How art and beauty became my foundation- A story of film, photography and WTF moments of my childhood.
What started out as a way for me to capture the mundane- eternalize it, see the beauty in it, maybe even laugh at it- has bloomed into my love of film, travel and a continued passion for capturing anything and everything around me. I’ve been a little sponge my whole life, absorbing everything I could. I say I was born to talk, well I would say, equally, I was born to create. Well, creating requires observation. One could say I never stop watching. Noticing. Paying attention to every second of every moment. Maybe I’m off daydreaming, but you can bet your ass I’ve observed every nook and cranny of even the most boring of spaces.
Sometimes I think my brain is on drugs. Still. Obscure thoughts and ideas stemming from the crack on the ceiling, or the way that dog is staring at me.
At first it was those disposables that you could take to the local CVS or Walmart to be developed in up to 7 days. 1 hour photo was a luxury. Most of my images were trash, but occasionally I’d get something I really liked. I also had this obsession with taking pictures of my magazine clippings of Justin Timberlake in a wife beater standing under a waterfall, of course, dripping. His ramen curls pushed down to the sides of his face. This image was taped right in my line of sight on the wall next to my bed. I still get wet thinking about it. Or my life size poster of JTT, Jonathan Taylor Thomas, for you youngins. He was wearing khakis and a sweater, v-neck vest with a white collared shirt underneath. He was also sitting on a three legged stool, one foot propped up on the first rung. I definitely wasted most of a camera roll on this one. My reasoning was something along the lines of, if I perfectly capture this, cropping out all the edges, maybe my friends will think I took the picture. Because JTT was regularly coming to my studio for shoots. Despite all my attempts, I don’t have a single copy of any of those photos. Copyright laws probably interfered, which is why I ended up with 4 photos in that batch I picked up.
Later it was dressing up with my childhood best friend in our stupid choir uniforms which looked exactly like we were straight out of Sister Act or something. I also had this leopard print, fleece robe, that I wish I still had, that we would stuff to make ourselves look like we were Kardashians even though they didn’t exist yet. I do have copies of those.
Later in college, the first go around, digital camera in hand (thanks graduation money) it became routine to take approximately 95 photos of one evening getting ice cream, or rollerblading, or In-N-Out or something- all of which would promptly go on Facebook in an album titled “good times” or something like that. They were all terrible and have forever memorialized my crunchy, one shade lighter than black, hair, but I refuse to delete. When those pop up in my “Memories” I cringe and also shed a tiny tear for the good times that were had.
When I was finally sober and serious about going to college, I would escape to the country, or the mountains, or the lakes to get away from studying. I look back now and realize I was dealing with the early, untreated throes of my bipolar disorder, but in my deepest depression I found solace in capturing beautiful wide open spaces. I would drive for hours, scouring for the perfect shot to upload to my feed on the newly launched Instagram App. But not before slapping on a moody filter to really set the tone. My early posts are dark and stormy and beautiful. I wish I had the originals. This practice laid the groundwork for much of my future photography. Though Instagram has changed, and so has my feed, the bones of the early days are still there. And I still exclusively use my iPhone for all my content.
The progression of this passion has really been fueled by the progression of technology. I was there for each new rollout and I embraced it. I’ve always loved the way a lens is able to capture such beauty in just a moment. I’ve appreciated the skill and intricacy it takes to truly become a master of the craft. No that is not me. And as much as I like to talk, snap and create, I also love to consume.
Photography has been an escape for me, probably keeping my alcoholism and bipolar disorder at bay in many aspects of my life. Capturing, but also consuming the art in film and stills has continued to mesmerize me. Despite my shitty skills out of the gate, I have always been able to spot and appreciate true talent. This is not me boasting or trying to prove anything, but rather a way to share some insight into why film has always been such a monumental part of my life. I look at the world through a critical lens, always have, and probably always will. My ability to see what so often goes unnoticed or not fully taken in, is a gift. The Academy Awards are my Super Bowl. As a 9 or 10-year-old, I remember watching Helen Hunt accept her Best Actress award for As Good as it Gets. I remember her blue dress. Titanic won big that year. Although I loved it, I thought Romeo + Juliet was way better. And Leo was definitely on the wall by my bed.
