Under attack again. If it's not one thing, it's another. Immer etwas. After recovering from a recent serious attack, I get attacked for the size of the models I "choose", which is just as serious for me. This is tedious. Who the fuck is anyone to decide who or what I should or shouldn't shoot, and why? I am so sick of this shit. If you don't like my work, stop looking at it. That is a ridiculous statement at this point, because NO ONE KNOWS I EXIST. A handful of people who knew me ten years ago have now decided that they get to determine how fat or skinny the models who contact me should be.
Like I'm going to respond to Sienna, or Willa with, "I'm sorry, you aren't fat enough to satisfy the people who don't really support me but are quick to complain."... NO. I'm going to respond with, "thank you for fucking finding me. I'd fucking love to fucking work with you." Forget the conundrum of working with accomplished dancers like Anna and Vik... should I respond with, "I'm sorry, the dancing world really doesn't support the plus sized ballerina model aesthetic."... NO. I am so very grateful that anyone wants to work with me, much less models like these.
I have fought my entire life to get to where I am... fucking fought past all kinds of misperception and stupid assumptions to get here. I got through doing it the wrong way for over a decade, because it was the only way I could afford to do it, and have happily ended up in a place where international models contact me when they come through LA, which is no where near me in any practical sense, to most of which I have to humbly and embarrassingly explain that I live in poverty and can't afford them, not to even mention somehow having access to the most beautiful woman I've ever known, because I happen to wake up with her every morning...should I stop shooting my wife and children because they aren't fat or skinny enough?
My work is by no means profound or remotely extraordinary, but it is good enough to get the little attention I get, so that is a significantly successful baby step for me. I am already under the stress of not posting as much as I'd like because I don't have the time, or because I live with the constant immediate backlash from this little tiny mountain town that I'm stuck in. I honestly don't know what to do. I'm back to posting once a month. The only significant book I've read in the last month is Sally Mann's Hold Still, which I have a significant amount to write about, but who has time for that?...and who really gives a shit, if all people who I thought were my friends are only focused on how "fit" the models who contact me to shoot are? I will shoot anyone who shows up, always. I have survived so much bullshit in my life that I am finally sick of it. If you are "bigger" and you don't like the fact that most of my work is confident "smaller", then be the confident "bigger" that you want to see. Stop bitching about how you want things to be different, and be the change, or shut the fuck up.
Here's some boring fucking photos of some mundane fucking plants that exist in my boring fucking front yard, because fuck you.
Thursday, March 1, 2018
As with most everything else you think you have figured out in your early 20s, it didn’t work that way. Not only did that not happen, but the same ignorant conditioning I questioned my whole life, and assumed they would as well, sunk into them like most, eager to believe and do whatever they’re told. The sadness of that reality has been taking its toll on me in this last year, since finally settling in to having a family, and seeing that most of the family I could have wants nothing to do with me, for good reason. This is still my story, and I’m still writing it. Everything will still turn out exactly how it’s supposed to, whether you like it or not. It could not have been any better or worse, because then it wouldn’t be this.
This last Valentine’s Day marked the tenth anniversary of my accidentally killing someone. I’ve been so distracted by family and work and fixing sound problems for the upcoming film festival (which starts in 5 days [shit]), that I actually forgot, until someone mentioned the 13th being a significant day for them, and it all hit me like a truck. My wife demanded that we go on a little road trip for the dreaded holiday, and I honestly welcome starting a tradition like that. We are still trying to get a handle on the separation between spending time with the girls, and my incessant drive to accomplish something.
It’s been a long march...
...and I just keep marching.
I love you.
Just be loved.