I was making eggs on the stove tonight.
My family’s dog, Tahoe, always sits near the stove when I start making eggs.
She watches my every move and waits for a hand out. I’m easy and always give her a small piece or two.
Tonight I looked at her and said, “You know, Tahoe, you know nothing about these eggs; only that they taste good.”
Realizing what I had just said, I silently asked myself, “What else is there to know?”
Tahoe, Syracuse, New York, 2009
I’ve been making a conscious effort to better observe my day-to-day surroundings. I’m looking forward to seeing what the camera and I can make.
Bathroom Curtains, Syracuse, New York, 2009
Sometimes I’m not sure why I photograph what I photograph but I believe by doing so it leads me to a photograph I’m supposed to make.
Tahoe’s Biscuit, Syracuse, New York, 2009
I have recently started putting down my 4×5 and using my newly purchased 5D Mark II. I like many things about it and the transition has been much easier and welcoming than I expected. I’m relieved because it was initially a very expensive transition!
I’m sitting at JFK waiting for my flight to Syracuse. The picture below is what I looked like after motorcycling over 100km with George on dusty roads in Northern Uganda. It was taken on my second to last day in the North.
I often think about how day to day occurrences relate to photography.
Last night I was driving home from the studio around 11PM. All of the roads in Cushing are countryroads and I live on a dirt road myself. While coming around a turn at 45mph or so, I started along the straight away and saw a man standing in the road waving his arms to slowdown. I stopped my car, got out, and saw that a woman driving a 4×4 GMC Sierra had minutes prior literally barreled into a tree going 50-60mph. The entire front of her truck was compacted and she was trapped in the vehicle. Thankfully there was a sheriff there talking to the woman involved.
Although it was 11PM and the temperatures were in the teens, I decided to wait in the event help was needed. Two fire departments arrived minutes later with two ambulences. It was remarkable to see two departments work together with almost no words being exchanged. Everyone simply knew what to do, how to do it, and when to do it. The entire process was seamless.
It reminded me of a photograph I made of a good friend, Kelly. It was like the accident. We were comfortable enough with the situation that no words needed to be exchanged to make the photograph.
Kelly, Rockport Harbor, Maine, 2006
I have 4 or 5 books next to my bed that have been there so long they’re collecting dust. When I say “bed” I mean a piece of plywood that’s raised by 2×4s with a futon mattress for cushioning. There’s also a mosquito netting that engulfs the bed and protects it from spiders (literally enormous in size this fall) and other insects. But lately I have started to read Holdfast by
Sitting on a boulder whitewashed by western gulls, watching the sliding surf, I resolve to study holdfasts. What will we cling to, in the confusion of the tides? What structures of connection will hold us in place? How will we find an attachment to the natural world that makes us feel safe and fully alive, here, at the edge of the water?
I feel much like a holdfast these last few months in Maine. Over the course of 3 months I have been able to live rent-free in a trailer on the St. George River.
It’s worthwhile because it’s riverfront and free, but there’s no running water, no toilet, and no electric or oil heat. Thankfully there’s a woodstove next to my bed that pumps out so much heat once it gets going that I feel like I’m on a beach in Panama. However, when I come home from work and until the woodstove heats up, the trailer is essentially the same temperature that it is outside, and the forecast for Friday night is 19°F.
I feel a bit like a subject in Alec Soth’s Sleeping by the Mississippi.
Trailer, Cushing, Maine, 2008