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A Fist Full of Film

This is the Rebellion against overproduced images often in the digital world. These are images made from my film cameras. Each image I shot myself. The subjects are often friends, and acquaintances in their world.

The Real House of Sand and Fog The funny thing about surfing, is that sand, and seawater and cameras do not mix.  I chanced it one day and exposed one of my babies to the sand, and seawater, because that’s what living is, where life is for me, and the blending of all my idiosyncracies of nature, of sport, of solace, and where I can find peace amongst the Created Nature of the universe.   So on my blanket in a secret spot up the California coast, I could spot my Rollei from the ocean, as sets of rollers would come and return, and I would dangle my legs off the edges of my board, knowing full well the sea life both antagonistic and friendly that swam under in the blue.  The serene of leaving it all on the blanket, the electronic leash that is constantly pinging for work, and duty, and friends that are wondering where in the world you have been.  All that gave way to the roll of the blanket of ocean, breaking softly to the right, providing enough of a face have a cut on, fast enough to enjoy, but not too fast to pearl.  A few missed waves, a few slow inches, and the moment is gone, but then you get that third or fourth wave of the day, that is just bombing.  You see the rock fly underneath, and small fish scatter, as you cut it deeper  feeling the roll start to catch up as your weight begins to drag.  So you choke up walking up higher on the board, picking up speed, while the math in your head ticks away invisible seconds to when you apply pressure for the repositioning turn to find your line, and guide your board “home,” or at least until the wave dies out. A good ride will warrant a jump of joy off the board.  Perhaps a friend with light eyes is waving to you from the shore, a buddy in the lineup who vicariously breathes your 10 second ride with fist pumps and smiles. You get back on the board, a little inside, and pick a point to paddle to, to meet your friend, and say, a thousand different ways to say the word, “Wow.”  Cresting the final series of waves to get past the break, you paddle strong and fast up the face of this last wave, feeling the sudden drop of making it over it and not under it, landing, hearing the roar fall behind you.  Paddling in what is silence in comparison to the churning ocean you just left inside.   The senses are acute, and voices spoken low, can be heard with fiber optic clarity.  And it feeds you a little more, and now your mind is on the next wave, and not just recreating that feeling but building on it.  Can’t keep from grinning, and feeling that God is out there, and this is His gift to you.  Thankful.  Serene.  Calm.  Peace.   This escapism may last another hour or less, or more, but when the waves die down, and the sun loses its power, and it begins to get colder, its only then, I remember…oh my Rolleiflex is on the beach, I should make sure its not getting wet in its bag.  That’s how intoxicated I can lose sense of some of my most prized cameras.  So I ride a slow one in, on my belly, not wanting to chance the rocks on something underpowered.  The fins cut a little into the sand, and I lift the board up and wrap the leash.  Towel dry my face, hair, and hands, and pull my camera up and fire this parting shot before working the wetsuit off and putting on dry clothes.  Looking back I see everyone else come in too.  My footsteps paving the way to a warm hoodie, some ugly flip flops, and some boxers that have been cooking in my backpack.  This is going to feel so good.  Goodnight Moon.  Thanks for the Ride. California Coast Rolleiflex 2.8E Portra 160 NC 

The Real House of Sand and Fog

The funny thing about surfing, is that sand, and seawater and cameras do not mix.  I chanced it one day and exposed one of my babies to the sand, and seawater, because that’s what living is, where life is for me, and the blending of all my idiosyncracies of nature, of sport, of solace, and where I can find peace amongst the Created Nature of the universe.  

So on my blanket in a secret spot up the California coast, I could spot my Rollei from the ocean, as sets of rollers would come and return, and I would dangle my legs off the edges of my board, knowing full well the sea life both antagonistic and friendly that swam under in the blue.  The serene of leaving it all on the blanket, the electronic leash that is constantly pinging for work, and duty, and friends that are wondering where in the world you have been.  All that gave way to the roll of the blanket of ocean, breaking softly to the right, providing enough of a face have a cut on, fast enough to enjoy, but not too fast to pearl.  A few missed waves, a few slow inches, and the moment is gone, but then you get that third or fourth wave of the day, that is just bombing.  You see the rock fly underneath, and small fish scatter, as you cut it deeper  feeling the roll start to catch up as your weight begins to drag.  So you choke up walking up higher on the board, picking up speed, while the math in your head ticks away invisible seconds to when you apply pressure for the repositioning turn to find your line, and guide your board “home,” or at least until the wave dies out.

