I’ve been forced to produce creative work from an early age thanks to two very passionate high school art teacher grandparents. They encouraged the virtue of making stuff with my hands, so unless paid, I considered most photography a lesser art. Photos served to augment memory or as mostly unused art references. Imaging gradually became more of interest, though.
Eventually I started to steal. If my phone died, I'd borrow someone else's to take pictures. If someone had a fancy camera, I made them take photos of things I liked; at my worst, I'd borrow their camera to get the right framing. If I saw people unable to fit in a selfie or swapping out as human-tripod for a group photo, I'd offer to take a photo for them. Everyone at least pretended to appreciate this.
I became an incidental camera owner in 2016. My first was gifted, a used Chinese phone five years ahead of any other country’s best alternative. For once I appreciated owning something that sometimes caught what I was interested in. It didn’t work on US networks so I left it in a box.
Then I was loaned an old point-and-shoot to go abroad in 2017. It had a deep lens scratch and shutter I had to pull open when cold or if I zoomed in too fast after turning it on. The effect got worse over time, so it went into the same box.
I collected old film equipment for years but when I finally got some rolls developed they were overly disrespectful of reality and my memory for the price. I gave them all away. I was determined to not be the person with a camera.
When the lockdown started I thought a new outlet would help maintain my brain and figured electronics prices were going to inflate and stay that way. I had an excuse, a reason to act fast, and a new puppy, so I finally bought my own fancycam using the pittance from my first job out of college. I've been casually learning how and when to use it for about two years, during which I took just a few dog photos and still considered it only tool to document experiences for myself.
Then I moved to Wisconsin. My main solace and expressive outlet became old photos. I accepted some captures as creative decisions, qualifying them as "photography." I felt some should be of interest to others.
I didn't share most pictures for a while because I wasn’t sure where they fit. Instagram’s crop requirements are grotesque. Photography platforms like Flickr and 500px shove hyper-colorized, long-exposure seashores to the front of the feed. “Wire Mausoleums” isn’t to be “liked” or neighbors with ads. It could be there, but it needed a place to be alone, too.
Most of what I share are stories: of others (a violent anniversary, life in a historical center, a retired photographer), personal (unlikely guardians, elegy for a friend), or perceived (omens and cataclysm, carbon dystopia). Some interests are mostly aesthetic (blues, sacred places, hot trees). There are enough photos, so unless I think I’ve framed something in a unique way I try to keep it to myself.
All of this is to say that instead of just taking photos on the way I'm now going out of my way for them. I tried to stop it, but I’m now, at least sometimes, the person with a camera. I’ll continue sparse posts on social media but you can sign up for old-school email updates like this. I'll probably be shilling prints and sharing more soon.
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