Notes, words, light.

 You can’t hang songs on a wall. You can hang a poem on a wall but it’s not the same.

After I print this photo in my darkroom, it will show at an exhibition next month, and it has me thinking about my place in the world as an artist. My dad bought me a Casio when I was five and it led to decade of classical lessons. My mom sent me to study poetry with every last penny she had, at colleges, at workshops, in Detroit with Peter Markus, and I was taken into the fellowship of great musicians in Marquette to learn my rudiments.

My journey with photography has been alone. This time in my life didn’t allow mentors, materials, instruction. I went forward like a fool.

In music, language, photo, I gave and they gave back. I am not unique to this relationship.

I walked onto the bridge of penitence and the bridge did not fail.

Art saves. Art can be religious. Art should be religion. Just go and do.

Join me on November 4th: ESPRESS/photO

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