Second homes

November 3, 2011 § Leave a comment

I was recently asked to submit photographs to Das Magazin on “my” New York. The raucous cacophony that I pass through like a tiny tornado whenever my travel schedule will allow me. The enormity that I navigate filled with its beauty, crazy, concrete angles and deep rumbling underbelly. I feel lucky to call it a home… albeit a second one…

R*U*N*A*W*A*Y

September 28, 2011 § 1 Comment

The flight from neighbourhood demons. I wrap myself in the cloak of anonymity and strike out into unfamiliar terrain, mountains of obscurity and nameless faces in a similar migration to my own.

I’ve been running for a long time… How about you? Veiled, probing questions over cheap cups of coffee. Sun-blasted truckstops in the middle of the Mojave punctuate the streaming barren landscape. I drive from the desert to the sea, across alpine ridges, high sierra lakes, passing all manner of lost souls along the way. Disappearing souls who don’t want to be found… Where being found denotes a return to a place they never wanted to be in the first place. Instead, the mask of the wandering stranger, observing from afar the things that make the lives of others: Salvation, intimacy, fear, doubt.

If you’re reading this, I’m still on the run.

California | USA

What it means

August 24, 2011 § 3 Comments

To be free.

I remember being young. Nosed pressed up against the glass. Breathing mist. Heart beating in earnest as I imagined the myriad of lives and adventures to be had beyond the twisted sycamore trees, past the monopoly houses of the burbs, track-suited moms with their porn star nails (it was the 90’s). I would feel my nose itch as the tears pushed through. “Please get me out of here”, I prayed. The tiles were cold beneath my thighs as I sat cross-legged on the floor, pushed as close against the outside as I could, eyes half-mast and dreaming. Time spent at my bedroom window.

My dreams were extrapolated fragments taken from Hollywood films, novels. Lives made fiction by their authors, ensnaring me nonetheless in their ideas of a world filled with long roads made for exploring and young men with a fire beneath their feet and questions in their hearts.

All road trips have a beginning and this is mine.

California, USA | July, 2011

Singularity

July 26, 2011 § Leave a comment

A singularity. Our personal universes, wholly consuming, vast beyond perception, revolutions performed around a single axis – I.

I am amazed at the haze, opaque nothingness that separates my world from yours. Thick like a forest fire. We stand parallel but unable to see what the other sees. Is that why photography never gets old? Is that why we write? A transference of thought and vision… A continuous and futile journey towards the mind and experiences of our parallel and eternally separate companions.

What if we stopped? Would I forget that there was another way to see the world? Would I feel like my own perspectives were less real? Temporal, fleeting as the mortal coil. Traversing our life spans, each wrapped in our own cloaks of smoky trials and tribulations, unable to cross over, reach out and touch the other.

Yosemite, CA

July | 2011

Interludes

July 20, 2011 § 1 Comment

Small spaces open up to me where a certain time and a certain few people make a brief interlude in my life. The beginning of this summer has been one such time. My glorious little household in New York has been scattered to the four winds – Barbara to Croatia, Talia back up the Russian River in California and I continue my search for answers to questions that I don’t understand, across oceans and continents. Adrienne stays in New York and laments our desertion. I make Barbara and Talia promise to return whenever I make my forays back into the city. Every great album needs interludes.

Last nights together in the city.

New York | July, 2011

Road trip journaling

July 20, 2011 § 1 Comment

Slide out of the city on those hot, sticky wheels. Grey ribbon of road and a blue sky so bright it seems white. Throw your head back and howl at the freedom of a horizon unencumbered. Marvel at the little things, the perfect mathematics of cumulus clouds and wheat. Bare your skin to the sun and be lost for a while in a place that doesn’t belong to you. Fall exhausted in a heap at the end.

FLASH

July 20, 2011 § Leave a comment

Objects in the night. Running feet. Rapid fire heartbeats.

Charlottesville, Virginia

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