05.11.15: Asphyxia

It is a harsh moment in time when you realize that nothing in life is certain. Everything can be lost; everything is breakable: the sturdiest of buildings, the most courageous of personalities, and the most loyal of bonds. I watch us all--all things wither. The beloved Republican proclamation of equal opportunity is nearly as laughable as "what doesn't kill us makes us stronger." This may be true, for a time. Until, the clock's hand strikes the wrong mind's chord. And, instead of strength we gain bitterness, apathy, and lost hope for all things benevolent. Our bones weaken, and our eyes darken. We become lost souls in a world that is so disposed to overly-auspicious proverbs. "Everything will be better in the end," "don't give up," "the sun rises after the darkest storm." How much optimism can we really feed ourselves when the world is spilling over with war, starvation, disease, and inequality? Are we force-fed these maxims in order to hide from the real truth? That never, will there ever be even a second that passes in this universe without villainy. 

As humans we are both patrons and observers. I watch as we wither, as the world spirals into mayhem. Yet--we still pretend that everything will be ok. Why?

Everywhere around me I see life for what it really is: spontaneous, unrelenting forces of nature which produce outcomes of no true meaning or sense. No, we are not the "rulers of our own destiny," we are but rulers of time. We can sit here all day and hope for the best, when hoping and praying will get us nowhere. We are only promised a short amount of time in this world, and death. Can we not just forget about optimism; can we not just remove these rosy-colored glasses and see this world, this universe as it is? 

Every second is lost; "we are dying all the time." "Everything that is made is broken." "We are all born to die." These are the true quotes, the ones without kindergarten censorship and flowery embellishments. These are the ones that should be truly motivating for us--to wake up realize that your most loved possession, partner, or place, will one day no longer exist. But it does now. 

Ilford Delta 400 // Canon AE-1

05.08.15: Cryptics

I'm experiencing some intense writers block as of late. All I have to report is that timing is never right in life--all good things happen inconveniently. And, that strangers hold the key to bring you back from dead. 

expired Agfa 200 // Canon AE-1 

03.11.15: Charlatan

I've been thinking a lot lately about art and why it's important. But no matter how deep I dig, I can't seem to find an answer that is satisfying. Even though, I feel like I had an answer at one point in my life--at one point in the distant past. The answer has become lost with the introduction of widespread narcissism and the ability to create 'profiles,' presenting ourselves only in ways we want to be perceived. 

Is art important merely as a process? Is it selfish? Do we create art to refine ourselves? Should we be happy...just creating art?

Or, is there always going to be some element of approval (from others) that drives creation? I would be interested to see just how many artists would continue, if their works had to remain anonymous. 

Does art even need to be seen at all? What would the world be like without access to the art of others? Would we all be forced to create art ourselves--to fulfill some sort of primal necessity? 

Mostly I'm unsure. 

These questions just bounce around in my head all day long. The more I age and begin to define myself as an artist, the more I struggle with what it all really means. Who can be defined as a true artist? And, what is true art?

I hate that I only ask the questions without answers, while the ones that do don't interest me. I guess I can look forward to a life full of uncertainty, but certainly not lacking in intrigue. 

Ilford Delta 400 // Kodak Portra 800 // Canon AE-1

03.03.15: Echo

"Her hard face was real, but also a mask."

03.02.15: Land of Lost Souls

Ektar 100 // Nikon N90s