Working in a Coal Mine.

Mining the Mammoth Vein, Girard Coal Company, Girardville PA.



Reclaimed Strip Mine, Girard Coal Company, Girardville PA.

2007.

In and Around Port Clyde Maine.
My brief time spent in Maine last summer affected my senses so deeply that I find myself longing to go back more often than I expected. I loved the smell of the air and the great rocky beaches and the lobster boats bobbing in the harbors and the way the pine trees hung over the cliffs into the ocean. I, apparently, was pretty consumed with the textures and surfaces of the place.

Public Art?

The Clairon Bar & Hotel, St. Clair PA.



Across the Street, St. Clair PA.

I Dream a Highway Back to You.

Thunderbird on Main Street, Shamokin PA.

2006.

Our Lady of the Presentation, Brighton Ma.



Mid 70's Pontiac, Brighton Ma.

2005.

Gymnasium/Auditorium at CW Rice Middle School, Northumberland PA from We Are What We Are.

I can tell you how sneakers sounded on that gym floor, what the smell of the stage was under the lights. I could tell you stories about chipped front teeth, humiliating gym classes, and awkward middle school dances. But you, dear reader, can fill in the details for yourself.

The next couple of days will be dedicated to some older work that's been floating around on my harddrive and stuff from Coal Hunkie that I'd like to get posted. It's stuff that I love and still go "Oh shit! I totally made that photo" when I look at it.

The Lone Ranger?

Apparently, there's a road in California that has grooves in it, carved by Honda, to reproduce the Lone Ranger theme song when driven on at 55mph.

Genius.

From Last Summer.

Lobster Rolls for Sale, Over 25 Served. Port Clyde, Maine.

Lost but Not Forgotten, from the Dark Heart of a Dream.

Front Room and Kitchen of 200 Broadway, Sunbury.
Estate sales are strange. The act of dragging out a deceased relatives belongings onto the lawn and letting perfect strangers bid on objects that someone lived their entire lives with and, in some ways, through is a weird thing to witness.



Backyard of 200 Broadway, Sunbury.
My aunt's (technically my mom's cousin but it's a minor detail of being from a small town) father passed away last month and they had a houseful of a two lives fully lived in one place to take care of. After taking what they (her herself and her sisters) wanted from the house, they called in an auction company to organize and clean out everything that was left.



Driveway of 200 Broadway, Sunbury.
I pointed myself and my car north and westward on Saturday morning and arrived in Sunbury at 11.15 or so. My main goal of the morning was to bid on a silver 50's dinette set in immaculate condition with all 6 chairs, which was successful. I spent the late morning and early afternoon chatting with people I haven't seen since I was 9 or so, eating hot dogs from a church vendor and listening to the chatter of the auctioneer.



Front Door of 200 Broadway, Sunbury PA.
I hadn't been in the house since I was probably 4 and I have only small, vague memories of it. While I've been in houses that are totally empty before, I was struck by how vacant the spaces felt. The carpet in the living room was faded around where furniture sat, the floor worn was down in the upstairs hallway. Closet doors hung open, pillows and clothes lay in corners. Dust shone in the sunlight and despite the backyard being full of people, the upstairs was silent.



Front Bedroom, Upstairs Hallway of 200 Broadway, Sunbury PA.

These photographs ended up being edited as darker than I expected, especially since they are digital. I always find myself making all of my photos darker than I shot them (even though I underexpose them by 1/2 a stop), especially interiors, because I like how aggressive the colors become. I especially enjoy it when the little bit of light in the interiors glows.

On Vernacular Photography, Mostly.

Recently, I started working at a large photo lab here in L.V. Through the tedious and unending process of scanning film and eventually printing pictures (I'm still in training alright?), I see a large number of photographs that normally I wouldn't even bother thinking about. I get an odd excitement when I get to make reprints or when I pull film out of the C-41 machine. I find it extremely interesting to get to look at photos, be they good or mediocre. It's getting to see into a life that isn't yours.

I've been pondering ideas and thoughts about the snapshot, it's place in society and our hearts. I wonder why people choose to take photos that they've taken, what makes them press the button at that moment. I am perpetually surprised at the more-often-than-one-would-think great shot that comes out of the average picture taker. I've seen a lot of really bad pictures. I've grown to hate disposable cameras, given my propensity to stab myself with the flathead screwdriver that we use to pry them open with (high tech, I know).

In the few short weeks I've been working there, I've gone, through the magic of the snapshot, to at least 20 weddings (mostly all of which were shot on shitty disposable cameras but that's another post for another day), to the Carribean, to Alaska about 6 or 7 times, to Nevada, the Grand Canyon, Las Vegas, Salt Lake City, Boston (aw.), Texas, and a Redwood forest. I've been at lots of 1st birthdays and Christmas mornings. I went to Disney World in 1994 (albeit underexposed and heat fogged, but still). I get to see stuff that I generally wouldn't get to see were it not for the inherent need to capture the same moments in time for a lot of us. It's like watching the good, important moments of your life happen to other people you don't know. You get to witness the trips and moments you missed out on. It's strange.

As I see it, all of the pictures that come into and go out of the lab are an endless look into what we love, hate, desire, and hope for. Collectively, it's a window into (and I hesitate to say the word, since I harp on it a lot) American life. Thousands of photographs by mostly anonymous picture-takers is a "universal" glimpse and a catalog fleeting moments that are held near and dear. The snapshot camera gives a way to hold onto them, even if we just let them sit in albums or on a harddrive.

I am sure that by next month I will get good and jaded at look at pictures. I will get really sick of Disneyworld and Alaska. But right now, this is a novelty.

Welcome to the Neighborhood.

Tecumseh Trail, West Allentown.

It's Been Awhile.

Old Country Buffet, Watertown MA.
Tonight was the first night I could manage to sit down and upload some new photos. These two photos are only related in the fact that they both represent how I spent my last few days in Boston: eating with company.

I'm home and moved in. Work is kicking my ass. I have a crush.




Neighborhood Restaurant, Union Square, Somerville MA.