We are all staring at the same wall painted in flickering shadows. Infinitely expansive, it is impossible to see in its entirety. So we pick a point on the wall and stare. Careful not to avert our gaze from the dancing dimness, we rarely ask why the dark dances at all.
I can’t believe it’s been a month since my previous
The debut issue of the zine featuring photography from The State Museum of Pennsylvania in Harrisburg.
After a full day of familial obligations, I thought for the day after Christmas it would be nice to kick it with some friends. Not that my Christmas was particularly hectic, as I don’t allow myself to be swept up in the peppermint undertow; a task more simply stated than accomplished.
Recently I was granted the opportunity to shoot the wedding
Fog hung in the air as I crossed the Susquehanna headed to an undisclosed location in Harrisburg. After circling the well-lit blocks of historic Midtown for what felt like a small eternity, I found a spot to park. It was perfect. It had plenty of space and was the last spot behind a “no parking” sign, meaning I could pull right in. Behind me were the flickering orange lights of the Harvey Tailor Bridge, their effect magnified by the low hanging mist that clung to the river.
