Posts in Photo Essay Series
Photo Essay Three: Hers, Forever.

Falling in love with her has been one of the easiest things I’ve ever done. I felt a tap on my shoulder, turned around, and fell. Our love surrendered to gravity.

She makes me feel as if I’ve known her my entire life.

Life is a train and we travel it wildly into the future. We’re both passengers. There was a time when we had never met. Then a day came when we did...and the train still flies down the tracks and we don’t know when it stops... but at least now we have each other. Her head forever sits on my shoulder as we both look out at the changing scenery. Both of her hands are in one of mine. There are no second guesses on if I should be with her... I should be.

Similar to a famous Carl Sagan quote: from my vantage point, she’s all I’ve ever known and ever will in my lifetime. She’s a ball of energy clearing the darkness that wishes to envelop us both. She represents our ancestors: the stars, better than anyone I’ve ever known. The only difference is, is that she burns brighter.

She’s a forest; now my forest. Beings before me have attempted to cut down her trees and stomp on her plants, but she continues to bloom. My goal is to preserve her and help her grow. As with natures most beautiful creations, we often think we’re saving them, when really with just one glance or just one experience, they’re saving us.

I consider tonight the vastness of space and time, and it leads me to my most important life understanding so far: somehow I got lucky enough to not only cross paths with Tiff, but out of every possible and impossible outcome that could have been, I get the opportunity to be hers, forever.

Photo Essay Two: Hemisphere

How many nights have I spent here? If I had to guess I’d probably say five hundred or more.

Sometimes for skating.

Sometimes to explore the underground tunnels.

Sometimes to just get away from everything.

We called it Hemisphere because of the furniture store it was on the side of, but we mostly know it from the large, blank white wall the covers the west. The cracks and indentions in the cement. The low ledge that sits discolored from years of applied wax.

I visit less often now. The stores have changed in the building and the people are worst.

The spot itself really hasn’t changed much. The ledge continues to collect layers of wax from passing skaters.

The past is forever etched into its very existence.

A drive by reveals a thousand memories, (or at least five hundred).

Photo Essay One: A Creative Space

Growing up in the 1990’s was a fascinating mix between analog and digital; between technology and a lack thereof (compared to today). I thank the universe that I grew up in a time period where the prospect of adventuring in a forest was more important to me than sitting in front of a screen.

Sticks and dead leaves crunching beneath my feet created a feeling more fulfilling than watching TV. Climbing a tree made me happier than reading, so naturally I did one more than the other (though I still love books). The forest was and always has been my favorite place to spend my time.


I would never advocate littering, but growing up next to a forest in a suburb of Dallas, trash and random items were a normal thing to come across. I would often use them and combine them with the surrounding nature to create forts, paintball courses, and more. In a city, I see it all as being apart of the landscape. If the trash and random human-manufactured items outnumbered the trees and plants, well, then it would all be a very different place. Luckily, that wasn’t the case.

The photos included in this essay were taken recently. This place now stands in the aftermath of its former self. Metal posts are still tied to the trees I placed them on. Paths, though worn and partly covered, still show themselves like an old man showing you the “good ole days”. A screw and nail still remain where an old childhood friend embedded them.


Most importantly this area of the forest is where as a child and teenager my creativity, in part, blossomed. I consider the forest my first love and this is where we fell for each other. I never left this place sad or emotionally hurt, but rather I ran to it when I was scared or heart broken, just as a healthy relationship functions.

When I would visit a friend’s house, they would show me their newest toy. When they visited me, I showed them my tiny, personal safe haven filled with barbed wire, recently dug holes, and other broken pieces of mother nature’s anatomy. I’ve visited many wooded areas throughout my life in Texas and in other states, but none compare to my first love: my very own creative space among the trees.

I felt like lying down by the side of the trail and remembering it all. The woods do that to you, they always look familiar, long lost, like the face of a long-dead relative, like an old dream, like a piece of forgotten song drifting across the water, most of all like golden eternities of past childhood or past manhood and all the living and the dying and the heartbreak that went on a million years ago and the clouds as they pass overhead seem to testify (by their own lonesome familiarity) to this feeling.
— Jack Kerouac