Ever since I was young enough to write or read, I greatly enjoyed it. Photography was a later acquired love that I seemed to take great pride in. I eventually became employed in commercial photography, mainly grin and grip as well as weddings for a certain photographer in Anchorage by the name of David Jensen, until my conservation for photography as an art and hobby.
I quit the lucrative job and ended any ties that could have possibly lead to a vast expanding career for the sake of conserving art. To me the hobby was sucked dry simply from using my love as a means of monetary gain.
Eventually I expressed photography and writing in the welfare of my life, where I decided to coat a down period of said life an extra shade of black by becoming voluntarily homeless. Both shots and works never exceeded my expectations and gave me respect to those who could find inspiration in such dark times.
Fortunately it gave me inspiration in another field of art, and that field was growth. Eventually after reintroducing myself into the commercial system, a serendipitous job opportunity made itself apparent. Accepting this unexpected turn branched off into events that brought the clouds away from my life for what seemed like permanently.
Eventually, after spending enough time in the solitude of my work environment, photography and works of writing far exceeded the expectations of myself. It felt as though my talents had evolved during a sabbatical from art.
They came in random writings in bursts of inspiration. Once I began writing, I couldn’t stop, and then the shooting followed. Eventually my two loves had choreographed an artful dance of manipulating words to extract the feeling captured in an image. They consist mainly of random thoughts, projects, experiments, and sometimes the excerpt of some unwritten story.
These are the random scrawlings of the high point in my early life.