I always have a cache of used film, a dozen rolls rattling around in a mason jar on my desk. When I have extra cash I’ll grab one or two and drop them off. It’s sort of like a Russian roulette of memories, never knowing which ones are going to surface. In my recent move, afraid that I might misplace them in this new lifestyle, I dropped them all off. The images spanned seven years, four states, three boyfriends, and one of them was the last moment I saw my grandmother alive. I remember so clearly, going back into her room where she sat to take the picture. I was going back to grad school and was pretty sure it would be the last time. I’ve always been a film kind of person, I never graduated to digital. I’m too in love with the magic of not knowing what the image exactly looks like, the surprise weeks or years later when you pick them up. It feels like a forgotten kind of exercise in religion. These are a few of those moments.
Newport Beach, CA. The girls.
Costa Mesa, CA. Walking to the fair.
Minneapolis, MN. We were in town for a funeral.
West Covina, CA. Yoya, my grandmother
Brentwood, CA. Chi Chi only a year old.
The Yaak, Montana.
Boise, ID. Tony in my attic bedroom.
Idaho. Somewhere on the drive to Elementary School I taught at in the spring.
Idaho. Camping south of Atlanta.
The same trip.
Newport Beach, CA. Split frame. Taken on any given day between the years of 2009 and 2013.
Newport Beach, CA. The boys on Meeks and Lugo’s patio.
The Salton Sea, CA. August 2016.
Havana, Cuba. My 30th birthday.
Havana, Cuba. Me in a bar.
Boise, ID. My roommates walking to the coop. taken either in the summer of 2014 or 2015.
Havana, Cuba. Dylan being Dylan.
Ventura, CA. Dylan and Alrik and the magical bus outside the warehouse. Summer 2016.
Ventura, CA. Sunset in the van.
Yosemite Valley, CA. Search and rescue boys.
Me not too long ago.