A good ride will warrant a jump of joy off the board.  Perhaps a friend with light eyes is waving to you from the shore, a buddy in the lineup who vicariously breathes your 10 second ride with fist pumps and smiles.

You get back on the board, a little inside, and pick a point to paddle to, to meet your friend, and say, a thousand different ways to say the word, “Wow.”  Cresting the final series of waves to get past the break, you paddle strong and fast up the face of this last wave, feeling the sudden drop of making it over it and not under it, landing, hearing the roar fall behind you.  Paddling in what is silence in comparison to the churning ocean you just left inside.  

The senses are acute, and voices spoken low, can be heard with fiber optic clarity.  And it feeds you a little more, and now your mind is on the next wave, and not just recreating that feeling but building on it.  Can’t keep from grinning, and feeling that God is out there, and this is His gift to you.  Thankful.  Serene.  Calm.  Peace.  

This escapism may last another hour or less, or more, but when the waves die down, and the sun loses its power, and it begins to get colder, its only then, I remember…oh my Rolleiflex is on the beach, I should make sure its not getting wet in its bag.  That’s how intoxicated I can lose sense of some of my most prized cameras.  So I ride a slow one in, on my belly, not wanting to chance the rocks on something underpowered.  The fins cut a little into the sand, and I lift the board up and wrap the leash.  Towel dry my face, hair, and hands, and pull my camera up and fire this parting shot before working the wetsuit off and putting on dry clothes.  Looking back I see everyone else come in too.  My footsteps paving the way to a warm hoodie, some ugly flip flops, and some boxers that have been cooking in my backpack.  This is going to feel so good.  Goodnight Moon.  Thanks for the Ride.

California Coast

Rolleiflex 2.8E Portra 160 NC 

1 week ago 12 notes
Crusader Often times I sit from the comfort of my armchair, and I don’t get dirty.  I see the ticker of news, events, and saga of human interest stories teletype away in pings and flashing borders of what is new, what is evident, and what is postulated as the next big thing. I never get up, I’m too lazy to even change the channel or swipe the iPad to the next page.  I live comfortable in my Los Angeles environ, content that the horrors I see, won’t ever happen to me. I am not Heather. Often times people will discredit other people in their quest to find truth, because it isn’t their truth.  I was that way.  Until I got to know first hand what was at stake, and I heard from a person who has seen things that I could not have even believed, but I could see in them, that I believed them.  These were not wack-jobs, fruitcakes, or placard holding fringe experts outside a fence marked Area 51.  This was a person, an intellectual as well as progressive that functioned well inside of our regular society.  And I could see and hear in her the horrors she witnessed in the Gulf of Mexico during the British Petroleum spill.   I know what you are thinking.  ”What?  This news?  So yesterday, so absolutely nothing.”  I said those same things.  I supported her and her company because I felt that they were friends, and that’s what we do.  But overtime, I became a little tired of it.  That is, until I saw it in their faces when they returned after two years on the road, investigating the illnesses, the coverups, and the redtape that no one who went through the filter of the Western Media could ever realize or understand sitting on the couch in Arizona, or Washington, or Florida could ever understand. People laugh, like people laughed at Noah building an Ark when there is no such thing as rain(at the time), or Copernicus who believed the Sun was the center of our Galaxy, Pythagoras who believed in a Spherical Earth.  All conventional wisdom now, was unconventional at one point.  I believe the same can be true for what happened out there.  And I can hear her cough, and the life sucked out of her, when she speaks of the crimes that have happened, and have gone deaf, and gagged into a oblivion. Yet amongst the jeering, the criticism, the accusations, and insults, and especially the sorrow, she can stand on her feet, look herself in the eye with resolve, knowing full well she did the right thing, and even if she loses, she can be in a position, that she can tell her children, and children’s children, I did what was right, what I knew to be right, and I followed it to my own pain.  But someone had to fight, someone had to do it for all the others who could not. The documentary she will be releasing, which she co-directed, will spin you.  It will make you say:  ”How is this even possible that something this big could be covered up?”  I was honored to be apart of some of the interviews.  And am honored to call her my friend.  And I’m glad, that actions like hers, allowed me to stand up to what was right.  Even if in the end it hurt me for my life.  I know what it is, and who I am, and I could no longer pretend to be. West Hollywood, CA Rolleiflex 2.8 E Portra 160 NC @2.8

Crusader

Often times I sit from the comfort of my armchair, and I don’t get dirty.  I see the ticker of news, events, and saga of human interest stories teletype away in pings and flashing borders of what is new, what is evident, and what is postulated as the next big thing.

