Perfectly Alone

Taylor—

Taylor—

Ok, this one is a bit different. A little more personal than most entries.

I sit here, surrounded by strangers, all sharing space, and still obliviously alone. I came to my favorite Coffee shop ( Open Doors Coffeehouse ) to work and to make myself be in public. The more I truly turn the focus on myself, I learn how if I could choose to, I would be alone most of the time. I fake this pretty well to a point of sheer exhaustion if I’m honest. I am always in the ON position and I am perplexed on how to dial it back and this leads me feeling very alone even surrounded by others. I want more. More genuine connections, more moments captured instead of fainting glimpses of what could have been and can be. I want to understand and to be understood. This is a Pandora’s box in itself because I don’t even understand myself most of the time. So this is me, permitting you to be real with me. To hold me accountable to make something that I want to make. To make something that instantly makes you wonder what I saw at that moment. I want discussions had about my work, and I permit you to hate it. I permit you to love it, to critique it, to tear it the hell apart, and then meet me for coffee and tell me those things. Those feelings. I find my inspiration in lots of places, but every time I stumble across work by photographers like Ryan Muirhead ( my favorite ) or Fiona Lark who take the most amazing self-portraits it makes me wonder, what am I doing? Why am I running a race I don’t want to win? I want to feel. I want to print my work and have actual feelings toward it. I judge myself daily and fall short every single time. I’m not a good writer or cook, and I’m an ok photographer -but not forever. 

“Alone I’m artistically tormented because my favorite work is documentary in nature. Honest portraits of things as they are. Every day I see hundreds of pictures that I am too afraid to make and it kills me”- Ryan Muirhead

I have no illusions that this will make me feel better, but if there is any small chance, someone else reads it and something is ignited, then it's worth ripping this bandaid off of my life. If someone were to relate and realize they are not alone in their thoughts then it's enough.

I sit here and I wonder as I practice being more observant. I wonder about her shoes. Where have they been, and plan to go next? Does she skate, or just prefer low top Vans to other options? I don't blend in well to my surroundings and I am ok with that, but I also wonder about the people we share this space with.

I found myself unable to finish this entry while I sat at my table, looking around. I couldn't find the words, or hold my thoughts together with both hands. I can almost picture my thoughts pouring through my finger tips and hitting the floor with such force they implode into nothingness. Leaving no trace of the ideas I had, the visions I wanted to create at that moment, lost to my inability to remember.

All images included are the types of images I want to make. They are alive

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Jaryn—

Jaryn—

Atlas—

Atlas—