“Look again at that dot. That’s here. That’s home. That’s us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every “superstar,” every “supreme leader,” every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there-on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.
The Earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of this pixel on the scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner, how frequent their misunderstandings, how eager they are to kill one another, how fervent their hatreds. Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that, in glory and triumph, they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot.
Our posturings, our imagined self-importance, the delusion that we have some privileged position in the Universe, are challenged by this point of pale light. Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark. In our obscurity, in all this vastness, there is no hint that help will come from elsewhere to save us from ourselves.
The Earth is the only world known so far to harbor life. There is nowhere else, at least in the near future, to which our species could migrate. Visit, yes. Settle, not yet. Like it or not, for the moment the Earth is where we make our stand.
It has been said that astronomy is a humbling and character-building experience. There is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world. To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly with one another, and to preserve and cherish the pale blue dot, the only home we’ve ever known.”
― Carl Sagan, Pale Blue Dot: A Vision of the Human Future in Space
People often ask me, ‘What makes a good photograph.’
I cannot explicitly describe to you what makes an aesthetically pleasing photograph or the reasons why one photograph will be considered better than another in technical terms. What I will say though, is that a good photograph, to me, is a picture that makes you feel something. Anything. Whether it be a good or bad emotion, it makes you feel something beyond yourself. It takes you somewhere. It gives you a moment, a glimpse into this other life; you are transported.
When I shoot, I shoot from the heart. I tap into an energy source greater than myself. It is a transcendent experience. I don’t just want to make pictures that are pretty, I want to create beautiful work that not only tells a story but also acts as a moving passage for the viewer. An image that whisks them away to a moment, a time, a place that is beyond our current boundaries.
“There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society, where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar:
I love not man the less, but Nature more”
― George Byron
Strolls through Chinatown.
Sometimes cautionary tales and feelings of apprehension just go out the window when someone just knows how to make you smile.
2014, the start of a brand new year. Like a lot of people, I have been projecting about what I want from the year to come. There aren’t necessarily single achievements I want to accomplish. Although, I would like to run at least 3 marathons this year. Maybe 2 halves and one full or two fulls and a halve. I also want to concentrate on time for the races. Push myself.
I naturally want to be happy and healthy and I wish that for my friends and family also, therefor most importantly, I want to concentrate on clean living. Whole foods, running, yoga, swimming, start surfing again, and doing things that feed the soul.I want to start my masters this year and continue shooting, venturing to more places. I want to stare at something I’m in awe of, every day.
I want to be moved. I want to create beautiful work. From a solid and happy place.
Clean living for the soul, mind and body.
“Show up for your own life, he said. Don’t pass your days in a stupor, content to swallow whatever watery ideas modern society may bottle-feed you through the media, satisfied to slumber through life in an instant-gratification sugar coma. The most extraordinary gift you’ve been given is your own humanity, which is about conciousness, so honor that consciousness.
Revere your senses; don’t degrade them, with depression, with wilful oblivion. Try to notice something new everyday, Eustace said. Pay attention to even the most modest of daily details. Even if you’re not in the woods, be aware at all times. Notice what food tastes like; notice what the detergent aisle in the supermarket smells like and recognize what those hard chemical smells do to your senses; notice what bare feet fell like; pay attention every day to the vital insights that mindfulness can bring. And take care of all things, of every single thing there is – your body, your intellect, your spirit, your neighbours, and this planet. Don’t pollute your soul with apathy or spoil your health with junk food any more than you would deliberately contaminate a clean river with industrial sludge.” – The Last American Man.
“I don’t let anyone touch me,” I finally said.
Why not? Because I was tired of men. Hanging in doorways, standing too close, their smell of beer or fifteen-year-old whiskey. Men who didn’t come to the emergency room with you, men who left on Christmas Eve. Men who slammed the security gates, who made you love them then changed their minds. Forests of boys, their ragged shrubs full of eyes following you, grabbing your breasts, waving their money, eyes already knocking you down, taking what they felt was theirs. (…) It was a play and I knew how it ended, I didn’t want to audition for any of the roles. It was no game, no casual thrill. It was three-bullet Russian roulette.”
― Janet Fitch, White Oleander