I never get up, I’m too lazy to even change the channel or swipe the iPad to the next page.  I live comfortable in my Los Angeles environ, content that the horrors I see, won’t ever happen to me.

I am not Heather.

Often times people will discredit other people in their quest to find truth, because it isn’t their truth.  I was that way.  Until I got to know first hand what was at stake, and I heard from a person who has seen things that I could not have even believed, but I could see in them, that I believed them.  These were not wack-jobs, fruitcakes, or placard holding fringe experts outside a fence marked Area 51.  This was a person, an intellectual as well as progressive that functioned well inside of our regular society.  And I could see and hear in her the horrors she witnessed in the Gulf of Mexico during the British Petroleum spill.  

I know what you are thinking.  ”What?  This news?  So yesterday, so absolutely nothing.”  I said those same things.  I supported her and her company because I felt that they were friends, and that’s what we do.  But overtime, I became a little tired of it.  That is, until I saw it in their faces when they returned after two years on the road, investigating the illnesses, the coverups, and the redtape that no one who went through the filter of the Western Media could ever realize or understand sitting on the couch in Arizona, or Washington, or Florida could ever understand.

People laugh, like people laughed at Noah building an Ark when there is no such thing as rain(at the time), or Copernicus who believed the Sun was the center of our Galaxy, Pythagoras who believed in a Spherical Earth.  All conventional wisdom now, was unconventional at one point.  I believe the same can be true for what happened out there.  And I can hear her cough, and the life sucked out of her, when she speaks of the crimes that have happened, and have gone deaf, and gagged into a oblivion.

Yet amongst the jeering, the criticism, the accusations, and insults, and especially the sorrow, she can stand on her feet, look herself in the eye with resolve, knowing full well she did the right thing, and even if she loses, she can be in a position, that she can tell her children, and children’s children, I did what was right, what I knew to be right, and I followed it to my own pain.  But someone had to fight, someone had to do it for all the others who could not.

The documentary she will be releasing, which she co-directed, will spin you.  It will make you say:  ”How is this even possible that something this big could be covered up?”  I was honored to be apart of some of the interviews.  And am honored to call her my friend.  And I’m glad, that actions like hers, allowed me to stand up to what was right.  Even if in the end it hurt me for my life.  I know what it is, and who I am, and I could no longer pretend to be.

West Hollywood, CA

Rolleiflex 2.8 E Portra 160 NC @2.8

1 week ago 17 notes
Only GREEN M&M’s. When you rub shoulders with celebrity, you sometimes get a little of their elbow grease on your coats.  And often times you hear stories of getting shit for them that you might think is preposterous, but I guarantee you its life and death(to them).  Logistics, is what the Yes man does to keep them satisfied, at bay, and willing to continue to be cooperative when they have everyone in their corner saying that they don’t have to be, because they are oh-so important.  What Jessie did in production, she could write books on.  Its the flip side of what I see before the photograph and after as far as lighting and photoshop.  But to her, she sees it on paper, in deal memos, in preproduction, and in planning.  And then she hears it when the Fan hit the Shit, because some monkey F-ing a football hacked the fan off the ceiling while jumping on the blades with backpack full of RedMatter from either Star Trek or Die Hard With A Vengence-all this happens when they print the wrong picture, or the wrong outfit or the wrong sunglasses in whatever spread went out.  And its not her fault.  But she takes the blame. But we are the real Expendables.  Because our reputations get thrown asunder in a parsec, as the blame rolls down hill and we collect the pieces.  Being rocked and rolled at a drop of a hat makes you a identify with someone, when you don’t sleep, work long hours, and all so you can master the trade that you do.  So you don’t have to do the 15 hours a day.  And perhaps you make it through the entertainment industry version of the “drop classes” that would be in the Freshman schedule in College. “Remember that job on that deserted airstrip when so and so had to fly in and you had to take her to the hotel and you had that 2 hours in your Subaru with A-List talking about what it was like growing up in Virginia?”   The stories you get are pretty amazing, and most times unbelievable to those who don’t work in this funny business.  Now on the verge of leaving it(at least temporarily), I reflect more on the work and people I’ve met and shared some moments with, people who satellite through our lives, and then the apogee takes them elsewhere for whatever the reason. That is the nature of our business.  A culture of Rolling Stones, who is and was only as good as our last job.  It can take its toll on you, and it can remove your identity, getting lost in the current of bullshit and ego.  I know Jessie made it out okay, for most part unscathed. Santa Monica, CA Leica M6 50mm Summilux Tmax 100

Only GREEN M&M’s.


