More photographs from the archives, these from around 2007. Almost six years ago, my god.
I had the most wonderful rock and mineral collection when I was a child. My uncle became a geologist, and somehow, out of all children in our vast vast family, his collection from childhood made its way into my hands. A dusty cigar box full of specimens collected since the 60s. With it my parents gifted me with a beautiful field guide, and to this day, I love perusing the field guides in bookstores, flipping the pages near my face and breathing the smell in deeply. I wonder what it is about the paper that they use that smells completely unique. Whenever we passed by rock shops, my parents would stop so that I could add new rocks to the box. I remember stopping at a shop in Hatch, Utah, where an old bearded man with a round belly (my mind may or may not be implying the suspenders I see), who was hardly moved when we excitedly told him our last name, stood indifferently behind the counter. When I was a teenager, I decided that I was too cool for my rock collection, along with the extensive postcard and decorative spoon collection that were accumulated through my dad's world travels. Oh, those horrid lost years when we decide that we're everything but ourselves.
These beautiful specimens are housed in the Harvard Natural History Museum.
I've been scouring previously scanned film for lost frames to share since I'm not able to produce new film lately. Money can be a good thing sometimes. Especially when it is expendable.
I've been considering lately how I must come across here in these spaces. My love of the esoteric, and my preference for minimal, black designs for my online spaces may lend the impression that I am a much darker individual than I am. I fear that much of my work which actually explores and expresses ascendant spiritual themes is seen as frightening or macabre.
There are so many incredible artists out there that take phenomenal photographs of beautiful women, often in beautiful outdoor spaces; perusing Flickr nearly inundates you with such talent. I've wanted to steer clear of this for some time, for the sake of not clogging the feed, and so there has been quite a shift from my first New Myths series to now. There are enough people idealizing the female image, artists and otherwise. I always fear crossing into either the territory of a Lars Von Trier film where all women are tragically innocent, the enduring Virgin Marys, or the opposite territory, the enduring Salomes.
There has been an explosion over the past couple of years of gorgeous images that capture the magic, mystical, prismatic nature of our world; some of my closest friends are and have been the remarkable catalysts of this. They awaken my heart, and they should never stop. They express what I feel within and what I see without. It is yet another theme I become wary of sharing in effort of not crowding the stage that they have built, that they deserve to inhabit.
Here, in this space, it is my intention to share the stuttering speech of my multitudinous selves. All of my artwork, all of the text that draws my attention. But I fear that I have been favoring some selves more than others here. If there has been an emphasis on death and darkness here, it is in effort of catharsis. The body held underwater for the sake of legitimate baptism.
So in effort of showing some light and color around this space, here are two images that I have hung onto for over a year for fear of them being too unabashedly beautiful. Not because of any skills I may have as a photographer, but because of the stunning landscape. The top one was taken in the same landscape as this, in a very different season.