B L O G

Departure - Thoughts on Saba's 'Care for Me' 

Depression is Real. And Hard.

This is something I’ve wanted to talk about for a while, but never had the nerve or the energy to do so. It’s been nearly a year, since I started calling my “issue” by name, and tried to confront it head-on. Depression. It’s a simple name for a condition that can manifest in so many different aspects. For me, it began as apathy - lethargy. In my adolescence, my parents called it laziness - irresponsibility. I guess they’re all traits, belonging to the same grand puzzle.

When I was younger, I could get by, neglecting one responsibility or another, and it was fine - I knew I would be fine. It wasn’t until real adulthood hit, that I realized I couldn’t sustain a lifestyle of indifference. I finally made the decision to pursue professional advice. I started medication, and began a path to managing my mental health, and trying to improve it. At the outset, it felt like a new me was blossoming. I found motivation that I never had before, my sleeping habits improved, I had newfound aspirations and goals. It was like… well, remember the movie “Limitless” with Bradley Cooper? That’s what it felt like. Minus the wealth, fame, Russian mobsters and Robert De Niro. My point is, it felt like a miracle drug. And it felt like I could accomplish things that had been just out of my reach before.

The funny thing about medication, though, is sometimes it has side-effects. Some side-effects could have been beneficial - I started caring more about myself, and my own well-being. But sometimes it was at the cost of my loved ones and friends. I also gained 15 pounds, but that’s less important. The other thing about medication, is sometimes it can lose its effectiveness. That’s what I’m experiencing right now. It’s like I ascended, landed on a plateau for a while, but for the past several months, I’ve been falling.

It’s hard to navigate whether your symptoms and struggles are circumstantial, or beyond your physiological control. Sure, times have been trying lately, but I thought I’d have a better grasp on managing my response to hardship. Not only is that not the case, but I feel like I’m struggling more now than ever before. Not only do I find it impossible to care for myself, but it’s equally hard to care for the ones I love most. My apathy and lethargy? Most days it’s hard for me to leave my house before the late afternoon. My sleep schedule is bordering on nocturnal, my diet is trash, and in terms of general happiness and satisfaction - let’s just say I finally understand the etymology of “Depression”.

Anyway... I think I needed to write this for my own catharsis and well-being. I acknowledge that some of you believe depression is a myth of our own construct, and some of you may be all-too-familiar with it. Some of you believe “depression” is just a fancy word for feeling “bummed out” (credit: Dwight K. Schrute). It’s hard to understand, until you struggle with these things yourself, or have a loved one who does. But I assure you, by my own understanding and experience - it’s a very real thing.

I was going to end it there. 

But then, I thought this should have some sort of resolution or happy ending. The truth is - for a lot of people, this doesn't have a happy ending. Lives have been lost because of this affliction. Marriages toppled. Depression is real, and it's hard. If there's one thing I can be thankful for in this struggle, it's that I realized it exists. I understand first-hand, the effects Depression can have on relationships, marriage. On work, family, children. It's crippling, complicated, and heartbreaking.

I just want to add a final thought. If you know someone who struggles with depression, or other mental health afflictions, don't ignore it. Don't dismiss them - love them. It can be frustrating, time-consuming, and without reward, but do it. It can make a difference, not only in their day, but in their life. 

Confessions of a Single Wedding Photographer

If you had asked me a year ago, I would’ve never told you that I want to be a wedding photographer. In all honesty, it was the last thing I wanted to be using my talent for. I had this idea of who I wanted to be, what I wanted to do, and the things I wanted to achieve. I saw myself moving to the big city, to pursue a career in commercial photography. I saw my name in magazine bylines, I saw late nights and early mornings in the city, surrounded by a whirlwind of interesting and impassioned people. I saw myself struggling every day, barely getting by, and being completely content with a ceaseless working and striving to be “someone”.

It’s not that I gave up on that dream. It’s not that I played it safe by staying where I am. While both of those things are true, the reason is that I realized it was never really my dream to begin with. Graduating from college can be an exciting and daunting time - plagued by questions of “what’s next,” expectations of grandeur, and the feeling that the world is at your fingertips. It’s the first real opportunity to decide how your “life” will begin.

