Studio Paris, Quatre

Studio Paris, Trois

Studio Paris, Deux

From now on, my Friday nights are spent here... documenting a city night life I could never see otherwise.

Studio Paris, Un

Coming and Going on Easy Terms

I couldn't sleep and my mind was collapsing, my belly full of broken glass -- my two arms reaching out, my two legs twisted up. Everything rests on shifting plates, they say, and I can tell. The Earth's crust crumbling under my toes. It was just a ticking time bomb, they say, and I believe them. A timer went off, and my whole world exploded. And I'm up and off my feet, my limp body tossed into a vast, foreign territory. But that was yesterday, when I thought about a half slab of bacon in my refrigerator that I couldn't throw away and a pint of cherry ice cream in my freezer that I couldn't give away. I thought about calling, writing, and knocking on your door, and I never thought better of it. I had my nights of soft little sobs into floral-printed sheets, and I whispered for help, my pleas bouncing off of four white walls. I could fall into anyone's arms, pounding my fists against them for explanations. I just want to sit down at the kitchen table and watch pieces of my hair fall down around me, sticking to my bare thighs. I just want to make love to the same record on repeat and, then, I just want to sit down at the kitchen table and watch you standing, disarmed in the darkness, drinking an entire carton of orange juice. I just want to sop up the trauma, wring out the mop, and dump the mess down the drain. At night, when I unlocked my door and stepped inside, everything felt empty. The ceiling fan stirred the dust... kept particles from settling on an answer. And then the sun came out -- you convinced me it was because I was awake, alive, and beautiful as ever. Love your fellow man, slow and steady, do onto others, honesty policies, eat your vegetables, say your prayers, the sun will rise and then surely set. Hello and goodbye and hello, it's me -- you never forgot, and I never forgot.

Love is blindness, my grandma says, and she's right. You can't see anything in the dark.

Tsubo

I have been getting more and more assignments like this lately... Ryan of Tsubo (a salon located on the near west side). I have been in a bit of a photo funk lately in terms of making photos that really stick with me, but it's always refreshing to meet and photograph friendly creatives like myself, especially when their work spaces consist of soft light and potted plants.

This brings me to...

I updated my portfolio website with some new material, including some more editorial work that I've done for Time Out. The opening gallery is currently a collection of personal portraits... these along with the photographs in the Faraway (So Close) section are the images that really inspire me at the moment. Take some time to visit, and let me know what you think.

Waiting for the Sun

I've been hesitant to come here and write about anything personal, as is my typical nature. All of these photos come from some place not-so buried, and I have utilized this blog to house some pretty dense emotion. I take full responsibility for that. It is my purpose and my constant desire to externalize the internal, but for so many reasons, this blog seems both incredibly necessary (for me) and difficult to write.

I will say that on the inside, I am caught somewhere in between paralyzing heartbreak and overwhelming gratitude. On the outside, I have little choice but to persevere, occupy my hands and head, keep talking, smiling, avoiding hazardous material. Chicago has presented a multitude of personal challenges for me; the past three weeks have been the most challenging of a lifetime. I almost lost someone incredibly precious to me. What can I say? -- The world, and I, would not be the same. I cannot think of all the what-ifs without dissolving into an onslaught of tears and conflicting emotions.

I hadn't really stopped to consider the force of life... or the instance in which it can cease. Maybe it seems like we get to have a say in these sorts of affairs... but no matter the amount we take into our own hands, armored and bulletproof, some things are just out of our reach. For these reasons and more, it has been a challenge for me to look at my own life in the same fashion. My mind, for the month of April, has been racing, filled with perplexing thoughts that make my stomach tense up and my head ache in exhaustion.

The truth is, for the past ten months, I have lived in this city, and I haven't really known why. I've asked all of the cliche questions. For the past nine months, I have gotten up and gone to work downtown. I ride the train by myself and I listen to rock and roll music and I think about my day, my dreams, my family, my bank account, what I'm going to have for dinner. For the past six months I have been wildly, confusingly, and painfully in-love. No matter the repetitious drone of your life, love interrupts.

Loving someone is not enough to fix all the broken parts. I have confused this notion with believing that I am not enough. I hope that I was, that I am, that I will be. This is my nervous confession, sent out into cyberspace. I'm not sure what good it does.

I went to church service with Carrie. I'm not a deeply religious person, but the opportunity to go seemed like one I could not pass up in my current condition. The message of Easter seems to be that no matter the detriment, beautiful miracles are possible, and hope is worth it. So, I fill myself with hope leaving my apartment today. I hope for renewal and strength and the patience to endure the days that are filled with rain and darkness so that I can truly appreciate the sunshine when it finally comes.

