just to start

I haven’t really decided yet what to say here. What is appropriate or what isn’t, how vulnerable or professional or guarded or myself to be. I know that I want to be successful, and that I have a deep drive to write and just write. To capture memory and laughter and the feeling of a person’s fingers on my face and hot wind in my eyes and and and. It’s a constant and ever-increasing needy feeling and I don’t know where to put it. So I guess I will place it here and maybe a person will pick it up and understand and commiserate or maybe it will be ignored. Just fine. I want to be a photographer, not a blogger or whatever this is, but still I need to do it. Do this. My fingers will just continue to do it.

There is a story trapped at the tip of my tongue and I want to see it in image. But I can’t. Yet.

I think that’s always been a goal in my photography, the real reason for it. There is something in the way that you are, the sun on your shoulder and crinkles around your eyes that make me, the viewer, want to laugh and cry and sing and capture the feeling. Again and again. I think that is the reason for art. I am still learning to make it.

I’m not sure what I’m doing now. I just want to write. But then I realize that so much of my writing is developed through voice notes, recording and memory of myself, thinking out loud. I want to speak, to say something. To tell the story that matters or doesn’t matter. The story that is representative.

I suppose this is just my diary, then. The diary of a photographer developing a business and within that business, a voice. I am still learning who I am, who I want to be. I feel so behind my peers, at twenty-eight, but I think I’ve reached a point where that kind of race simply cannot matter. I have to find right things within myself. There is no other option now.

I hope you choose to follow along with my experiences as written here. I’m not sure yet where it will end. I kind of hope it never does.