I realized that New York was never really what I wanted for my life. My desire for notoriety, for renown in my career - it was a desire to be known, but it was fueled by vanity and pride. I’ve always had this desire to be known, but in a more intimate way - to be fully known. I think we all have this desire embedded within our hearts, whether it’s latent or fully evident. I believe it’s an inherent part of who we were created to be. There is no greater intimacy, nothing more terrifying, and nothing more beautiful, than to know one completely, and to be completely known. Someone reminded me of this truth - this desire within my heart, and my vain dreams of grandeur, of being known by strangers, evaporated from my mind. New York became an afterthought.

If I’m being too cryptic, let me be more transparent. The thing I’m talking about - this “desire to know and be known,” is marriage. For as long as I can remember, my greatest desire for my life is to be married and have a family. I know it’s not necessarily the most typical aspiration for a man in his early 20s, but it’s there nonetheless, and I couldn’t ignore it. I guess that’s where the irony comes in - that I would choose to make a living photographing other people’s weddings, the start of other people’s lives together. The culmination and manifestation of the greatest desire of my heart, as seen through a lens.  Maybe it’s an effort to live vicariously through their joy, through the love they’ve found in one another. Maybe it’s a numbing agent, but also a heart incision, this voyeuristic profession.

I guess what I’m saying is, it’s a perfect quandary, this work that I do. It brings me so much joy to capture those moments for people. I love witnessing the happiness it brings to a couple, to their families - the preserved memories of one of the most beautiful days of their life. I love sharing in that joy with them. But it can also be painful. Maybe “painful” is too strong a word, but it can certainly be challenging. It’s usually on the drive back from the wedding, when it hits me. When I realize the purpose of my work is to capture and preserve the moments I crave most. It’s a strange concept, with which I’ve grown all-too-familiar.

Now, don’t misunderstand me - I’m not saying that I dislike photographing weddings. It’s not the most glamorous career for a photographer. It will never land me in the pages of Vogue or Rolling Stone. It’s challenging work, it’s stressful, and it’s not for the faint of heart. But the concept of creating an heirloom is a beautiful thing. The art of preserving a day, which will be cherished by a couple - a family, for a lifetime, is a wonderful feeling.

I suppose the entire point of this outpouring can be summed up in these few words - waiting is hard. I know I’m not alone in that, and I know single wedding photographers aren’t the only ones to experience the uncomfortability of what I call, “the meantime”. I hope and anxiously await for the moments that I only see through the lens. The anticipation and nervous pacing the morning-of, the flood of tears that will inevitably pour when I see my bride walking toward me, the promises that we’ll make to each other - to have, to hold, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness, in health. And ultimately, the promise to love her, the same way Jesus loves the Church, which is the most impossibly beautiful, or beautifully impossible thing I can imagine. To know fully, and be fully known. These are the moments that cut deep, and the moments I long for the most.

Threads

A few months ago, I read an editorial piece profiling the former Chancellor of my university. In the article, Dr. Ken Peacock talked about the parable of "the invisible red thread". The idea is that an invisible thread connects those destined to meet - regardless of time, place or circumstances. The thread may stretch or tangle, but never break. 

There are certain people in my life, that I'm certain I'll be attached to forever, in some fashion or another. Elke Margarethe Talbot is one of those people.

Elke and I met in sixth grade, when she and her mother moved from Tortola, in the British Virgin Islands, to the Outer Banks of North Carolina. We weren't friends right away - don't get me wrong, it's not that we didn't like each other, we just ran in different circles. It wasn't really until late in high school, that Elke and I connected through an love of art, and a passion for creating it. 

I don't know that either Elke or myself expected that we would even see each other after graduation - we were on totally different paths. I was heading to one school, planning to transfer to another, going who knows where, while Elke was intent on pursuing her interests at Appalachian State University. 

When I arrived at Appalachian, Elke and I were in a photography class together - totally by chance. It was a pleasant surprise for both of us, but I never expected we'd be in classes together until we graduated (again). It was a wonderful and sort of surreal experience - two kids from a tiny beach town, leaving to attend the same university, and then deciding to pursue the same Commercial Photography program. I saw Elke grow from a carefree, beach-going, bubbly artist, into a dedicated, passionate, and talented photographer. 

Elke truly found her stride in food photography and styling - and for those of you who don't know, that's a huge facet of the industry on its own. She combined her insatiable passion for food, for cooking, and creating, with her love of photography to create something truly beautiful.

