I don’t even know where to start.
I guess it all began on Monday, when I was on the bus back upstate, on a train of thought that didn’t have a destination until it jumped the track and threw the answer right in my face.
I shoot solitude, I photograph bliss, and I expose rage.
While there are a myriad of other factors, these are the three raw feelings that I come back to again, and again.
Solitude is easy. when I’m immersed in my own thoughts, I tend to photograph constructs of metal, stone, and glass. These edifices, standing alone as individuals amongst thousands of others embody my love for independence and my silence as a member of a chaotic cloud of millions of people. Planes, lines, and curves intertwine to create an orchestra of shades.
Next is bliss. Oh, how I love bliss. When I photograph bliss, it comes swiftly and fluidly, like a golden nectar poured from a crystalline carafe. I don’t think twice about burning through rolls of film to try and steal as much of this rarified concoction as I can. I keep these moments sleeved in plastic, where they wait for my loupe to hover over them as I decide which one to open that day.
Then, there is rage. I want these photographs to speak violently about their upbringing through metal blades, silver shards, and glass eyes. The grain erodes any recognizable face or personality like coarse sandpaper. These are the photographs that I make in blinding sunlight, or within the confines of the deepest hours of the night. Shadows are bottomless pools of blackness, and highlights lose their definition, becoming bleached like abandoned bones in the middle of a silver desert.
I determine the fate of my photographs’ emotions.
We’ll see what this week’s film has to say.