Love, It's Who You Know

I've been in a bit of a rut, but maybe I too often come here to confess that. I won't describe the rut in detail -- the causes or the effects. Essentially, I have longed -- in every sense -- to do something truly meaningful since I moved to Chicago. It's been (almost) three years since I left the cozy confines of college and family behind in Ohio. We all measure success differently (whatever success is) and I guess I have felt, to a large extent, unsuccessful as a photographer and fairly clueless as a human being. Love has sort of come and gone my way, and maybe, with relentless force, I willed it to come and then waited secretly, in quiet reluctance, to see it go. I've worked hard, yeah, but I really don't think I've worked hard enough in any one particular arena. I've spent too much money trying to establish my safety and secure my dignity. With that, I will be honest, here. I'm lonely. I'm tired. I'd like you to see me as this brazen, capable, highly-motivated and independent young woman. I'd like you to see me without giant footprints on my back, without daddy issues at every corner, without the baggage of a heart broken and re-broken, without the constant longing for connection and reinforcement. But I probably came here to write this because I want you to see all of those things too, and realize that what you see isn't really what you get.

These are just portraits. At a time when taking photos seemed like a strenuous exercise, I turned to the people I see every day -- my staff at my job -- and asked if they could sit for a photograph. I can find some meaning there or I can choose to feel like I haven't mattered in anyone's life. I'll choose the former today, for the sake of several things. I'd like to think inspiration is cyclical -- that you can inspire me by just being present, and quiet, and wholly yourself. And that I can just be me and inspire you, too.

There are more of these to come. Thanks to Emily, Jacob, Joe, Aaron, Edward, Logan, Diana, Tanner, Brad, and Rachel for helping me "break my eye open."

Everyone Leaves

I’d pack my suitcase with myself
But I’m already gone
Cleanse myself with vitamin health
But I’m already gone

I saw it risin’ through the horizon
And I saw it fall
A Jesus fevers flowin’ all over
Believers and lovers

In a black hole I found a broken skull
Now I’m already gone
You can write my whole life down in a little book
When I’m already gone

I started shaking and my heart breaking
And my belly crawled
A Jesus fevers flowin’ all over
Believers and lovers

When I am a ghost, I’ll see no reason to run
When I’m already gone
If it wasn’t taped, you could escape this song
But I’m already gone
- Kurt Vile

That's All I Wanted

from what feels like the ancient archives, Marc in November 2010

Kingdoms Rise and Kingdoms Fall

The past few months are slowly digesting, and as the pieces break apart and dissolve I find my heart heavy and confused. As many might have read, I lost my grandfather earlier this month. A prominent figure in my upbringing, a large portion of my tiny, knit-tight family, and, as my sister put it in the opening line of his eulogy, a second father. I think about him when I tie my shoes. I think about him as I'm sitting in bed eating pie for breakfast, eating pie for dinner. I think about him in the morning, staring at my damp reflection, two blue eyes staring right back that he passed along to me and only me. I think about leather jackets and cardigans and crossword puzzles and cinnamon rolls and chocolate milk and classical music and Cadillacs and Persian cats. I lost my maternal grandfather in the early summer; it was difficult on a different level, but we were never as close as I hoped we could be. Grandpa Lowell, however, was a daily fixture of my young life. I'm twenty-four and I've been blessed to never experience the loss of a dear, dear friend or loved one. Grandpa is gone and it hurts. I know certain things. I know that he's not suffering. I know that it's for the best. I know that time heals all wounds. My grandma will wake up tomorrow and feed the cats, drink instant coffee, and sit down at the dining room table to counsel and guide complete strangers for a living. I know that life goes on.

My good friend Dan attended the funeral with me. I didn't ask him to, just like I didn't ask him to drive from Columbus to Chicago and then straight back the night before the service to pick me up. I can only accept his actions, seemingly out of place given the years we haven't spoken and the history we've shared -- filled to the brim with good, bad, and downright heart-wrenching experiences -- as gestures of the truest compassion.

Anyone who has graced the McKeehen household knows that we are people filled with sensitivity and sincerity in it. We cry outloud, we laugh outloud, we overshare, and we wear our hearts on our fucking sleeves. My grandpa's funeral was beautiful and appropriate and funny and heartbreaking. That afternoon, I squeezed the breath out of my father, I held my mother's hand for dear life, and I felt all the pride and love and precious unity of my family washing over me.

