Billings Camera Club

I had the fantastic pleasure of being the judge for the Billings Camera Club last night and their most recent photo contest. Ross, a good friend and fantastic photographer asked me if I'd be the judge for the organization. And the theme,,,,doors. I'll tell you what, it was pretty awesome when I set that page of slides down on my lightbox and the glow of colors just lit up my face and filled my eyes! After the judging I gave my own presentation on some of my work and it was quite fun answering questions. Thanks again Ross and Club for having me :)

Southern Weddings Magazine

I know, I know, I've been gone too long, but I really do have some dang-good excuses, and I'll post them soon,,,just as soon as I come up with them :)
In the meantime, I just wanted to express how happy I was today when my friends at the Ups store handed over my daily goods.
I received my copy of the premier issue of Southern Weddings Magazine and I pretty much stopped everything I was doing to ooh and ahh through all the beautiful images and articles! Lara Casey and crew know how to do it up right!
Congratulations to my friend Jose Villa for gracing the cover with the Tennessee wedding of Chelsea and Tec ~ one of my favorite weddings of his.
Also, a congrats to my friend Jeremy Harwell for his images of Katy and Seth's wedding also getting published. So much talent you guys!
Oh, how I wish I could shoot in the south, the light there seems to be just magical!

A letter to me

NOTE: THIS POST, WHICH HAS BEEN WRITTEN OVER TIME AND WHICH WILL CONTINUE IN PARTS, HAS BEEN ESPECIALLY HARD TO WRITE AND WHILE I THOUGHT OF NOT EVER SHARING IT, I NOW THINK IT MAY HELP ME, BY OPENLY EXPRESSING IT. IT IS ABOUT A LETTER I RECEIVED A YEAR AGO.


The letter

It starts simply,,, with two words,,, "Hey babe," and just like that, I'm a train-wreck. I sit sobbing uncontrollably and I drop the letter to the table in front of me. My balance loses me and I push myself back on the couch. I press my palms hard into my face and eyes and yet I can't stop the tears from flowing. The smell of crying is in my nose and it burns and suffocates me. I will have to wait hours before I can pick it up again and try to continue. How simple the words, yet how powerful, how wonderful.

It was just over a year ago that I received this letter. It has been with me for all that time and yet tonight I have only opened it to read. For the last week it has been sitting, slightly hidden, next to that girl with a pearl earing,,,,it seems safe there. It has been an especially thought consuming and cautious journey to this night and already I am having the difficulties I had hoped I wouldn't. In trying to find the right place and time, I have taken this letter with me everywhere. On road trips to nowhere I have stowed it, hoping that when I got there, wherever that was, I'd be able to peel it open and read it. It's been with me to bars, hotels, and even some of my weddings. I've carried it hoping I would find that right moment in the right place where the strength would present itself to open it without complications. Alone, at first I thought, would be best, then no,,,,it should be best carried out in the presence of so many people I don't know that I would have to control myself. I would, in front of so many strangers, act as if I didn't care, and I would fool the letter, and it couldn't betray me. Yeah, well that never happened either. It has become a part of me and I of it. But, now at this point in my life I must take it in my hand and read it so that I can continue on. Without regrets and questions and for those who are especially close with me, including my love, I must put this at point. It is not fair that I hold all my attention here and not where it needs to be.

I sit staring down at the beautiful handscript written across 4 pages of heavy thick paper and I try to focus and begin again. I follow with my fingers the edge of the paper and try to steady my breathing, to sort my thoughts. It takes me a while and a deep breath. When I start again I only make it a few paragraphs before setting it down. This is going to be much harder than ever I thought.

I can see her standing there, in front of me, the author of this letter. Her dark hair curling down around her face, past her dimples and the corners of her mouth, and I can feel the warmth in her dark brown eyes as she closes the door behind her to the snow flying about just outside. She's just getting home from work; she smiles as she pulls off her coat and her cheeks are pink from the cold, and I can smell her. The light scent of Sunflowers, her favorite perfume, mixed with the cold air she's brought in with her. You know the smell of your love ~ the smell of their skin. I could smell her when I read those two words.

It was over thirteen years ago that I fell deeply in love with her. Not my first love, but my first true love. A love that takes you away from yourself.
And now, I have this great task at hand, and to pursue a thought of anything else, at this very moment, seems absurd to me. I will finish this tonight, through great anxiety or not. I continue down each line and with each word, a slight whisper of her voice comes over my own. Towards the bottom narrows of the first page, where her writing seems to get smaller, I feel her breath on my ears and I frighten myself when I briefly imagine her touching my arm. Ok,, Ok,, Ok,, Ok,, I repeat. I'm too emotional for this right now, way too fuckin' emotional. I set it down and wait for another hour. I go to bed and try to gather myself.


a continuation of this soon...

Funk 101

The Remedy: get something inspirational in your hands, that is, if you can't get out and shoot. I had all weekend to shoot. I didn't. I'm funkin' big time. I'm just not feelin' it. Ok, it wasn't just the html keeping me in.

I spent the entire weekend bringing myself down. I worry and agonize. I hate when that happens. So, tonight I pulled out up my "rescue-me-from-myself" book. I pour myself into the pages. I study each image and I marvel. I dream of being there. Houses with peeling and cracked paint. Broken doors and empty porches with empty swings. Dried summer grasses moving in the breeze and tangled weeds trapping my footing. Except for the evening crickets I hear nothing, not a sound, not a thought. I sit down and watch the old house lean farther. I fall back and stare up at the heavens. My breathing softens and I fall asleep no longer worried.

Dear Morgan,,,,

Today I picked up the postcards for your class. Montana and Wyoming are on their way :)

In my hands at the moment

I absolutley love the work of photographer Kaylynn Deveney. She is amazing. Go and take a look.