When you rub shoulders with celebrity, you sometimes get a little of their elbow grease on your coats.  And often times you hear stories of getting shit for them that you might think is preposterous, but I guarantee you its life and death(to them).  Logistics, is what the Yes man does to keep them satisfied, at bay, and willing to continue to be cooperative when they have everyone in their corner saying that they don’t have to be, because they are oh-so important.  What Jessie did in production, she could write books on.  Its the flip side of what I see before the photograph and after as far as lighting and photoshop.  But to her, she sees it on paper, in deal memos, in preproduction, and in planning.  And then she hears it when the Fan hit the Shit, because some monkey F-ing a football hacked the fan off the ceiling while jumping on the blades with backpack full of RedMatter from either Star Trek or Die Hard With A Vengence-all this happens when they print the wrong picture, or the wrong outfit or the wrong sunglasses in whatever spread went out.  And its not her fault.  But she takes the blame.

But we are the real Expendables.  Because our reputations get thrown asunder in a parsec, as the blame rolls down hill and we collect the pieces.  Being rocked and rolled at a drop of a hat makes you a identify with someone, when you don’t sleep, work long hours, and all so you can master the trade that you do.  So you don’t have to do the 15 hours a day.  And perhaps you make it through the entertainment industry version of the “drop classes” that would be in the Freshman schedule in College.

“Remember that job on that deserted airstrip when so and so had to fly in and you had to take her to the hotel and you had that 2 hours in your Subaru with A-List talking about what it was like growing up in Virginia?”  

The stories you get are pretty amazing, and most times unbelievable to those who don’t work in this funny business.  Now on the verge of leaving it(at least temporarily), I reflect more on the work and people I’ve met and shared some moments with, people who satellite through our lives, and then the apogee takes them elsewhere for whatever the reason.

That is the nature of our business.  A culture of Rolling Stones, who is and was only as good as our last job.  It can take its toll on you, and it can remove your identity, getting lost in the current of bullshit and ego.  I know Jessie made it out okay, for most part unscathed.

Santa Monica, CA

Leica M6 50mm Summilux Tmax 100

3 weeks ago 5 notes
My kids in Chinatown. Seriously the M6 with the Leica is the most convenient and beautiful lens.  Its so fast, its nimble.  And its sly enough to catch a moment when two children under the age of 5 can be caught on film.  Sorry for the Big Branding and watermark, but since my pictures are constantly stolen and put up in places I did not agree to, I might as well have some branding take them to the source if they get through the discouraging part of not being able to claim it as their own. Chinatown, Los Angeles Leica M6 50mm Summilux 2.8 Kodak Portra 160 NC

My kids in Chinatown.

Seriously the M6 with the Leica is the most convenient and beautiful lens.  Its so fast, its nimble.  And its sly enough to catch a moment when two children under the age of 5 can be caught on film.  Sorry for the Big Branding and watermark, but since my pictures are constantly stolen and put up in places I did not agree to, I might as well have some branding take them to the source if they get through the discouraging part of not being able to claim it as their own.

Chinatown, Los Angeles

Leica M6 50mm Summilux 2.8 Kodak Portra 160 NC

4 weeks ago 7 notes
Amanda (again) I have a new scanner so I’m testing what it can do revisiting older negatives.  WIsh I hadn’t underexposed the roll,  which would have been fine with the Mamiya or the Hassy, but a Bronica Lens can only do so much.  Wish I had a better camera back then, this would have been even more epic than it feels right now.  Love the Film edge border.  Very Real.  Tangible.   Winter Park, FL

Amanda (again)

I have a new scanner so I’m testing what it can do revisiting older negatives.  WIsh I hadn’t underexposed the roll,  which would have been fine with the Mamiya or the Hassy, but a Bronica Lens can only do so much.  Wish I had a better camera back then, this would have been even more epic than it feels right now.  Love the Film edge border.  Very Real.  Tangible.  

Winter Park, FL

4 weeks ago 5 notes

When I shoot Motion Picture, this is what it can look like.  Got to love EITS.