Elke's work speaks for itself, but if that's not enough, her accolades from Nikon, or her internship with Martha Stewart should say a lot as well. She's worked hard to share with others her love of food, and her body of work is almost a complete sensory experience. At a surface level, you see the beauty and care that went into the creation of her subjects, but there's something more. You can taste the sweet and tart fruits she bakes into her homemade pastries, as they crumble in your mouth. You can feel the warmth of the cast-iron skillet in your hand, as aromas of freshly cut vegetables and hot baked goods waft throughout the kitchen. Elke's work is not simply about seeing - it's about experiencing. 

I had the pleasure of seeing Elke last week, between her hopping from country-to-country, and though our time together was brief, we were able to take photos, and share food and drink together. There's something special about that experience - sharing a meal with someone. And it seems especially significant, sharing that experience with Elke.

In less than a week, Elke will be traveling back home to Tortola, and soon after, to Sicily, where she'll be working for a year at the Anna Tasca Lanza Cooking School. I honestly couldn't imagine a better place for her to flourish in the craft that inspires so many parts of her life. 

That thread I mentioned - it's incredible watching it stretch, spanning over mountain ranges, and across oceans, knowing that in one way or another, it connects us through place and time. I couldn't be more thankful for Elke's connection to my life, and I hope that thread becomes only further stretched and tangled by the experiences and adventures we enjoy while we're apart.

"If you really want to make a friend, go to someone's house and eat with them - the people who give you their food give you their heart." - Cesar Chavez

Counting Chickens - A Summer Self-Portrait

Let’s just say I shouldn’t take up farming as a profession. I have a terrible habit of counting my proverbial chickens before they hatch. I suppose that’s how I got into this rut in the first place. Now I’m staring at a basket full of unhatched eggs, with no backup plan.

It started with a failed trip to Europe. I had been planning for months for my first trip abroad; I had a few missed opportunities for travel before, but this one was pretty sound. I would be spending about half of my summer in France, documenting an international competition to construct a solar-efficient housing project. I was turning down bookings for weddings, portraits, and other opportunities in preparation for my trip. What a mistake that turned out to be.

When my part in the trip had been cancelled, I was pretty bummed, to put it mildly. What was supposed to be a summer of excitement and travel, was turning into just another summer at home - this time with no bookings for work, and few foreseeable prospects.

Skip ahead a few weeks to today - July 11. I’ve been home, on the Outer Banks, for five weeks. I’ve been determined to continue making a living shooting weddings, portraits, and anything I can get my hands on, but work is scarce.  I have booked zero weddings this summer. Zero portraits. Zero anything. If I’m being totally honest, I’ve picked up my camera once this summer. Once.

Over the past few weeks, a few wonderful opportunities arose - some saving graces among the challenges I’ve been facing. And thus returns my problem of counting chickens. Every one of those opportunities vanished - cancelled for one reason or another. There’s nothing more frustrating than finding a silver lining to your cloud, then watching it disappear, turning back to grey.

I can come to terms with the fact that this is probably just a seasonal struggle, a temporary hardship, but it couldn’t come at a less opportune time. With looming bills and no place to live for the next two semesters, this whole summer has become one big deadline that feels impossible to meet. It’s resulted in anxiety, depression, recurring nightmares, and a severe deficit of creativity.

So, what’s the point of this narrative? A sob story? Sure. A cry for help? Probably. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not looking for a handout, by any means. But work, in any capacity, would be greatly appreciated. It’s great and uplifting to receive praise for your creative efforts, but compliments don’t pay the bills. If you like the work of a starving artist, don’t just tell him so - hire him, recommend him to others. Otherwise, he may just starve to death.

The Ragamuffin Poet

“J-O-N, no H,” he said upon our first meeting. “It’s not biblical.”

Jon Dwyer is a character, if there ever was one. On any given day, you can find him perched on a bench, or leaning against the wall outside the local coffee shop, black coffee in-hand, cigarette hanging from his lips. Adorned in tattoos, denim, and larger-than-average ear jewelry - he brings honor to the holy vestments of hipster-grunge culture.

We all know “this” guy, but Mr. Dwyer isn’t just your run-of-the-mill disheveled hangaround. If he’s not to be found in Downtown Boone, he’s probably at work. And we all know nothing says “hardcore” like wrangling children at an elementary after-school program. Yep, that’s his day job.

