​The curse of molecules

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I wonder if living further south would alleviate the symptoms. I profoundly hate this time of year and I‘m not even certain it has anything to do with the weather—as I write these words, the sun is shining as bright as it can possibly shine. But then I guess it’s the amount of it that counts. Can something as simple as a lack of melatonin seriously screw with our brains this way? Our thoughts so tightly bound to chemical compounds that we just stop moving without the right combination of molecules in our bloodstream?

I should work on ten thousand projects but I’m frozen. I should share something, somewhere, build and be productive and proactive and enthusiastic...show a bright, cheery and winning face to the world. But the very thought of pretending makes me sick to my stomach. I know how this all sounds, how privileged I am and how bloody ungrateful I must appear. Still, the air these days feels like carbonite. It happens and it’ll pass, I know; it always does. All hail the four seasons. But it scares the hell out of me each and every time.

I should probably also keep all of this to myself but meh...right now this seems way more relevant than posting on Instagram, waiting for likes to come in. And maybe in their own strange way these times are necessary. Maybe the depths allow for the highs.

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I spent the weekend reading Laura Wilson’s Avedon at Work, an account of the six year journey that resulted in the seminal In the American West exhibit at the Amon Carter Museum. It’s a quick read and an amazing book, recounting how the series came about but more importantly, the encounters and often poignant stories behind Avedon’s subjects. And yes the portraits were shot with an 8x10 camera, they were printed life-sized—which was a first for this sort of work at the time...but in the end, these are people against a roll of white seamless that’s been taped to a wall or a trailer or a truck. In the end it’s one camera, one lens and open shade. What matters is the humanity captured, in a moment. The right moment. One chosen moment out of many.

This is where we weave our tale.

I write this by a window, hoping for rays to stir my atoms. I do love the transformative powers of light...I guess it’s only fitting that it should guide my soul as much as my eye.

P.S Images shot with the X100F. Old friend...