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I think about photography more than most people. This doesn’t make me special, everyone has their obsession. I’ve known people who obsess on music, birds, paint, sunsets, vacation spots, dating, medical problems, liberals, pencil leads, open houses, poetry, baseball and bowel movements… for every obsessive mind and personality type, there’s a subject ready to own property in the frontal cortex. Mine happens to be the dark arts of camera stuff. How we met is the chance of dice that start rolling when your parents meet.
The tendency is to pick off those thoughts, one-by-one, and treat them as individual articles. Not today. Today, my head is so full of random thoughts, I just need to get it out, unfiltered, un-packaged.
Confession: the majority of these thoughts came to me in an unnecessary four-and-a-half hour drive to the desert and back for a shoot that I mistakingly thought was today, but was in fact in a week from today. In many ways, this article is a last ditch effort to salvage pieces of a day I wrecked with my own incompetence. But is also the testament to photography’s role. Something that is there when literally nothing else is.
In no particular highway:
