Recession Over, Experts Say

35 mm, Nov 21 2009

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Small Favors

They stare. Her eyes are huge. Her face is inches from his, they stand by the door. Her coat is already on. They continue to stare.
“Well,” she says, wrapping her arms around him.
His face moves instinctively toward her as they come together, but this was not a kiss. Their right cheeks bounce off each other as their motions form into another hug.
They part but keep their hands around each other. He looks again at her eyes.
‘This is the moment,’ he thinks.
A beautiful day, reconnection both physical and emotional and hours of lying awake in bed had produced this moment. They still stare. There is a problem though.
Ben Savard is total pussy.
The glass door closes behind her. He watches as she gets into the car and buckles up.
‘You still have time,’ he thought. But his body is immobilized by the tension the moment had created. ‘I could still…’ he desperately thought. But he didn’t move. The way he hadn’t moved 2 minutes ago or 5 minutes ago or 20 minutes ago, he couldn’t open the door and try again. Time had passed. Much time had passed. Too much time had passed.
A glow in her hand caught his eye. Rectangular, bluish light radiated onto her face from a small device in her hand. The GPS?
He didn’t think. He opened the door and walked to her car, bare feet numbing on the cold concrete.
“Y’know, I could probably just give you directions.”
“No, it’s okay.” She held up the light. “It’s already calculating the route.”
A CGI blue car flashed on the screen with a red question mark. The car gave him time. They watched the black lines between Concord and Newton slowly form a yellow line, connecting the two towns.
“Well, looks like this is goodbye again,” she said, her eyes still lit by the device in her hand. “Today was amazing.”
“It was,” he said stupidly. But this time nerves and anticipation did not to stop him from leaning through the window. He tilted his head. She did too. They kissed.
As she drove away, he could see the glow of the GPS on her dashboard. Thank god for small favors.

November

There is something softly comforting about an autumn night. Every breath teasing your nostrils with light numbness, a sign of the season to come.
Many consider fall to be nothing more than an interim between nature's featured acts, but to me, it's just the opposite. Autumn holds the best New Hampshire has. The cold is manageable but has enough bite to remind of where you are. You'll see the flakes begin to fall, but the shovel can stay in the garage for now. And of course, there is the cliched beauty of the foliage. You know it's coming. It's as reliable as the flatlanders coming up to steal a piece of the mountains. Yet there is always that one maple that takes you by surprise. That one tree that that takes its time, igniting in a burst of bright yellow before smoldering for weeks through orange and red and dying with grace as a deep burgundy.
But halloween has passed and the tree is bare, barely visible at night. A November walk after dark is be more peaceful than any sleep. It allows you to connect with the fleeting season for just a little longer. It is something to be treasured and I couldn't be happier to oblige.

I Wish I Was Kurt Vonnegut

Self Portrait (2009)

Chocorua

He just looks so damn contemplative.

Version 1

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Final version. I used a sponge to splatter the developer.

Light

Tonsillectomy

The operating table felt nothing like a table. I was surprised by the soft cushion underneath me as I lay down in my thin gown. The doctor spoke to my parents about the brevity and ease of the surgery. “It’s as common as they come” he said almost cheerfully. My father looked stern, as he always did, but my mother appeared apprehensive under the faint fluorescent bulbs. I was too frightened to truly understand what was being said about me. I wasn’t concerned about a slip of the scalpel or any accident; it was seeing my parents look scared that took away any bravery I might have had otherwise. Two nurses walked over to my bed and the doctor ceased speaking. The first nurse began prepping machinery while the other lead my parents away, leaving me on my own. She completed the division by drawing a pale pink curtain around the bed. Just before he disappeared behind the sterile wall, my father lifted his arm slightly, as if reaching out to me. A mask was placed over my nose and mouth and the fluorescent lights began to flicker and fade into darkness.

Balloons

We waited for more than an hour before a spritely nurse lead me to a small white room. I asked if my brother could be with me while it was happening. She nodded and he was soon by my side, nervous himself but steadying my hand none the less. A different, more somber nurse came into the room and administered a burning shot to my left hand. The fire quickly cooled into a dull numbness that climbed knuckle by knuckle to my fingers. A rather portly doctor then appeared and told my brother he would have to move to the corner and be silent for the entirety of the procedure. My brother did as he was told and the doctor turned to me saying “One or two stitches is nothing. We’ll be done before you know it”. He began the procedure and I felt metal pierce my tired index finger. The silence of the empty chair beside me served as a constant reminder of the distance between my brother and me. To pass the eternity of anxiety, I studied the diamond pattern on the light fixture on the ceiling. The mix of tilted squares looked like little hot air balloons and by the tying of the fifth and final stitch, that was all I could see when I looked above me.

The First Night

A slightly southern voice woke me. “I’m sorry Hun, but you’ve got to get up” she said, lightly grasping my shoulder. I took a slow, deep breath and sat up. My first instinct was to look at the clock. It stared back in glowing red numbers, reading 3:12AM. The colon between the three and one constantly blinked at me as if it were in shock. I shared its disbelief. The nurse took my blood glucose level. A blue-grey screen lit up with the number 288 displayed prominently in the center. As the pain in my finger subsided, I looked to my mother, curled up in an armchair next to my large mechanized bed. I longed for more comforting, despite trying to convince myself otherwise. But she was lost in a sleep as restless as my own. The nurse opened the door a crack, sending a slice of blinding brightness into the room. She told me she would be back in another two hours before shutting the door again, sending me into the familiar darkness.

Favorites from Photo I

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120 mm black and white film taken on a Holga.

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Digital Shot of my Nikon FE2. She's my baby.

Opposites

Abstract project for Photography II. Soon to be a t-shirt.