My Dad has passed on. The one piece of advice he gave me
that I truly live by, “Make sure when you die you do it with a ton of experiences under your belt, and not necessarily a big bank account.”
When I was eight my folks sold everything, uprooted myself
and my brother from our house and friends in Long Beach, CA, crammed us into an RV and aimed it at the open road. No real direction in play, only back and forth across the US and Canada from campground to campground, looking at shit.
A pretty sweet deal, the alternative was school.
I could be crudely poetic, lie, and say that way of life was
what got me interested in looking at the world differently. A perfect bridge of a prodigy becoming a photographer. Winning awards at age ten, teaching workshops across the globe by age sixteen, and was the youngest person to ever shoot the Presidential Portrait…
Fuck that. Maybe that nomadic lifestyle all sunk in a
little, or maybe my therapist could tell you? I wanted to be Evel KnieveI, not a photographer, for sure not an artist. I do know living in campgrounds and moving daily I grew familiar with wide spectrums of life experiences at a young age. Some I was ready for, some maybe not, and that’s the E-ticket ride. Duplicating those experiences is what gets me up in the morning.
Life is a freak of a creature. Thank god I’ve yet to see all
its parts fit together perfectly. If they did how boring would life be? Think of how monotonous photography would be. I imagine not too far off from Instagram.
Turns out I did want to be an artist and a story teller. Since I’m dyslexic I became a photographer. Distinctive life experiences are the building blocks of great stories. Great stories are the core of compelling photos that people remember. To me it’s that simple.