I was still a young and impressionable girl so, of course, I loved Titanic and all the cheesy roms of all kinds at my age. But, I also had a pretty impressive entry to the film world. My mom was a huge fan of horror films. It’s funny we don’t watch many of them now together. They usually watch their same silly shows, except during Christmas, then it’s round the clock Hallmark movies, no matter how much protesting is involved. It’s kind of embarrassing. My parents used to be cool. Ray, my dad, also loves film. He was much more of a romance guy, of course, so our time was mostly spent watching Julia Roberts fall in love. But together they allowed us to see the best of both worlds. Movie ratings weren’t really a thing in our house, unless it was ultra violent or had graphic sex in it. But, that didn’t always matter. We watched Jerry Maguire so many times I can picture that first sex scene with Kelly Preston because it's seared in my memories.
My mom’s love for horror probably came from her dad. My grandpa was always watching what my grandma called his “blood and guts” movies. I loved it. We spent a lot of time at their house growing up and I always took advantage of being able to watch the goriest movies I’d otherwise not be allowed to see. Recently, I was recalling a few movies I have only spliced memories of, with a friend, in the hopes that he could help me discover where these precious, violent gems were. One I’m still waiting on.
Katie and I also spent a lot of time up there with our cousins, Cee Cee and Chase. The four of us were always getting into trouble, and they too, loved the blood and guts. Katie and I have a vivid memory of being in the living room and having Grandma turn on the tv for us while she went out to clean the motorhome. The first thing that came on had some sort of Santa on it so she left the “nice Christmas show” for us to watch alone, while she went into the back yard. Well my grandpa had clearly been watching the channel last, because the Santa quickly turned into a full-fledged killer and we were traumatized. My sister had nightmares of a “yellow suited Santa” for years. Turns out we were watching Tales from the Crypt. The Santa did not have a yellow suit, for the record.
My mom’s taste for horror was a bit more refined, but heavily influenced from the trauma of watching fucked up films as a wee child. Her siblings laugh now about all the disturbing movies they “watched with dad” when they were too little to know what was going on.
These were classics, though, so my mom must have learned to appreciate them, because she also shared them with us, usually during the day, if I recall, because obviously movies aren’t scary if you watch them during the day. Katie and I would occasionally have to turn movies off that were too scary and finish them the next morning because somehow the chilling effect lost its way through the light. Storm of the Century should NEVER be watched at night.
My mom introduced me to specific directors for the first time. She schooled us on all things Alfred Hitchcock. We watched The Birds, Psycho and Rear Window (my fave). I later watched South by Southwest, which might be even better. That scene on Mount Rushmore is perfection.
In addition to Hitchcock, she also showed us some of her other, must-see faves from her childhood. The Exorcist and Whatever Happened to Baby Jane stick out, in particular, to me. Katie and I used to sing “I’ve written a letter to Daddy…” emphasis on Daddy, over and over again, laughing until we cried. See my other bit about Katie and I singing while doing dishes for more of this malarkey. My grandpa use to call us dingbats and it all makes sense now.
I write a lot about feeling suppressed and unable to speak or do what I truly feel called to do, but I have to take a moment to clarify that I grew up in an incredible home with a strong, vibrant mother. My mom has always used communication to teach us about the world. I say we grew up in an unfiltered home, and I mean that. Almost nothing was out of the question to discuss. She taught us how to ask questions and critically think. That’s clearly evident by our education in film. But my mom also set the ball rolling on my talking. She created this monster. She showed me the world of imagination and then didn’t want me to say too much about it. What was I supposed to do? She did this to herself and me. This silencing lead to future self doubt, but as I started this with, my ability to never stop watching hasn’t gone away. That tiny light was always in there waiting to bust out. Now it shows up through my unfiltered writing, my travels, my yearning to meet new people and try new things, my ability to make time stop, suspend my ADHD for a moment and spend hours captivated by a screen.
Technology gets a bad rap, but it’s truly a beautiful thing when you take the time to slow down and look.
*Cover photo taken in July 2021 in West Texas, just outside of a tiny town named Marfa. It's a permanent art installation as a tribute to the film Giant, starring Elizabeth Taylor and James Dean. The film was shot throughout the area.
*The photo below captures all that was wrong with the early aughts. This is me on Valentine's Day in the dorms at CBU circa 2007.
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