Emily

(archived photo)

Abby

(archived photo)

She's a Jar

I Was a Superman, But Looks Are Deceiving

Wordless Chorus

Unfortunately, tomorrow marks my last day interning at Time Out Chicago. Because I already graduated and therefore they cannot compensate me via college credit, they weren't allowed to keep me on any longer than the summer. I suppose I am pretty lucky in that they made an exception in the first place and let me intern for the summer despite my post-college status.

This internship, though it only lasted two months, was a really rewarding experience for me. Time after time, I was thrown into intimidating situations, and, nervous and scared and "ill-equipped" as I was, I pulled through. I often felt empowered and proud -- most of the time, I was the youngest photographer for the press, and nearly all of the time, I was the only female. I navigated my way around the third largest city in the country to produce images for a well-known weekly publication, and I did it with little prior photojournalistic experience.

So, in summation, I am not saying I deserve a medal for my progress. However, for the past four years, I have witnessed my confidence in this medium sink lower and lower, and, in my final year of college, I too often sought the approval and validation of others to keep me afloat -- to give me a sense of purpose. To make me feel credible. I have not overcome all of my self-doubt (and thankfully, because that means that growth is never ending), but moving to Chicago on a leap of faith (and only a few hundred dollars -- ahh!) was probably the most difficult yet bravest decision I have made in my young life. It feels wonderful to know that I can surprise myself.

Even more wonderful is discovering what you're really made of in the midst of so much darkness.

With all that said, here are some images from My Morning Jacket's performance at the Charter One Pavilion on August 17th. To see a much more generous edit, go here.

There's Always a Siren Singing You to Shipwreck

But the Stillness Is a Burn

I was dripping with sweat on the dance floor Saturday, two in the morning, packed like a sardine (you can finish the rest of the Radiohead reference), searching for pools of light, straining my eyes to focus my lens, averting my gaze from the fucked up and and lustful... but, you know, despite the awkwardness and difficulty of it all, there isn't much to complain about when you get free access to a Lollapalooza after party, DJed by Jamie from the xx.

Babe, I'm on Fire

My love is real, a hefty hand that smacks you in the face. My love is alive, a fragrant flower with a milky white stem. Falling like snow down the staircase, broken dishes under my feet. Steering off the road into a ditch, into a tree, into a mail box, up and onto your charmingly groomed front lawn, just in time to wreck the party. Screaming like playground children, running after each other with melting Popsicles, balloons set free from sticky little hands. And we're up and off and into the empty air. My love is descending, a dimly lit alley filled with strays and garbage. My love is lying low, a sick and cowering dog under the kitchen table. Burning like skin under mid-August sun, swollen blisters on my shoulders. Running out the door into the garden, into the shed, into the swimming pool, up and onto your sizzling red car hood, just in time to shatter the glass. My love is on fire.

McDonald's

Salonica

Province

On Being Replaced

Bamboo Worldwide

Where Was I

"Life would be infinitely happier if we could only be born at the age of eighty and gradually approach eighteen."
- Mark Twain

There's the kitchen. I spent the last year falling in and out of love with the water stained table, the warped linoleum tiles, the cobwebs in the corners, the rows of empty wine bottles, the rumbly washing machine, and the angsty faucet, screaming like a newborn. For most of twenty-two, I entertained guests with fried egg sandwiches and cups of coffee. Plates of re-heated spaghetti and pieces of cold pizza and stir fry over brown rice and homemade mashed potatoes and pools of melting ice cream and wheat toast with butter and tortilla chips and salsa and hot tea with milk and sugar and beer from the back of the fridge. Thanksgiving dinner, pumpkin guts, candy canes, birthday cake, wrapping paper, sappy cards, soggy Kleenex, junk from the bottom of my purse, junk from the bottom of my heart. Breakfast in silence. I look down into my cereal bowl, tears splashing into my Raisin Bran. Dinner with laughter and happily cramping bellies after drowsy days of snow. Drunk and nauseous, whining incoherently for my bed, for a glass of water, for a hug. Grocery lists and sticky notes and Oprah Magazine and Victoria's Secret catalogues and utility bills that I want to shred apart with my teeth. In February, I hated the plastic coating disallowing me a clear view of the outside world. In June, I sat and watched the early morning sun pour in through the glass, leaking all over the floor. I wrote a letter that I never sent. I took out the trash in contempt. I overloaded the dishwasher. I put my face down on the table, my cheek cool against the smooth wood, and listened for the ocean waves to sweep us up and away. I held your hand and told you it would be alright; and it was -- and it is, but it isn't the same.

The Medici

For Sunday brunch, I had a tomato, spinach, and feta cheese omelette with fried potatoes and cinnamon toast with white raisins. If you're in Hyde Park, I highly recommend dining at this lovely two-story restaurant/bakery. I love discovering beautiful places in my neighborhood.

Waiting for the Night

I'm waiting for the night to fall
I know that it will save us all
When everything's dark
Keeps us from the stark
Reality

I'm waiting for the night to fall
When everything is bearable
And there in the still
All that you feel
Is tranquillity

There is a sound in the calm
Someone is coming to harm
I press my hands to my ears
It's easier here just to forget fear

And when I squinted
The world seemed rose-tinted
And angels appeared to descend
To my surprise
With half-closed eyes
Things looked even better
Than when they were open
- Depeche Mode

(archived photo)

With the inspiration of this song and a growing collection of dim little frames that are both old and new, I created a new section of photographs on my website that I hope to populate indefinitely. For now, forgive its sparseness, and listen to some Depeche Mode circa 1990-1997 to get you good and moody.

Stay (Faraway, So Close!)

Deviating from my norm, I realize it has been some time since I have really "written" anything to coincide with my photographs. Let me fill you in: I moved to Chicago one week after graduation, exactly one month ago today. I live alone in Hyde Park, splitting my time between interning, working, and adventuring (most of the time up north to see Carrie). So far, I haven't really had too much time to sit down and think think think. For me, this is a refreshing departure from how I spent my last summer in Chicago... and, really, how I spend most of my time in general. I have kept myself on my toes, I have made photographs, I have been persistent, and, for the first time, I have truly recognized the potential of my life. That isn't to say that living here is not humbling. In fact it is, almost daily, for me. That isn't to say I haven't had moments of sadness. In fact, I have, but I allow myself those moments, so that I may (to quote a friend), "Wash my face and carry on with my day." I have had worries -- boy, have I had challenges! Interning downtown for the first time was scary -- I did it. Finding a fun and flexible part-time job seemed impossible -- after over twenty applications and numerous interviews, I did it. I've navigated the depths of the ghetto -- alone, and at night. I've consistently slept in a pipin' hot apartment. I've pinched pennies. I've lived minimally. But, I'm here. I'm proud of myself. Do you know how amazing it is to admit that?

The above photographs are reminscent of the photos that I took during the first day of my internship (via 28mm rather than 50mm). My good friend Jill was visiting Chicago for the first time this weekend, so I served as a sort of makeshift tour guide of the city, of course making sure we stopped in Millennium Park to polish off her authentic tourist experience. We dipped our feet by the Crown Fountain, observed the throng of children soaking themselves from head to toe... and, just then, I remembered how good it felt to be free. On any hot summer day, a beautiful photograph is waiting to be made in this city. The realization alone is liberating enough.

Cold Water

Am I Only

Life in Technicolor

“Color is my day long obsession, joy, and torment." - Claude Monet