I don’t really know if I’m setting out with a clear idea of where this blog post is going. We’ll just call it honest rambling?
I’ve been thinking a lot about why I like photography. For the longest time I actually wanted to be a writer. I toyed with the idea of photography in high school, but I always went back to writing. Words were the link between what I felt and the outside world; between my imagination and chaotic reality. I can’t tell you when exactly that changed, but it did. I don’t even know if it happened slowly, but it did happen. Suddenly words weren’t enough, or rather it felt like my words weren’t enough.
But photography, if I did it right, could say a thousand things in one frame. Photography could be as verbose or as understated as I wanted. All without an utterance.
I could do it when I couldn’t find the words, or when I ran out of words altogether. Photography could say everything I felt about my world – both immediate and wider-ranging.
Photography could be powerful and forceful and barely contained, or it could be quiet and still.
Photography made me see the beauty in the connections and dynamics between people and taught me to exhale and pay attention.
Probably the biggest epiphany I’ve had over time was exactly how powerful my own input is. My photography is so dependent on how I feel. The photographs that seem to truly “reach” people, are the ones that I remember feeling the most when I was taking them. It could be when I was overflowing with joy, or overcome with sadness.
I still don’t know where I am in this journey. The photographs above are in no particular order – they are scattered fragments from the last four years, and they vary wildly in style. I’m trying to define a style that I can call my own. I like photography because the possibilities seem endless for me, if I am able to overcome my own self-imposed obstacles.
But I do know that with my photography I will never run out of things to say.