with my toes curled around the very edge of the rock... and I can feel myself start to lean forward. Before long I'll be plummeting into the ocean below.. or whatever is down there. And I think for now, I just started to lean past the edge.
Something I want more than I can describe- a place that feels like home. a place that i can have "roots." I feel like I'm at a point in my youth where I need to move.. I'm stuck in perpetual motion. My growth and wander tosses me from one place to another, and for now, that's ok.. but someday, I hope to the powers of the universe that I can find a place to really take root. Maybe it doesn't exist. I'm hoping it does.






thank the universe for beautiful women. I have been surrounded by such beautiful women in my life.




And last but not least... does anyone else find the size of the truck to the size of the house ratio absurd? Amurica.

A Step Towards Dawn

I took some promo photographs for a band in Athens called A Step Towards Dawn... We ran around alleys for about an hour, so it was a quick shoot.. I'm really looking forward to doing more music oriented photography in the future.

Recent photos and The blessing of human connection.

some pictures from a family that I've been working with recently, the Vincents. The mother, Sherry, has been out of work and struggling since her husband left the family 3 years ago... Cheyenne, her 10-year-old-daughter, has childhood depression.. Ciara, her 7-year-old daughter has ADHD. Sherry works without pay at the local family center in order to get assistance for the home: food stamps, HUD, clothing, and most of all support. Taking care of the girls is a full time job... It is with any parent, especially one trying to fill both parental rolls. I've only been able to photograph them twice, but I feel like I've already gotten so close to the girls. They're so beautiful in such strange ways..

“I want to give my girls more, but a lot of the time there’s just nothing more to give.”

It's a blessing to be allowed into people's lives.. Sometimes it's even hard to comprehend just how beautiful it is. As photographers, we owe so much to our "subjects," the people that are willing to share themselves with us.. There is so much responsibility to do their stories and lives justice.. respect, love for another, openness in return... I feel like we owe that to other human beings in general, but it just becomes something so much more when we have a camera. The act of taking a picture is aggressive in nature- to TAKE a picture. to CAPTURE a moment. It's like you are borrowing a moment from someone else's life and preserving it- YOU are deciding which moment of THEIR life to do it with... It's just crazy in so many ways and carries a weight. Just think about how intertwined our lives truly are ("each breathe is recycled from someone else's lungs" - andi difranco) and in thinking of that, how much of the lives of others that you're capturing with a camera become your own. Think about it. I'm thinking about it a lot myself...

That also brings up this thought- If you are not balanced and open-hearted, can you truly go into a situation and be there, i mean really BE THERE in that moment and no where else, feel that moment, understand that moment, see that moment and share that moment in someone else's life if you are not truly in touch with your own being? I have more thoughts on these things, but shit... It's 1:23 am and i'm running on barely any sleep and 9 cups of coffee. So, sleep for now, more thoughts later.

Mrs. Bob Evans

I worked with Southeast Ohio Magazine a few weeks ago, on a story about the Bob Evans' legacy- Mrs. Evans, (Jewell), lives alone since Bob passed away one year ago. Photographically I was only allowed a few minutes, but she and I chatted for a few hours and even went out to get Mexican with her son. On the ride home, I had to laugh out loud, feeling happily surprised and lightened. That's one of the things about photography that keeps me holding onto it... The unpredictable, lovely encounters you can have that turn complete strangers into friends... It's like this key- an open door to exploring the beautiful lives of others and thus yourself. I feel like I'm cheating the system almost, by being able to see and explore so much beauty.

I can't stop smiling just thinking about it.

All is full of love.

I think this spring I'm going to devote a lot of energy to working on some portraiture ideas I've had brewing... The thought gets me so excited... I just want to shoot beautiful, surreal portraits... yeah. just wait. good things are on their way.

erica

A rush of blood to the head- physical being.

A few weeks ago, I was in an old house in Athens. The old house has sharp cupboard corners. I stood up quickly after stooping to pick up a stray dart. Splitting pain. Sit on floor. Head in hands. Warm blood drips down face. Stand up. Watch it drip.

I yelled for Peter who was upstairs, to doctor my head- to do anything, really. I didn't want to bleed all over the floor. I didn't want to bleed alone in the kitchen. But before I yelled, I had a moment... When the pain was more of a rush than a reality... My body felt warm and separated into physical body and the energy surrounding it. I watched my blood drip onto the white tile floor for a few moments.. I've never been bothered by seeing blood, but have never seen a lot of my own blood. I watched. I stared. I saw. The sensation of physical being overwhelmed. I realized that I let my mind disconnect from my body so often. I'm usually in a state of wandering-daydreaming-self-proclaimed-reality. I forget about my physical being. I forget how fragile the physical being is: its absolute essentiality.

Rush of pain. I feel. I shout.

December Song.

"A whisper into winter air
to make my December song
And hands that shake
And flushed pale skin
As sleepless cities moan

Warm breath caught in winter air
to make a December song
And dreamers dream of snow,
And you, you dream of home
As tired cities groan.."

Atlanta

Some pictures from the Atlanta Photojournalism seminar- friends and wanderings.

Les Ballons Rouges

sidewalk flight.