Reflecting

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For years I walked around with a camera in my hand or my purse - usually a Pentax 35mm loaded with b&w film. At one point the light meter stopped working (while I was in Paris). 28 rolls later, I became very good at making informed guesses about the light. Every now and then the film wouldn't advance and the afternoon of swimming with friends in an Oregon river, or the portrait of the girl with a pipe and red boots, would be lost to memory. Discovering the images as the prints developed - looking at the scene anew, always a little amazed when everything came together just as I imagined - that is an experience that can't be replicated or replaced. Almost 10 years ago I bought my first digital camera and began the shift that eventually saw me donating six film cameras and a car full of darkroom equipment in order to travel more, and travel light.

My purse is now more likely to hold a laptop and a phone than a camera, though there are moments like this when I still reach for the ghost of that Pentax.

Reflecting

reflection_apr14_0050_sm2.jpg

For years I walked around with a camera in my hand or my purse - usually a Pentax 35mm loaded with b&w film. At one point the light meter stopped working (while I was in Paris). 28 rolls later, I became very good at making informed guesses about the light. Every now and then the film wouldn't advance and the afternoon of swimming with friends in an Oregon river, or the portrait of the girl with a pipe and red boots, would be lost to memory. Discovering the images as the prints developed - looking at the scene anew, always a little amazed when everything came together just as I imagined - that is an experience that can't be replicated or replaced. Almost 10 years ago I bought my first digital camera and began the shift that eventually saw me donating six film cameras and a car full of darkroom equipment in order to travel more, and travel light.

My purse is now more likely to hold a laptop and a phone than a camera, though there are moments like this when I still reach for the ghost of that Pentax.

The Comfort of Uncertainty

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Art and life are never static. Never the same from one moment to the next – this holds true for the way the window light illuminates my desk, the expression on a person’s face in an unguarded moment, and even the chaotic tangle of my curly hair. Much of my work is based on a desire to look behind the masks we create in order to show the world we are doing "just fine." I ask my subject to trust me enough to reveal a personal truth; to bring the best of themselves to the work in that moment.

Every image that is created is a new beginning – an object that didn’t previously exist. A record of an experience that is then shared with the world. A series of questions. I often create because the need is there, the energy is powerful - and can be dangerous if ignored for too long. Yet my work is completed by the viewer. The photograph continues to evolve and become something new for every person who interacts with it.

Jack Gilbert says, "...anything worth doing is worth doing badly." Creating anything with lasting meaning and impact requires risking the safety and comfort of knowing what will come next. My challenge is to continue picking up the camera, questioning everything I think I know, seeing the world again and again. And finally, allowing myself to be seen. Your challenge is to look.

"In the end it all comes down to this: you have a choice (or more accurately a rolling tangle of choices) between giving your work your best shot and risking that it will not make you happy, or not giving it your best shot -- and thereby guaranteeing that it will not make you happy. It becomes a choice between certainty and uncertainty. And curiously, uncertainty is the comforting choice." - Ted Orland and David Bayles, Art & Fear

The Comfort of Uncertainty

locked_7192.jpg

Art and life are never static. Never the same from one moment to the next – this holds true for the way the window light illuminates my desk, the expression on a person’s face in an unguarded moment, and even the chaotic tangle of my curly hair. Much of my work is based on a desire to look behind the masks we create in order to show the world we are doing "just fine." I ask my subject to trust me enough to reveal a personal truth; to bring the best of themselves to the work in that moment.

Every image that is created is a new beginning – an object that didn’t previously exist. A record of an experience that is then shared with the world. A series of questions. I often create because the need is there, the energy is powerful - and can be dangerous if ignored for too long. Yet my work is completed by the viewer. The photograph continues to evolve and become something new for every person who interacts with it.

Jack Gilbert says, "...anything worth doing is worth doing badly." Creating anything with lasting meaning and impact requires risking the safety and comfort of knowing what will come next. My challenge is to continue picking up the camera, questioning everything I think I know, seeing the world again and again. And finally, allowing myself to be seen. Your challenge is to look.

"In the end it all comes down to this: you have a choice (or more accurately a rolling tangle of choices) between giving your work your best shot and risking that it will not make you happy, or not giving it your best shot -- and thereby guaranteeing that it will not make you happy. It becomes a choice between certainty and uncertainty. And curiously, uncertainty is the comforting choice." - Ted Orland and David Bayles, Art & Fear