Above.

"Above." is a series of photos taken to inspire people to explore their surroundings. Also included are aerial views of the locations. Not well received by initial audiences.

Winter Break: Urban Shooting

Deanna and I drove until we found interesting things. Then we took photos. Enjoy what I came up with!

Behind me, where I've come from, lightning flashes. Wind and moisture spill over the edges of the valley. But now, in the heart, the air is still. An empty lot, bordering a building throbbing with internal heartbeats and rhythm. A rare occurrence where I am. Partially paved from it's former life. It offers a new look at the perpetual site of progress. A half dozen camps of those sleeping beneath its trapped light cough, rustle and complain lightly as I snap my shots quickly and depart.

Cement

I've been going out lately. To places I've never been. Places I've always wanted to go. Some are physical locations, some are states of mind. Anywho. Here's a photo from one of the locations I was at recently. (Shutter release cable and new tripod for the win.

The Palace

I heard it referred to as "The Palace" by a resident today. The "Boby Motel" is the last motel on your way out of Las Vegas by Boulder Highway. There is a story attached to this Motel. I saw it first a long time ago. The story has developed, evolved. And it's almost true in my mind.

I was far away. All I saw was the Motel, and city lights twinkling in the distance. A car was being loaded up. The door to a room open, orange light spilling into the dark, contrasting the green of the outdoor lights. A man was loading up the car with bags, quickly. A woman standing in the doorway, silhouetted. I thought the two were in love. The town had gotten ahold of them, but they had planned to leave for years. And this quiet moment, this night, was theirs. They didn't make a fuss about it. They just quietly found the exit this night. I imagine that every time the man went back into the room to retrieve another bag the couple shared a smile. I think that with one more breath of dusty air the man and woman looked at their room, closed and locked the door and got into their car. And I hope that as they pulled away they looked in their rear view mirror (because turning to look back wasn't an option) at the dance of glowing fireflies in the distance, the shimmer of their former lives, and smiled. I hope they found a place to keep this town in their hearts as the home they started from. Because every story has a beginning.

I wasn't able to get all of the shots I wanted. I didn't want to intrude on the privacy of some people standing outside. So I'll go back another day.

I then visited a place that has never been named appropriately. "The Cave" was once floated, but never caught. It simply is. Coated with grime and dirt and thought. It belongs to those who find it.

Dusk, or ruminations on transition states.

There is something about dusk. The world slipping into darkness. My senses seem heightened. Perhaps it's a remnant of an instinct. 'Pay attention self, the night, and the dangers associated with it, is rapidly approaching.' Shadows are deeper than they will be even in the dead of night. Everything seems quieter. Sounds come in singularities. The trees tremble, and when they've said their piece the leaves will rustle. In fact I've noticed that there are less people out at dusk. Something disconcerting about the time I guess.

But perhaps it isn't instinct. Perhaps it's a fascination with transitory states. The 'in between'. The process rather than the result for the artist. The race rather than the finish. Young adulthood. The reporting. The climb. And, according to Stephen King, the story. Between the definites. Beyond the understood. In a word, Dusk.

That old barn.

Ever since I saw it I've wanted to go and explore it. For years it's called to me in a weird sort of way. I think it's a leftover from before the urbanization of this area. It's beautiful.

Random trip to boulder city.

So my friend Steven bought a new camera and wanted to try it out. So I went with him and took some shots of my own. Please enjoy.

On my roof.

In suburbia the houses are all basically the same. Mirrored, rotated, copy pasted. It's a much better place to grow up than most people seem to think. I'd much rather grow up in a cookie cutter home than... say live in an impoverished country where drinking water is something you earn. Suburbia also has an iconic beauty that (I hear) was a dream for those back when Steven Spielberg started making movies featuring these neighborhoods. Anyhow. To the main event:

Dusty Vegas Night

So last night the wind in the valley took lots of dirt into the air and gave everything a nice unearthly glow. I went out to get a few shots and ended up sneaking into the Clark County Heritage Museum at 3 a.m.