Just random mumbling

Have you ever felt like you have entered an old photograph? Walked through the doors into the past? As I stepped through the white hallway that led to a large airplane hanger I realized this could be the 1940’s. Except for the Harry Potter tie and a few converse sneakers that brought a familiar sight amidst the of sea of army fatigues. In small folding chairs over 200 United States Army Soldiers sat for the last few minutes before they said good-bye to their family and friends before boarding a plane headed for Iraq. Women sobbed while children cried out daddy daddy! Don't go! Daddy! Lovers held onto each other and said prayers over bibles imprinted in army fatigues. But I have to say, there were just as many smiles and cheers as there were tears.

It’s an interesting line I get to walk as a photographer. I watched and photographed the families feeling the pain of loss and the unknown of the future. But I also got to photograph the soldiers as they walked away. I got to walk over the line that the families couldn't cross. As soon as I got over the line, the air cleared; there was excitement, tension, camaraderie, and friendship, as they made their way onto the plane. I wanted to go on the plane with them. Join them on their unknown journey to Iraq.

It could have been the 1960's as the families waved flags as the plane flew away.



So my question is this, whose shoes would you rather be in, the shoes of the soldiers or their wife or husband. Did Odysseus have it harder, or did Penelope?

What it's really like

After three assignments and an eight-hour workday, I was given an assignment to photograph Christmas lights for the Arizona Daily Star's metro centerpiece for Thanksgiving. I thought it was going to be an amazing array of colorful lights, Santa Clauses, snow machines, little things operated by batteries. But nooo, it was a plain house with way too many white lights covering way too many cacti in someones front yard. “So now how do I get a metro centerpiece out of this?” I thought.

So much of what we do as newspaper photographers is to solve problems. There are so many times a day I run into a situation like this, I wonder "how am I going to get through this one?" I showed up earlier at a fabric store with a list of seven fabrics for a Home Cover shoot. The woman looks at me and asks, "so what are you going to shoot?" Like I have any idea! Fabric? Fuck if I know how to make a beautiful, exciting, front page worthy photograph of fabric. It’s a feeling like driving up to this dark ally to shoot bland white Christmas lights for the metro centerpiece.

And as I painted light on the cactus with my 550ex flash, and allowing my shutter to stay open for thirty seconds, I knew I had gotten myself through another assignment. This is what I did:

Two people in love

What is Heaven?

Heaven is right here
Heaven is the soft light that spills over the windowsill
Heaven is the soft part of the belly that hangs over a low riding pair of jeans
Heaven is a new pair of shoes, the thoughts of my mother, or the anticipation of a cream filled cup of coffee on Saturday morning
Heaven is the red light spilling over the face of trendy people with trendy shoes
Heaven is in them, heaven is in me, heaven is right here.

Wearing a purple dress in the third row

Where did we get this tradition of a frilly white dress, groomsmen, rose petals, and uncomfortable shoes. Why do we have it? I have watched my friends fall one by one to the tradition so foreign to me, that I wonder did I miss something? There was never any talk of weddings growing up. No pictures of ceremonies, or white dresses. There were no stories of an amazing day where girls become women.

Where did the world come up with a tradition so foreign to me.

It’s beautiful, I must say. Exotic in a foreign way. It is something others do. Like a photograph that will never have me in it.

Does love need pink bridesmaids and garter belts? Does love need bachelor parties, and good whiskey?

The sun was drizzling through the green canopy of the ancient ancenstors that shaded the fifty quiet guests who sat as witnesses to the new beginning. We waited. The violins played, the birds chirped, and I sat in my purple dress in the third row, among the pink ladies, and the black bow ties. Family members and friends gasped as the girl we used to know walked before us as a woman. I saw it too, I saw it as she looked at the audience and smiled at us. There were tears, and laughter, but for me there was just this uncontrollable urge to stand up an yell “You go girl!”

It was in that moment I realized that there wasn't any other place I would rather be than right there as my good friend shared her love for those around her. So really, who cares whether a tradition is right or wrong, pink or purple, awkward or relevant, it’s just important to tell each other how much we love them.

To my friend
In all her radiant glory.
I love you.