Somewhere between the coffee shop and the classroom, Jon puts pen to paper - he’s a notably talented writer, poet, and musician. He’s an intriguing one, to say the least, and I wanted to share just a glimpse of his personality in the best way I know how.

...and yes, that is The Lion King tattooed on his leg, as well as a landscape of Mordor across his chest.

Not for self, but for Country

I first met Forrest through a mutual friend and a mutual love of J. Crew. Sitting at the same coffee shop for a few hours every day, you see a lot of the same people coming and going. Normally you pass each other by, occasionally make awkward eye contact, but rarely share even a single word within the countless hours you spend in the same room. Forrest Brown was one of those coffee shop regulars, but unlike the other familiar passers-by, he never passed by without pausing to ask about your day, or pay you a compliment.

Forrest is one of those people you realize upon first meeting, is bright, sincere, and passionate about life. He has a genuine smile that lights up the room, and is the kind of guy you know has the whole world at his feet. I was sure he must be an upperclassman, maybe a business, advertising or PR major - all fields in which he would thrive. And then Forrest told me he had only graduated from high school the previous year, and that in a few months he would be shipping out for basic training.

I thought surely this seemed illogical for a young man of Forrest’s caliber. Surely he was made to attend a university and have the “normal” experience that people his age share. And then I realized how wrong I was. Then I realized this is exactly the kind of man who was made to serve and defend our country. Exactly the kind of man America needs more of.

Well, a few months passed by, and in less than a week from today, Forrest will be traveling to Great Lakes, Illinois for Naval Boot Camp. Yesterday brought the beginning of a large snowstorm in Boone - probably the last one Forrest will see in the town in which he grew-up for quite a while. On a whim, we decided to go out and shoot some images marking his last few days in town. I couldn’t be happier to capture these images before his departure.

Forrest, thank you for your decision to serve others. Boone will miss you.

The gray-haired girl who rides a giant bicycle

I was driving south on the Parkway for an autumn evening hike with friends, when I had to swerve my car to avoid hitting a cyclist struggling to ascend a hill. I complained to my friends about my frequent encounters with cyclists while driving on the parkway, and the dangers they pose for themselves, as well as others. Much of the problem is due to the limited (or nonexistent) shoulder on Parkway roads. This, coupled with the steep gradients and troughs of the Blue Ridge, provide a not-so-generous shared space for drivers and pedestrians. And as if normal bikes weren’t dangerous enough, I come upon this sight (pardon the iPhone quality and crack in my windshield) a few hundred feet later.

She was riding atop a bike taller than myself, with saddlebags and flowers attached, and a jar of peanut butter nestled in one of the four water bottle holders. Naturally, I thought this gray-haired lady must be a crazy old person, so I immediately pulled over at the next overlook to speak with her. As she approached, it became clear this daring cyclist was not, in fact, a crazy old lady, but rather a crazy young woman.

Her name is Catherine Brooks, and she is riding across the country on her tall bike. Beginning at her home in Richmond, Va., Catherine is now a week into her journey, hoping to reach her destination of Los Angeles by Christmas.  The journey is sort of a statement for Catherine, who constructed the lanky behemoth of a bike herself. Wanting to help tell her story, we set up a quick environmental portrait shoot at the nearest overlook, Grandfather Mountain standing proudly in the background.

We exchanged information, and I won't lie, when she told me she was an artist, I rolled my eyes in my mind a little bit. Because, let's be honest - you can never be too sure about self-proclaimed artists and photographers today. I immediately retracted my mental eye-rolling, when I visited her website later that night. Not only is Catherine an alumna of the Pratt Institute, one of the best art and design schools in the country, she's also been featured in numerous esteemed publications and galleries including Thinkspace and The Hive. Apart from her countless accolades, Catherine's work speaks for itself - she's an incredible artist, and an unreal human being. I couldn't be happier to share her story and portrait with you. 

This tiny sliver of land I call "home"

Caravans of out-of-state cars turn into long stretches of empty road, sand dancing across its surface in no particular rhythm or pattern.

Neon beach chairs and umbrellas are replaced by lonely gulls, perched on their rolling sandy roosts.

The bright red sunsets of summer, magnified by the humidity, are eclipsed by the blue-grey, and golden skies of winter on the water

All is quiet on the island, save the roaring sea, ebbing and flowing just over the dunes.

