ABOUT ME

This is a business, not an art studio. What does photography have to do with anything? From a young age I was spending way too much money on film and developing photos. (Yes, I am from that generation.) Initially I photographed a wide variety of things - people, animals, flowers. As I got older, I found myself drawn to a specific genre that brought me a tremendous amount of joy: scenes of abandonment. Have you ever driven by a shuttered up building and wondered what was inside? Or, wondered what used to be inside? Me too. Many times, in fact. Until one day I decided it was time to stop wondering and start exploring. It started with a set of abandoned trains parked on inactive rails in a wooded area not far from where I live. Then onto a hotel and spa. Then a large resort. An amusement park. A prison. A hospital - and on and on. Sheets of plywood hid mysteries upon mysteries, and I wanted to solve them. But once I got inside, I no longer wanted to solve a mystery. Instead, I wanted to acknowledge a reality. See the unseen. Remember the forgotten. From the outside, it may present as an eyesore. Perhaps the grounds are unmaintained. There is graffiti scrawled across the exterior. Chain link fences have been cut and torn open. All signs of human life have vanished. It appears lifeless. Empty. On the inside, it is quiet. Sometimes it has been years - even decades - since another human has been on the grounds. There is no light - except for what streams in through the holes in the ceiling and the cracks in the plywood that covers the windows. Moss often coats the floors and walls are an abstract painting of layers upon layers upon layers of paint that have peeled at various rates over the years. Vines creep in through the windows and stretch across the floors and ceiling, as if to embrace and reclaim the structures that are all slowly crumbling back into the ground. Sometimes there are books on the shelves. Records in files. Menus on dining room tables. Shoes in the rooms. Ceilings, become floors, become another layer of earth. Transformation, evolution, and life born of decay all occur in real time. In these spaces, I’ve learned to avoid assumptions. Some buildings look structurally sound from the outside, but upon entering you soon learn there is no floor. Or, there won’t be a floor if you put any weight on the materials that lay where your feet should go. I’ve learned to consider perspectives. To zoom in or out to get a better sense of the scene. To wonder about the people that were there before me. To consider the different realities of both a wildly successful business and a long deserted set of structures collapsing in upon themselves. To acknowledge the cyclical nature of things. That even as the businesses may be dead, and the areas are devoid of human life, an abundance of natural life continues to live and grow and even thrive in these spaces - often shielded from a readily available view. I’ve learned to make space for multiple truths. To sit in these spaces is to sit in a place that is both dead and alive. Vacant and full. In a state of decay and rebirth. Where opposites are complementary, instead of conflicting. And I’ve learned that beauty can exist just about anywhere, if you’re willing to look for it. How does your team work together when one sees an eyesore and the other sees a wonderland? How do you find opportunities in the face of failures? Let’s work together to help your team embrace different perspectives and find the right focus to create the desired outcome.