When I came back to Chicago two days later to resume my normal life, everything felt opaque. I slapped myself together to work a 50-hour-week, filled as it was with demands and exhaustions and all of my innumerable doubts. This is my home, too, and part of my family, but some days, it really does feel lonely... some days it feels like I really am all on my own. Life is so strange sometimes. I wish it was easier for you and me and everyone else to understand.

As I write this post, I am challenged... feeling uprooted, sleep-deprived, headachey. I am piecing together a million emotions and putting them out there -- as I used to do with much more regularity, exploiting this format for sharing what I see and feel -- as a meager expression of something real. But simply, I am beyond thankful for the support and kindness of those near and far as I have struggled with many types of loss this year. I have experienced tremendous generosity in the midst of tremendous difficulty.

To close, I am too tired to be profound, but I do hope that my friends and loved ones know and feel how much it matters to me.

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.

Blue Sunday

I am often convinced that I can only produce a well-constructed series of words on occasion. I was reading my friend Ellee's online journal this morning, and in my response to her holiday-inspired sentiments on love and life, I was able to accurately pin-point my own feelings for the first time in months. I responded to her musings with, in essence, the following confession:

Lately, I have found myself confused, sensitive, needy, defensive, compulsive, and impatient. Lately, I have found myself fond, hopeful, relaxed, reflective, comforted, and protected. Some days I struggle to find inspiration in my fixed routine, working over 40 hours a week, explaining the health benefits of quinoa and Kombucha and almond milk to young and fit and attractive investment bankers who regard me with the utmost indifference because I am behind a counter in a brown hat and an apron, and they have company money to dispense on overpriced lunches and dinners. And they have security and companionship in it. Nevermind that I have a college education, a refreshing sense of humor, perfect posture, a fantastic memory, zero cavities, and just as many hopes and dreams and aspirations. I want to remain focused on the positive with my hands submerged in soapy water, dry and cracking from the scrubbing, the bleaching, the blending and tossing and chopping and grilling, and the perpetual exchange of American Express cards. I wonder where the time has gone. I’ve lived here for 6 months now and I still have no idea what I ultimately want to be doing. I am not unhappy, just uncertain.

In the end, it has taken little self-reflection to reveal my biggest flaw: a persistent tendency to look for problems.

It's Sunday, my day of the week to recuperate and relinquish the bad energy that has accumulated during the course of the week. This blog entry serves many purposes, and it's been awhile since I've really utilized the strength of my own voice. I am 23 years old. I support myself in one of the largest cities in the United States. I have a loving family in Ohio, wonderful friends far and wide, and a job that sustains my belly, my bank account, and my loving heart (and refer once more to my loving family and wonderful friends). I am still wandering around this big city, my eyes bright and shiny and full of wonder. It's the holiday season, so as is customary of this time, I am trying ever so earnestly to count my blessings. I am trying to be patient. I am trying to let my life happen without feeling like time is slipping away from me. I am trying to enjoy sleeping in when I can, photographing a beautiful face when I can, taking a bubble bath when I can, eating leftover chocolate cake when I can, and falling in love when I am.

True Love Waits

I am finally getting around to posting the photos from the wedding I shot in early October. Sorry to keep nearly everyone, including myself, waiting.

Kendra has been a dear friend of mine since elementary school days. I have been there for her in her ups and downs and it goes without saying that she has been there for nearly all of mine, even though in recent years contact has been sparse. Kendra and Allen met at the pizza joint we all used to work at in high school. One of their first dates included attending my 20th birthday blow-out at my ex-boyfriend's ghetto college palace where they jointly witnessed an inebriated party guest almost fall out of a second story window, shattering the glass, falling to the floor in a confused stupor. Smells of so much romance, I know. I have witnessed their relationship bloom from the earliest stages in the most unexpected of places.

And it's impossible for me to sit back and really swallow the fact that one of my best friends just got married without considering, well, my own position in life.

I know it's difficult to imagine settling down when you're young. Well, at least it has been for me. I don't know if I can fully grasp the impact of love, and I have felt just too damn unsettled for my own good. This has been an area in which I've faltered significantly. I fall down, I get back up, and I fall down again. In many ways I am grateful for the pattern because it constantly challenges me, but it has also made me exhausted... and fearful of loving, afraid that my basket of eggs will fall right out of my hands, shells and yolk splashing up in my face in a tumultuous mess.