Religion...with Marcus Mumford

In my time shooting photos for bands on tour, I’ve had the opportunity to meet some pretty fantastic and well-known musicians. Normally our conversations are limited to “small talk” and a recap of the show. The dialogue is always the same back and forth - “Thanks for a great show,” and, “did you get some good shots?” This is something I always regret in hindsight. There’s just something about meeting a “celebrity,” speaking on a personal level with someone you just saw performing in front of thousands of fans. It’s often left me at a loss for words. Some call it “starstruck,” and it’s a quality that’s lost effect over time.

Recently I had the opportunity to shoot for one of my favorite group of musicians - Mumford and Sons. I’ll be honest, I’ve said this about every show to date, because I’m always amazed with the opportunities I’m given, but this was by far the biggest and most impressive I had been presented with.

After Mumford’s sold-out performance for a crowd of nearly 8,000, I had the wonderful opportunity to spend some time with the bands (Dawes and Aaron Embry were also present) backstage, playing ping-pong and watching the 2012 London Olympics. I know, it sounds like a bizarre dream. It was certainly unique to say the least.

After a few nail-biting rounds of ping-pong with Dawes drummer Griffin Goldsmith and Marcus Mumford, we stepped outside to the back porch for a smoke break...well, not so much for myself. I knew it was about that time, to spark the conversation, and I was determined to make it one I wouldn’t later regret. So I began, “Marcus, do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”

Now, allow me to add a brief interlude here. I recently learned from my pastor that Marcus Mumford was raised in the Church. In fact, you may be surprised to learn that his parents, John and Eleanor Mumford, are the National Directors of Vineyard Churches in the United Kingdom. For those of you unfamiliar with the Vineyard movement, it’s essentially one of the most successful UK-based church planting organizations.

Aside from recently learning of his upbringing in the Church, it’s clear simply from listening to his intimate, even arguably “spiritual” lyrics that Mr. Mumford has (or had) some relationship with the Lord. Included in his writing are tones of undeserved grace, falling from that grace, and redeeming love.

With all this in mind, I begin the conversation...and Marcus responds, “Depends how personal the question is...”

I ask about his parents and their role in the church, to which Marcus is pleasantly surprised. He goes on to tell me how proud he is of his parents, and that he’s always amazed by the work they do for their Church. It’s clear he doesn’t often get asked these questions, as each answer seems heartfelt and not pre-conceived.

“So I’m going to get a little more personal here,” I said. “Are you also a Christian?”

Excerpts from the rest of our conversation are dialogued below:

MM: I don’t really like that word - I think it holds a lot of connotation...I love God, I love Jesus - I mean we pray backstage every night before the show. Obviously I don’t go to church (being on the road). I mean this is my church [he points to the other band members].

DB: Absolutely, I can understand that.

MM: I just don’t really like religion...

DB: Well who does?

MM: A lot of people! Most of the world loves religion.

DB: I guess you’re right, but I think the truest believers are those that follow the Lord, rather than their ‘religion’.

We continue to talk about the difference between a “relationship” and a “religion”. He tells me about his parents’ church, and growing up in an evangelical family - how encouraging his parents were in his spiritual life. I’m both surprised and delighted at how open Marcus is about this part of his life. It’s clear that it’s played a pivotal role in who he is today.

But still, there seems to be a piece missing from the kid who grew up with parents who are essentially the British Billy Grahams, to the man who doesn’t like to use “that word” to define his relationship with Jesus. It’s interesting, the connotations that have become attached to the word “Christian,” especially in today’s America. It’s sort of heartbreaking, to say the least, and I can only imagine those unwanted connotations being magnified for someone in a position like Mr. Mumford’s.

So who’s to blame in this sad state of affairs? Today’s America? Today’s Christians? I would propose these “connotations,” as Marcus deemed them, derive from a few that have tarnished the reputation of the many. Or maybe it’s the many that have tarnished the reputation of the few and true. Whether it’s derived from incidents with altar boys, or distasteful behavior from a certain Baptist Church which shall remain unnamed - let’s not point fingers here, but the problem still remains. We’ve become persecuted because of our own doing, or rather our own undoing - often claiming to do the work of Christ, but in a very un-Christ-like way. It’s this kind of behavior that’s made it difficult for people to be unashamed to call themselves Christians, that’s made it an embarrassment to be associated with those who have mistakenly un-done the real work of Jesus.