The Scale.

Who are you to scoff? Who are you to tell what others should and shouldn't do?  Images sometimes can shed a beam of light on the actual scale of how fragile we really are. From a young age I have been extremely fascinated by the landscape of this world. From Petra, to the rolling hills of Gettysburg, to the cedars of Lebanon and the rocky coast of the Pacific, my heart screams out for more, for it is not filled. Will the Heavens be more grand than this? Oh, sisters and brothers, how small we really are, and how we walk with sharp teeth cutting into each other. Blood has been spilled for our lives, mountains will crumble, and new lands will continue to form, for remember this: Death raps his white boney knuckles on every man's door despite palace or hut. If you are a photographer, then pause and look at this world.  If not, then breath deep for your time is just shadows and dust.

BLEE.

BLEO, BLEE, The hue. Color is daily. It saturates our retinas, bleeds into our birthdays and allows us to scoff at it when splattered across the canvass. It races in red and breathes free in white. Everyday we pass it, wear it, hope for it, and, without realizing it, look through the those striking hues upon the world. Today, find the color, the saturation of something and gaze upon its depth. For you may just find yourself in question upon it as was Rothko.

The Survivor

I had been in San Francisco around 2003 - eager and wanting to know more about this medium; about photographing the human condition. During this period I once again flocked to the depths of the library in pursuit of images that would lead my eye towards light; technique and the understanding of why. Why was this medium of capturing life so important and intriguing to my very own vision? During my quest, I found images from various photographers who had captured Romanian orphans - chained to their piss-soaked bed frames, undernourished and on the verge of death. These photographs had a profound impact on my mental state. For days I wandered throughout the city thinking of these children and how powerful images were. I needed to find these corners of the world myself. 2011 was an odd time. I had walked down many roads after I had stumbled across these images of those 1980's orphans in the Eastern Block theater. There were many times of witnessing certain areas of the Middle East and Africa that would act as triggers to images in my own experience.  During that same year, I was asked if I would photograph a young man in his early twenties. He was a musician - a very talented one who was adopted into a family from America. He was of Romanian Gypsy decent. He was orphaned and had survived. I had the privilege of doing his portraits for his own musical pursuits. As I photographed him I thought back to those images I had seen. They were very dark; hellish even. Yet light had pushed in and this boy was saved; he was a survivor. After my work was done. we drove around the country and I captured this image of him; him in a traditional hata. He is Calin Matei. I write this post even though the stories are from times past, they are stories that must not hide in the drawer. They are the testimony, the testimony of survivors.

The Rails

The Rails. The industrial dragon of our time. Spotted with rustic cancer and color it chugs across our painted lands connecting us and our hearts towards new beginnings, towards new horizons. Yet, though the day be a dark gloom, light will come and unite us once again, riding the rails with difference yet kindred hearts through and through. Ye old glory with her blue, blood and stars, may be led to sleep but the flame of freedom will continue to whistle John Henry through and through.

THE SEA.

The End Of The Line.

West. Will war ever touch this land? Or will our empires battle across the great seas and into the East protect this vast western landscape? The end of the line.  It can't get any more west until it hits east. The daily life of people on the coast of Oregon, the sweet, sweet smell of the salty air. The everyday of people living in the great American Frontier. Has the frontier vanished? Or will it remain and continue to be a place of beauty and desire? Cannon Beach, Oregon, 2012

It was a wedding day. Morning and crisp to the touch. The men toasted a few tumblers and walked the blocks. A stroll to the church. There, behind the men who just toasted, was life in another theater. Portland, OR, 2012