1 month ago 1 notes
Castles in the Sand Heart Breaker Hidden Cove, CA Leica M6 50mm Summilux  Kodak Gold 200

Castles in the Sand

Heart Breaker

Hidden Cove, CA

Leica M6 50mm Summilux  Kodak Gold 200

1 month ago 6 notes
The Greatest Present Having a Relationship with your children, and being able to document it on film is the greatest gift a father can have.  On Christmas Day, I’m glad they know my name.  And I’m thankful for the ability to “preserve” moments like this in time.  Amidst all the accolades and accomplishments, the sorrow and the heartbreak, stuff like this, will always be a buffer to the pain a cruel world can dish out.  Short entry.  Christmas Day. Indio, CA Hasselblad 500 C/M 80mm Zeiss 400 TX

The Greatest Present

Having a Relationship with your children, and being able to document it on film is the greatest gift a father can have.  On Christmas Day, I’m glad they know my name.  And I’m thankful for the ability to “preserve” moments like this in time.  Amidst all the accolades and accomplishments, the sorrow and the heartbreak, stuff like this, will always be a buffer to the pain a cruel world can dish out.  Short entry.  Christmas Day.

Indio, CA

Hasselblad 500 C/M 80mm Zeiss 400 TX

1 month ago 15 notes
“Do you even know how to use that thing?” The man in the tweed suit asked me in Midtown Manhattan.  ”Do you know how to use that?”  I responded.  He gave me a look that would probably be translated;  ”Brother, please.”  I measured the light in my mind’s eye and “remembered what it was,”  and fired.  One shot.  One kill. The sound of a rifle, cracking the the silence of cold morning air, finding its mark in the beast of burden, or the enemy by itself is elegant and sign of precision. Instead of the repeating qualities of automatics.  This is analog photography, by design, seriously just taking one shot, and letting it go.  Putting the camera away, and rest in the confidence of what you could “see” was the shot. Film is not efficient.  Film is not convenient.  Film is everything archaic, manual and slow.  It is why it is art.  Because the technique is as much an art form as the process.  Again here I am using my own process in my kitchen to create the negatives, and develop them.  And this is yet another example of that “Leo Process.”   I never was part of a fraternity, nor an elite club of people.  My time in the Church, was close to that, and even my time on the rowing team allowed for a sort of male bonding.  But when I meet a guy on the street, who recognizes my old camera before he sees the person, and asks me in a digital world of my contemporaries if I even know how to use something twice as old as me, and I do, it feels like a connection to the past. We often speak of doing things bigger than ourselves.  Bigger than the generic life of the mundane of lives bought and sold at the convenience of big box stores.  God can play a factor here.  Or Country, in a militaristic perspective can be bigger than the sum of its parts.  I’m not equating taking photographs to fighting wars or Believing in God.  I’m equating it to what we in my infintesimal mind is Identity.  And in my identity, being able to relate with someone else provides a satisfaction of the collective.  But too much collective, and we feel we’ve lost originality.  Too little and we are bound for Egomania.   Why do I use such a toxic form of art to do what is I do?  What are the motives for my desire to do so?  Is it for recognition?  Is it for personal gain?  I find myself asking questions on my motives to the very core of who I am.  Because of the amount of money(none) and accolades(few/far between), I can rule that out.  Perhaps it truly is for the love, in which case, that makes me a fraternity brother of most of the dreamers and out of the big box thinkers.  Hooray.  Being conscious of that makes me sick.  Realizing I’m sick makes me better. This post makes me sound like a David O. Russell movie. Midtown Manhattan Secret Process, Lens, Camera, Film

“Do you even know how to use that thing?”

The man in the tweed suit asked me in Midtown Manhattan.  ”Do you know how to use that?”  I responded.  He gave me a look that would probably be translated;  ”Brother, please.”  I measured the light in my mind’s eye and “remembered what it was,”  and fired.  One shot.  One kill.

The sound of a rifle, cracking the the silence of cold morning air, finding its mark in the beast of burden, or the enemy by itself is elegant and sign of precision. Instead of the repeating qualities of automatics.  This is analog photography, by design, seriously just taking one shot, and letting it go.  Putting the camera away, and rest in the confidence of what you could “see” was the shot.

Film is not efficient.  Film is not convenient.  Film is everything archaic, manual and slow.  It is why it is art.  Because the technique is as much an art form as the process.  Again here I am using my own process in my kitchen to create the negatives, and develop them.  And this is yet another example of that “Leo Process.”  

I never was part of a fraternity, nor an elite club of people.  My time in the Church, was close to that, and even my time on the rowing team allowed for a sort of male bonding.  But when I meet a guy on the street, who recognizes my old camera before he sees the person, and asks me in a digital world of my contemporaries if I even know how to use something twice as old as me, and I do, it feels like a connection to the past.

