Posts in photography
Skipping stones

We wander in fresh air where all you can see, all around you, is pure green. We stop time with rosy cheeks and sunbeams. "To invent your own life's meaning is not easy, but it's allowed, and I think you'll be happier for the trouble." —Bill Watterson

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tickle trunk

Everything came out, stuff I've been collecting for years. Not one boa but two. Not one gypsy skirt but two. A soft pink 1980s prom dress. A witch hat. A woodland fairy, a hippie, a go-go girl. A disco-dancing alien witch. A woodland-fairy flapper. They dress up all day long, emerging from the exploded trunk to the fire pit for a parade on every costume change.

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maybes and fortunes and books on the way

These are strange and excellent days, veering wildly from one to the other. I don't know that there's room for anyone. I don't know that there is anyone, that apparently rare composite of not-dull and not-crazy. Which is sad, maybe? I can't decide. Live by yourself long enough—especially when you work from home—and autonomous luxury bleeds into odd habits and self-isolation.

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next you're dazzled by the beauty of it all

Teaching teaches me, though to call it 'teaching' isn't quite right. But maybe it is. I always start off heavy, with a cast-iron pot of the required stuff of aperture and directional light and focusing modes. I begin as a school marm, a hardass, because I still believe inspiration is rootless without the language to self-diagnose. Then we play, and I sprint from one shoot to another and it's exclamation marks all over the place, and that's when they teach me.

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race week love

This one was a huddle of friendship. Tuxes and chiffon, everybody hugging. Always a circle, symmetry, laughter. People who've counted on each other, and they marked it through the day and night, remembering how it feels to stand together when things fall apart. And in little moments with Proescco, coral suede, dark shades, and deep breaths. 

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