number three, part one

number three off the list and I'll tell you, this camera feels good and right in my hands. this camera feels like home.

sundays (27/52-30/52)

27/52

28/52

29/52

30/52

sunday, july the 7th: sunday shift at lodekka (folks, it gets hot on that bus in july)

sunday, july the 14th: fresh-picked blueberries (not pictured: blueberry stained fingers)

sunday, july the 21st: homemade marionberry cobbler (first one!) plus ezra, ava and the moon

sunday, july the 30th: birthday party aftermath (the day after my girl turned thirteen)

(sundays sunday sundays)

california

today, on the greyest of days, the deepest and darkest, most blustery of days, when the sky turned dark around 4:30, I wanted to climb inside this photograph. and live for just a little bit.

street theatre

"at a time when staged narratives and rendered images are popular, I am excited by the fact that life itself offers situations far more strange and beautiful than anything I could set up. "

-melanie einzig

(a few parisian street shots that mean a little something to me)

YOU GUYS

I am totally nailing this nablopomo thing.

sundays (26/52)

sunday, june the 30th: bob and jen's sweet stove, succulent perfection, vacation cereal, backyard shenanigans, coffee before talkie, family portrait (kind of/sort of), treasure island flea (with lisa and lil f), best view of san francisco (best), an oakland bus named lola, a few small fleamarket finds, a little garden-tending/chicken coop-loving, an epic neighborhood concrete slide (which we flew down again and again and again), california pride, sunset in butchertown.

back story: end of june found us in san francisco for the teaching of my instant noun workshop and a little house-sitting for bob and jen in butchertown. spent the last of what was left in our sad little bank account on gas to get there and back. totally worth it. totally.

(if you're ever looking for a place to stay in san francisco, bob and jen have the best little room up for grabs on airbnb-- check it)

five senses friday

borrowed from my friend shari, who had the brilliant idea of documenting a week in this particular way:

seen:  bits of yellow in my hood, a mountain of clean laundry to fold, leaves scattered like starfish on the sidewalk

heard: the playing of records, the howling of wind, too many beard jokes

smelled: movie theatre popcorn, orange slices in my water, the insides of library books

tasted: avocado on toast, honey crisp apples, leftover halloween candy

felt: the weight of the yashica-d in my hands, the sinking of my body into the beautiful abyss that is The Big Green Couch

you?

if you believe in instant film

this is a photograph of ava, taken the day before she turned thirteen.



this is a photograph of a man named ray, taken as a train was passing in cairo, illinois.



this is a photograph of ava and ezra, at the edge of the columbia river in astoria, oregon.

each one of these was taken with a polaroid pack film land camera using the incomparable fuji FP-3000b film. which, sadly, fuji has decided to discontinue. this is no bueno, folks. no bueno at all. this is the film I took with me to kosovo, the film I used in my workshops, it's what I used to take portraits of the high school kids I met there, portraits I left with them to thank them for the time we spent together. this is the film I use in my middle school instant photography classes, the film they shoot with, the film they ooh and aah over as they peel those images apart. this film is a staple. it's the red beans and rice of the instant photography world. and so I won't let it go without a fight.

if you have a minute, please sign this petition to save fuji FP-3000b film. what will a petition do? I don't know. nothing, maybe. but it's something. there has to be something.

etch that sketch

writing everyday is hard.

sharing images is not. I mean, the making of photographs is not always easy but I tend to hoard my work. I shoot in great fits and starts and then stash it away. I am that squirrel with a mouth full of nuts. I am ready for winter. I build up the reserves and then tap into them when I'm ready to share. the work is there when I need it.

but writing. writing is hard. because I don't store up my words. I only really let them out when they're right there on the tip of my tongue, when there's no place else for them to go. more often than not, their timing is horrible. and then there's the process. writing feels like what drawing with an etch-a-sketch feels like-- backwards forwards sideways til the whole thing sings. even then, it's not completely right but the ideas are recognizable, the intentions are true, so you celebrate anyway. before you shake that thing and start all over again.

la vie en rose

(paris again)

sundays (23/52-25/52)

23/52

24/52

25/52

sunday, june the 9th: leftover macarons from laduree, his favorite summer shirt.

sunday, june the 16th: tiny french paper flag, father's day treasure hunt.

sunday, june the 23rd: dinner outside (finally), watermelon, so much watermelon.

(sundays sundays sundays)

(I've got a little catching up to do)

I am set free

I spent the better part of today measuring inadequacies. even with all the sunshine this afternoon, the walking in it and the feeling of it and the loving of it, I could not get past the measuring. I could not stop thinking about all the ways I do not measure up. how I continue to make the same parenting mistakes again and again, about all the people I have failed in my life, in one way or another. how it seems as if I am taking the same photographs over and over again, with the same cameras, over and over and over again, how my work feels as stagnant as the day is long. I thought about all the things I should be doing, could be doing, if I was just a little bit more ambitious, got up just a little bit earlier in the morning. worked a little harder, pushed a little harder. I could be better, I could do more, be more. more, always more. it's an endless pit, you know. this way of thinking. it never ends well.

at church tonight, I let the music flood over everything. I let grace cover me like a blanket. the love of God is not a magic trick, not a secret potion to consume to make it all go away but it quiets my mind when nothing else will, is bigger and brighter than a thousand suns. for this, I am thankful.

dear port townsend

everyone told me I'd love you. they were right.