We often speak of doing things bigger than ourselves.  Bigger than the generic life of the mundane of lives bought and sold at the convenience of big box stores.  God can play a factor here.  Or Country, in a militaristic perspective can be bigger than the sum of its parts.  I’m not equating taking photographs to fighting wars or Believing in God.  I’m equating it to what we in my infintesimal mind is Identity.  And in my identity, being able to relate with someone else provides a satisfaction of the collective.  But too much collective, and we feel we’ve lost originality.  Too little and we are bound for Egomania.  

Why do I use such a toxic form of art to do what is I do?  What are the motives for my desire to do so?  Is it for recognition?  Is it for personal gain?  I find myself asking questions on my motives to the very core of who I am.  Because of the amount of money(none) and accolades(few/far between), I can rule that out.  Perhaps it truly is for the love, in which case, that makes me a fraternity brother of most of the dreamers and out of the big box thinkers.  Hooray.  Being conscious of that makes me sick.  Realizing I’m sick makes me better.

This post makes me sound like a David O. Russell movie.

Midtown Manhattan

Secret Process, Lens, Camera, Film

1 month ago 13 notes
The Leo Process Because of the effort on R&D, I cannot describe what I am doing, and how I’m doing it.  I will say it is all completely analog except for the delivery method of the scan you see here.  In a world that grows completely more and more digital daily, and with entities like Kodak about to claim bankruptcy, its is quite horrific to think that analog photography could just simply disappear.  Fist was inspired by certain people in my life, and out of the joy having a precision to photography, without firing off test frames to “see” where something lands, and making the adjustments along the way.   Analog photography is a state of being.  It is not a more efficient lawnmower.  There is a look that digital cannot match here.  Nor can a subset of layers, and adjustments with Control T, and Apple V, being the method keys.  The developing effect, random and unpredictable as it is naturally parallels the imperfection of the capture method.  It makes me feel more human, and more importantly so does the subject.   If you could get a feeling like this in all your photographs, why would you shoot digital for your personal work?  For your life?  for the people in it?  This is the most magical of situations. Again this is Maggie, a friend who came over to talk about a script she wanted to shoot.  I fired this off as she was leaving.  I recently had a collection of this method on display in Silverlake, and it was very well received.  I’m looking to unveil more as I really hone in on my voice here.  It was overwhelming obvious the strength of the voice at the show.    I hope you enjoy.  And please feel free to tell me what you think.  Everyone wants someone to provide positive feedback, and I love my bollocks being washed by them like the next chap in queue, but if you have something weird or something you don’t like about it, then so be it, let’s hear it. Woodland Hills, CA Camera: Classified:Top Secret, Film:  Classified:Top Secret, Lens:  Classified: Top Secret

The Leo Process

Because of the effort on R&D, I cannot describe what I am doing, and how I’m doing it.  I will say it is all completely analog except for the delivery method of the scan you see here.  In a world that grows completely more and more digital daily, and with entities like Kodak about to claim bankruptcy, its is quite horrific to think that analog photography could just simply disappear.  Fist was inspired by certain people in my life, and out of the joy having a precision to photography, without firing off test frames to “see” where something lands, and making the adjustments along the way.  

Analog photography is a state of being.  It is not a more efficient lawnmower.  There is a look that digital cannot match here.  Nor can a subset of layers, and adjustments with Control T, and Apple V, being the method keys.  The developing effect, random and unpredictable as it is naturally parallels the imperfection of the capture method.  It makes me feel more human, and more importantly so does the subject.  

If you could get a feeling like this in all your photographs, why would you shoot digital for your personal work?  For your life?  for the people in it?  This is the most magical of situations.

Again this is Maggie, a friend who came over to talk about a script she wanted to shoot.  I fired this off as she was leaving.  I recently had a collection of this method on display in Silverlake, and it was very well received.  I’m looking to unveil more as I really hone in on my voice here.  It was overwhelming obvious the strength of the voice at the show.    I hope you enjoy.  And please feel free to tell me what you think.  Everyone wants someone to provide positive feedback, and I love my bollocks being washed by them like the next chap in queue, but if you have something weird or something you don’t like about it, then so be it, let’s hear it.

Woodland Hills, CA

Camera: Classified:Top Secret, Film:  Classified:Top Secret, Lens:  Classified: Top Secret

1 month ago 12 notes