Who You Should Hang Out With…

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Montana surprised me.  I went there to visit my cousin–who I’ve worshipped since I was a kid–she was the cousin who, when she was a cool teenager, was nice to my innocent elementary Self.  Of course, now that I’m in my 40’s–having crossed the bridge of coolness into the land of too old to know what is cool, my cousin still manages to wow me.  When I asked her if she could find me “Some old rusty stuff” to photograph, she delivers.  And she still gets excited when I come to visit.  I appreciate that.  People should get excited when you spend time with them.  If you hang out with people who don’t get excited when you’re with them, find some new people.  Raise the bar a little.

 

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Why I Press the Shutter…Why Certain Images Grill My Cheese

ImageWhat is it that makes someone me press the shutter?  What is it about that moment that makes a photographer–I sound so swanky when I refer to myself that way–say, “Now”?  As someone who got on WordPress to write, I take photos for the same reason I write.  I want to capture something.  I want to get it exactly like it was…a moment, a look, a conversation, an image.  

Above image-Little Cottonwood Canyon near Alta Ski Resort, Salt Lake City, Utah.  

This photo was my respite from an incredibly stressful funeral for my grandmother.  Even late into the fall, it still held surprises as we drove further up the canyon.  It was an escape. 

 

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Above image-a close-up of one of the oxygen tanks I used.  

Cart around an oxygen tank for 2.5 years and you might find yourself taking its picture too.  The oxygen, my regular companion–loathed and appreciated at the same time–was never something I saw in my future and never something I felt would ever be “normal” for me.  It would always be an awkward appendage.  This picture isn’t about irritation though.  When I took it this was about acceptance. 

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Above image-a dear friend, in a cemetery.

What draws me to this picture is the warmth despite the winter trees, the bare branches and the fact that 20 feet away were acres of headstones.  When photographing people I know, I am drawn to the idea of being able to capture “them.”  Writing is the same way for me. When I write about people I know, I want the reader to see them the way I do.  My friend S says “You always write me better than I am,” but that is how I see her.

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Above image-a ghost town jail in Western Montana.  This is where they would chain the prisoners to the floor.

The macro lens lets me see every grain of dirt in the floor, the scratches in the metal, and the grain in the wood.  In the same cell there was a small window that looked up on the hill where the prisoners’ hanging would take place.  When I look at this photo, I think of all the people that were attached to the metal and all the stories I don’t know.