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My Gold Coast project featured in an interesting take on story telling and narrative through the single image with Front Yard Books, "The Other Story". View high resolution

My Gold Coast project featured in an interesting take on story telling and narrative through the single image with Front Yard Books, "The Other Story".

I bought charcoal this week and some paper. Decided that I needed to get my hands dirty. Photography is too clean for me at the moment… Too much emailing, photoshop, smart phone usage. I want to feel some grime on my skin.

Excited to have the Gold Coast book selected for the Filter Photo Festival book exhibit this year in Chicago! 
The work will be on show from September 5th - 30th, so check it out if you’re in the city. View high resolution

Excited to have the Gold Coast book selected for the Filter Photo Festival book exhibit this year in Chicago! 

The work will be on show from September 5th - 30th, so check it out if you’re in the city.

I’ve never known Matt without Stef, or Stef without Matt. I realise that marriage can be seen as not much more than a formality these days and definitions are continually changing around the old institutions. I’m forever being embroiled in conversations that argue for and against weddings. I, personally, have avoided attending many of them over the adult years of my life… 

And then there’s this. My favourite people coming together in one of the most picturesque places in the world. 

What’s not to love.

We walked through the woods to get there. It was nearly midnight. Nothing but the cracking of fallen twigs beneath our feet to accompany the hurried breaths, nervous with anticipation and an eery darkness. Suddenly, the scene opens up. A clearing, a black sand beach. There is a whoop of excitement and relief and we race towards the bonfire, breathing harder now. Whiskey tracks a path of molten heat down our throats. We dance like pagans around the flames, beneath the watchful stare of a cycloptic moon.

The Territory of Solitude

There is a mute sense of solitude here. Even surrounded by people. The air thickens into 20 inch cell walls around the soul and though I walk side by side with the ones I love, I also walk here alone. The moon rises before the setting of the sun. 

The road used to have this sound. A siren call singing me to the jagged rocks of a never-reached destination. I made those granite peaks my home for 12 years. The call grows faint now and the rocks have lost their splendor. The road becomes silent and I find myself upon it more from momentum than any real seduction.

Time to find another idea to call home.

Northern California | August 2014

EDIFICE

Carved by the wind

I heard a whistle through the cracks

Reached for your hand

Found a rib, a thigh

Took what I could

Up all night

Stony edifice

What was one pitch black

Light leaks through

(For M.C.)