I brought my Yashica T4 on my trip to Hong Kong and Japan last fall. I barely took any photos with it though. Sometimes I get overly precious with film and end up not making nearly enough frames.

I took this picture early in the morning from the shore of a lake at the foot of Mt. Fuji.

I’m currently reading Zen Mind, Beginners Mind and I came across the passage that captions the photo. I don’t know what any of it means but it makes me feel some type of way.

“The blue mountain is the father of the white cloud. The white cloud is the son of the blue mountain. All day long they depend on each other, without being dependent on each other. The white cloud is always the white cloud. The blue mountain is alwa…

“The blue mountain is the father of the white cloud. The white cloud is the son of the blue mountain. All day long they depend on each other, without being dependent on each other. The white cloud is always the white cloud. The blue mountain is always the blue mountain.”

- Tozan

I took this photo years ago when I was young and green, before I bought a “real” camera, before I had any idea of where all this chasing of light and form could take me. I was driving across the country, living in a van with a street magician and tr…

I took this photo years ago when I was young and green, before I bought a “real” camera, before I had any idea of where all this chasing of light and form could take me. 

I was driving across the country, living in a van with a street magician and trying to find my own little piece of the wild blue yonder. 

This is the home of  strangers father. The stranger was a tough looking guy I met in a bar in Oakland. I remember  talking about heroin, I remember talking about Bradley Nowell, I remember talking about how difficult it was to find a shower on the road when you lived in a vehicle. 

That was the reason I found myself here. In search of cleanliness in a house full of beautiful clutter. 

This photo was all instinct. I didn’t take note of it until years later. With a more seasoned eye, with a heavier heart it caught my attention while I was flipping through my archive. 

This is how memories look to me. All golden light and old dusty things and warmth. They’re beautiful half truths that I can take apart and live inside of for a few seconds when the “real” world becomes too much.

I wanna know what’s hiding under there. Corvette? Corsair? Falcon? Who knows. I’m always curious when I see covered cars.

I wanna know what’s hiding under there. Corvette? Corsair? Falcon? Who knows. I’m always curious when I see covered cars.

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One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish.

Eataly in Manhattan is a such a strange and wonderful cavern of earthly delights. My first visit there made me feel like some sort of Roman aristocrat. All the world’s bounty  in it’s highest form readily available if you have the currency. 

I was on the phone with a friend when I turned this curve and just got struck by the beauty of the light. I abruptly ended the call, pulled over my truck and grabbed my camera. Out on the wet asphalt I pointed it at the sky trying my best to capture…

I was on the phone with a friend when I turned this curve and just got struck by the beauty of the light. I abruptly ended the call, pulled over my truck and grabbed my camera. Out on the wet asphalt I pointed it at the sky trying my best to capture the thunderstorm pallet of the evening. This is as close as I got and it’s still pretty far off. Photographs may be lies but I think the truth is also flexible. 

If I were a trucker this would be my mighty steed. It’s all done up in the color my mother painted our house when I was a kid. The same color my family adopted as our own.  It’s nostalgia and horsepower and the open road. All things I love and respe…

If I were a trucker this would be my mighty steed. It’s all done up in the color my mother painted our house when I was a kid. The same color my family adopted as our own.  It’s nostalgia and horsepower and the open road. All things I love and respect.