Posting these photographs has not only forced me to jot down this sort of disjointed reflection... thankfully the experience of photographing my friend's beautiful wedding reminds me to remain calm and to be open to the possibilities of love.

I have not ruled out any.

Congratulations and all of my love to Kendra and Allen. It was such a privilege to capture their happy day.

(P.S. I am posting photographs from the wedding gradually, so as to avoid an overwhelming page load time.)

A Matter of Perspective

I am learning to live without desire. This brings me to the doorway of uncharted territory. They say the only unexplored area left on earth is the 140 million square miles of the ocean floor. All things considered, I find this hard to believe.

Most of what we think is essential to our survival has been blown out of proportion. I used to think I would die if I couldn't dance. I have finally agreed to stop wanting what I can't have. Everywhere I go, the earth seems to be tilting away from me. If the sun were the size of a basketball, then the earth would be the head of a pin.

I am learning to live with the paradox that the horizon, when I finally get there, is not likely to be at all the way I pictured it.

There must be more to life than love. There must be worse things than being alone. Perhaps the trick is to remember that even the angles and shadows of a small empty room must operate according to the protocol of perspective. Examine the absolute inertia of corners where all three right angles must converge.

From my kitchen window I can see brick houses, yellow tulips, my neighbor's pink flamingo, and a blue car traveling north. I can even see the back of an apartment building three blocks over. I can see a small brown bird in a big green tree. I can see those many electrified wires by which we are all connected to each other and to the rest of the world. But I cannot catch even a glimpse of the horizon from here.

- Diane Schoemperlen

"What's too far?" said he. "Where you are," said she.

(words by photographer Rodney Smith)

You see, to be a photographer requires an openness and an ability to look deep into someone’s eyes, to regard them with care and affection, and to ultimately fall madly in love with them. There is some discrimination to this, but as I usually choose my subjects, for the most part, it is uncontrollable.

It begins with attraction, and ends with an intimate knowledge of their soul. It involves letting them speak to me, watching carefully, and finding their specialness.

With men, this seems not to be a problem. They quickly become like good friends and confidants. We are able to laugh together, and enjoy each other’s company, but for women (for me), this is a different matter.

I find myself pulled in, looking ever more closely, finding their strength, their delicacy, and their beauty. If they are willing to return the gaze, the game is afoot.

In order to succeed, I must slowly disrobe my emotions. I must slowly unveil my feelings, and for the portrait to be successful, she must be willing to do the same. There is a far greater intimacy exposed, although not necessarily in the touch. There is a connection, an openness, an ability to reveal both of ourselves completely, with all our strengths and vulnerabilities.

This is a very difficult thing to do, both for me, and for her. It is what distinguishes greatness from mediocrity. How far you are willing to emotionally travel is as important as your talent.

To succeed, we must fall in love, take the pictures, and then slowly take deep breaths, realizing who we are, and walk slowly away from the edge.

Love

I have been thinking about permanence a lot lately. When you're young, I suppose, you treat relationships poorly. Maybe you always do this. I have tried earnestly to set my life right, to make clear my feelings and intentions, but even I have been careless in showing true love and appreciation. You fight with your parents. You are unfair to your friends. You are painfully casual with your lovers. You hold back. You take love for granted... and other people, because, at times, it is less messy to just cut everyone out. It feels like an accomplishment to go it alone. And you do this because, I guess, you assume you have time to come back around and, say, fix it all, or at least tell everyone how you really feel... what they really mean. Maybe we do have time to sort everything out. Maybe we don't.

I hate saying goodbye to love. I am scared to be alone. Most people will not admit this to you. And most people will say: "You start over. You meet new people. You'll be fine." I guess those statements bother me because they seem to establish people as temporary accessories to our lives. And though temporary is the mode of life, I don't want to treat other people that way.

