The crowd at Fait Maison 11

Pho­to­graphy is often a sol­it­ary occupation.

First, there’s the many hours spent search­ing for the per­fect pic­ture. When you do find one, you have a split second rela­tion­ship with your sub­ject. This is not a true rela­tion­ship, it is one medi­ated by the cam­era. Pho­to­graphy a moment­ary reflec­tion of real­ity. Then come hours spent alone in front of the com­puter, mak­ing everything just-so: an ideal­ized ver­sion of real­ity. When people finally do look at your pho­tos, they see that split second rela­tion­ship again. How­ever, by this time, the ver­sion of real­ity cap­tured in the moment is a former one, a reflec­tion of some­thing that once was but is no more. Pho­to­graphy is frus­trat­ingly real and unreal at the same time. After almost a dec­ade of tak­ing pic­tures, I still have trouble com­ing to terms with this disconnectedness.

I see loneli­ness in my work, and a cer­tain absence of per­sonal rela­tion­ship. This empti­ness goes along with the way I use the medium — a little heavy on nos­tal­gia. There are parts of this that I like, but at the same time, the empti­ness both­ers me. Pho­to­graphy can be a lonely pur­suit, but it doesn’t have to be one all the time. I want to use the medium to explore con­nec­tion and com­munity, as well as loneli­ness and dis­con­nec­tion. Both each is a part of the human condition.

Next week, I will start the first of a series of in-depth per­sonal mini-documentaries. Some­thing like embed­ding, but without going to war. I’ll be spend­ing the week with one per­son, all the time. Hon­estly, I am scared. I don’t know what to expect. Each per­son will be dif­fer­ent. I am hop­ing to be sur­prised. I am hop­ing to learn. I hope to fall in love, in a small way. It’s time to get up-close and personal.