"Dawn breaks like a bull through the hall. Never should've called. But my head's to the wall, and I'm lonely."
I survive via handouts. And a hurricane's on its way.
I have about five gallons of water and a camping bag packed and ready to go at any given time. Without hitting me, this hurricane revealed that I'm more invested at being constantly ready for the worst than I am in the relaxation and excitment at the reality of its arrival.
I'm fulfilled, and yet I still feel uncertain. So, I keep shooting my surroundings while aware there are photographers being flown into Miami and southern coasts to shoot the storm's worst effects. I just find myself wondering what worth photos of my friends could have to anyone.
But maybe art is unintelligible. Maybe the math on how many Irma shots could be the Irma shot is intangible. And I'm tired of the competition. There's a bit of peace in that abstention. And I've found that the feel and sound of my Mamiya's shutter click brings me joy by knowing that, while the shots might matter little to anyone, they mean a great deal to me. Those shots were made as if they were cut from live. To have them stored as blocks within a plastic strip reinforces a reality that has sometimes wobbled. And at a time when money seems so distant that it's unreal, and as cash gains a paralleling favor amid an approaching storm, I find value in holding images that were found around me.