I can make all of the most beautiful photographs in the world... and that can be my sort of permanence. As photographers, we treasure moments and capture whatever moves our hearts. And there aren't any rules. Most of the time, we make these photographs for ourselves. But what inspires us to keep going? Who do we look to to see the world in a new way? I think one of the only things that has kept me going through it is love... and falling in love has filled my life with beautiful photographs. I have a life that has been, in the past year especially, heavily documented. These photographs remind me that, even on a bad day, someone thought I was special enough to take my picture. I look through this blog. I've only had it a year. Most of my photographs are of the same few people. Maybe that is all I've really seen. Maybe, more than the flowers and the birds and the sweeping landscapes of Southeast Ohio, that is all I've really cared about.

I think I might've lost the point of photography if it isn't to share love. If your goal is to tell a story, what about the story of your own life? I didn't really have a point of view until I started really seeing what was right in front of me. The world is beautiful. Dare I say, it is people who make it so.

I am here. At some uncertain time in the world, I won't be. "If you love someone... never let them go," you say. I realize that an online blog hardly seems like the place for this, but why not? Why do we take these photographs? And what is our point in sharing them? What do we hope for, in our own lives, by taking pictures? I look at photo blogs everyday. Now, perhaps, you're looking at mine.

Maybe I have found comfort in the photographs beyond what they really are. I am young. Life is in flux. But I am someone... I have something to offer. These photographs are the stories of the people that I love. That, beyond whatever my education and skills profess, is what matters to me. It has defined me. I absolutely could go nowhere without love to give me all of my reasons. No matter my eventual profession, I care about using my craft and my gift as a communicator, in whatever form, to share and experience something so rare, yet so profound, it stops me... wherever I am, whatever my worries.

Love Comes Tumbling

I barely picked up my camera during the holiday break, but I did shoot my first-ever wedding on December 19th for the Shifleys. Here are a few of my favorite photos.

It was a small wedding and very casual. It was also partly a favor for a long-time friend of mine. I was very nervous for the day, feeling unprepared and inadequate with my experience level and my gear. Not only have I never shot a wedding before, but I am not much of an event photographer. Likewise, I didn't have access to strobes or lights, and I only had my 50mm lens. I felt very uncomfortable at first... and I will be the first to admit that I wish I would've gotten closer to capture more moments. However, I am proud of myself for rising to the challenge to photograph something outside of my comfort level.

Overall, it was sort of a heartwarming day on a personal level. As I edited through the photographs, I noticed that I took more pictures of Ellen, naturally, since she was the bride. But in several of the photos, she is alone. I cannot say that this was intentional on my part, though Greg was always running off somewhere, and Ellen was right where all the action was most of the time. I suppose my edits sort of say something about my feelings, though. After enduring the good and the bad of human relationships, both romantic and non, it has often difficult for me to pick myself back up and welcome new love into my life. I seem to be at such a tender place in my life that these relationships, and their undoings, have had a profound effect on me.

Naturally, along with the happiness of a new relationship comes an overwhelming sense panic. I think a wedding is an easy place to identity all of these strong sentiments... the nervous rush to get things in order, to get dressed, to get the kids ready... and underneath it all, the shock that the day has arrived. Obviously, I have never been married. But, as I find myself months away from graduation, in a serious relationship, I am confronted with strong feelings of panic. Then again, life is short. I suppose we all need a day to just stand back and relax... to welcome the blessings, the new gifts life has given us, and to enjoy the occasional piece of cake.

A Long December

As usual, I am behind... or, behind by my standards. I haven't been taking many photos since the quarter ended. Instead, I have been working 40 hours a week in Undergraduate Admissions, filing freshman college applications in a stuffy office, drinking too much coffee, taking too many bathroom breaks, and listening to too much NPR. The job's most interesting component is that I get caught up in all the application essays and letters of recommendation and ACT scores and early-nineties birthdays. It feels strange to have this job as I am months away from graduating, reflecting back on my last four years of growth. I am still uncertain where I will end up when June rolls around, but hopefully I will not be working a 40-hour-a-week office job, because so far, it's ruined both my back and my sleeping schedule.

Anyway, I spent a lovely and cozy Thanksgiving with Charles' family in St. Clairsville. It was my first Thanksgiving away from my own family -- what seems like a milestone. Though I love the holidays, there are aspects of this time of year that drag my spirit down. The dark little corners and painful nostalgia. The freezing cold hands and feet. The gray morning and the gray evening... and the space in between in which I am cooped up indoors. At least I don't have the opportunity to sleep the day away.

Here are a few photos from the end of November, little low-light moments before winter comes rolling in, full force.