What if...I DID have a book down my trousers?

I've been greatly weighing the idea of buying myself a new set up. I'm looking at a Canon 6D, three L-Series lenses (a 24-70, a 16-35, and a 50), a new tripod, a multi-reflector disc, and some filters. At the end of the day, it would run me about seven grand. But it's an excellent kit, and I do have a few upcoming shoots scheduled. Plus, it would have the added bonus of making The Fellow exceedingly envious, and for some sick reason, that would please me. Not that I wouldn't let him use it from time to time, or any of my lenses, for that matter. In truth, everything is kind of in a shared pool, really. We have six lenses between the both of us, and they're always being transferred from one bag or body to another.

I spent the evening sitting in the living room, looking carefully through my very favorite book. My daddy gave it to me years and years ago, after years of me begging for it. When I was a teenager, I would lock myself in my room and look through it for hours. For some reason, I didn't want to buy my own copy, I wanted my dad's. My daddy is my very favorite person on the planet, and I haven't spent enough time with him. So whatever things of his I can appropriate, the better off I am. I just like having things of his with me, because he's not. Anyway, it's a book called Eyewitness, and it's a compendium of the key photos from Time Magazine.

I always find new things to appreciate about different photos every time I browse through the book. It doesn't matter how many times I see them, something new jumps out at me. A new feeling, a new detail, a new appreciation for perspective and composition...something always strikes me. It's one of my favorite things about the book. But there are two pictures that always, always, always make me stop thumbing, and stop to pay attention. They are, without question, my two favorite photos in existence. I don't care about the widgets and bells and whistles on cameras now, because they don't matter for pictures like these.

Harlem, Leonard Freed

 This photo is called Harlem, and I don't know if anybody else will ever capture pure joy like this. It encapsulates freedom for me. Freedom and happiness, and knowing nothing of limits. This photo was taken in the heavy of the Civil Rights movement, and perhaps that's why those feelings ring through so loudly for me. Despite cruelty, and the denial of basic human kindness from the majority of the world they lived in, these children are just....they're happy. Nothing else matters but that moment, that water, and that relationship between the two of them. I have never in my life seen a photo more gorgeous, or more perfect for displaying how simple and wonderful we can be.

In an Insane Asylum, Turin Italy, Raymond Depardon

This. This is my favorite. I can't really explain why in a way that will seem rational, really, but I'll do my best. I've spent the better part of the last fifteen plus years trying my best to bury my own insanity. I've hidden it, I've medicated it, I've ignored it, I've denied it. But never once have I embraced it. I don't know if that would matter, really. All I remember from the times before my diagnoses was feeling terrified of what I heard, what I saw, what I thought, and how I felt. When I was 14, I was sent to spend a significant amount of time in a psych ward. I was more scared in there than I was outside, and I shoved everything down further in the vain attempt of getting out. I'm not really crazy, but saying I don't have a larger share of demons rattling around in my head and my heart, skittering about my thoughts and feelings like termites and eating all the way through me would be a false representation of who I am. I'm straying far from the point. What I'm trying to get at is, I've been a coward about the state of my mental health, and I've always tried to be something I'm not. This photo was taken inside of an insane asylum in Italy, and it's not sad to me. Perhaps I'm wrong in this assumption, but I think that most people would see this photo and, knowing the context, see a sad, crazy man hiding from the world in plain sight as best as he can. I see something different. I see a man being absolutely himself, and carrying on with as much bravery as someone in his state can muster. It's beautiful, really. And it's something I aspire to, in a very bizarre way. I'll be living with me forever...I might as well be as me as I am. Everybody is already covered.

I love photography. Perhaps I'm rubbish at it. Maybe I'm fairly good. People seem to love what I do for them, and they pay me quite well to capture things that matter to them. If I can take one photo that speaks as loudly to me as these photos do, and with as much honesty, I'll be incredibly happy.