And I hope this, of course, not only for myself.

Be strong, dear.

Life Is Very Long When You're Lonely

We All Feel Better in the Dark

Careful, Careful

I've never met your mother, but I hear she's lovely. Two generous hands to scoop you up off your feet and remind you that you're beautiful. Never tired of the dirty laundry. Never tired of day-time television. It's not a crime to kiss your cheek, and you're never too old for lullabies. I put on a pot of coffee so I can evaluate your day. Put on a jacket to avoid bacteria. Put on your dress shoes because we're going to church. Put down the candy bar, the action figure, the television controller, the blinds so the neighbors can't see inside. I'm tired today. I got up early, fell asleep late, and missed all of your phone calls home. I ate Kraft dinner and ignored the day-old dishes. Wipe your feet at the door. I'll wait for you to fill me in.

Train Chicago Grand Opening

I am continuously put into situations that make me feel awkward and/or ashamed for not working out and/or fitting in.

Moran and Trica

Touching From a Distance

My Valentine's Day present was a ticket to the Sky Deck in Willis (*cough* Sears) Tower. I've worked directly across from this building for seven months now and, until last week, I'd only ventured in once or twice to use the post office.

There are few gifts more romantic than one that involves looking out onto the shimmering city through the windows of the fifth-tallest freestanding structure in the world.

Half Light

Strange how the half light
Can make a place new
You can't recognize me
And I can't recognize you
- Arcade Fire

Hairdresser on Fire

Delicate

Last Friday, my grandma watched her dog Heidi slump to the floor in her last few seconds of life. My grandma called my dad. After a drive to the veterinarian, they both sat in the car, immobilized, crying together.

This city was hit with a tremendous wall of white powder last week. When the snow melts, everything neglected will be revealed. I forgot what spring feels like, but I try not to complain; I am thankful for the seasons. I am thankful for the differences.

When I was little, I was comforted by the warm little light emitted by my dad's lit cigarette. A cheerful red ember would bounce up and down in the dark as he climbed the stairs after me, chasing me to bed. When he calls me now, we talk about rock and roll and football and the weather. Over the years, I've wasted too much energy convincing him to quit smoking.

In the past two months, I've come to accept that my maternal grandfather will soon die of cancer. I called him yesterday -- the first time I've reached out since finding out that he was dying. We had a one-minute-long conversation. He told me to take care of myself and enjoy my life, and then he hurried himself off the line.

I am dating a boy with Crohn's disease. At 27, he drinks Ensure and eats Gerber baby food and it secretly breaks my heart to pieces. Occasionally, to my delight, he indulges in deep-fried greasy garbage like pizza and hot dogs and french fries and bacon. I am not disappointed. We celebrate the victory of successful digestion. I've stopped taking my stomach -- and my youth -- for granted.

I keep different hours every day. Sometimes I sit on the train at 5 AM, achey and resentful, staring blankly out the windows at the dark morning backdrop. My feet and hands are like concrete until I step off the platform and scurry my way into work. Sometimes I run so fast to catch the train at 11 AM that I forget to notice the rare gleaming sunshine or the same homeless man by the newspaper stands. Sometimes I exit the train at 9 PM and a flood of anxiety washes over me; I hate walking home alone at night. On a good day I am home before 7. On a good day I have dinner plans before 6.

The human body is a well-oiled machine. The human soul anticipates rust. We are a delicate collection of bones and blood, and last week was a bad week for everyone I love. I nestled into my covers and slept almost twenty hours straight; it seemed no amount of pastries or cartoons could rebuild my immunities upon waking, but somehow, I've made it here to tell myself this: don't break down just yet.

Winter Is a Slow Slumber

(archived photo)

Pinching Pennies

Bargain shopping in Albany Park with expert store explorer Julie Shapiro. Nothing extraordinary visually, I realize... just trying to dust off my camera and de-rust my idle hands a bit after months of inactivity. I could blame it on a series of unfortunate events that have left me swimming in stress, but I won't. I've just been re-evaluating, and I got a little lazy in the process. Here's to a new year with hopefully more freelance opportunities. Thanks to Time Out for paying me to skip around a dollar store all Saturday afternoon.

Let's Get Lost

I've been outside
Invited in
But I couldn't abide
Wouldn't miss it again
Burning every bridge that I cross
To find some beautiful place to get lost
I had true love
I made it die
I pushed her away
She said please stay
Burning every bridge that I cross
To find some beautiful place to get lost
To find some beautiful place to get lost
Well I don't know where I'll go now
And I don't really care who follows me there
But I'll burn every bridge that I cross
And find some beautiful place to get lost
And find some beautiful place to get lost
- Elliott Smith