April 7, 2016
September 7, 2016
April 7, 2016
November 12, 2016
January 30, 2016
Last year, shortly after the holidays we got a decent snowstorm in Brooklyn.
March 26, 2010
In the Spring of 2010 I graduated with an MFA from the Photographic and Electronic Media program at Maryland Institute College of Art in Baltimore, Maryland. Here I am hanging out in front of my thesis installation. ( photo by John G. Walter )
September 8, 2016
Somewhere, out there, out towards the edge of town, the edge of the city, there is still room to grow.
This is our home, the middle-ground between the work and the life. Commutable, drivable, practical, nice. In here, we’ve built another kind of community, a place where we grow up, find love, have families, dinner parties, replace roofs, yard work, friends over, don’t walk much, good schools, plan trips, and watch the sun set behind The Point, over and over again.
Us who’ve left, we don’t know what we’ve left. We all moved to cities, downtowns, and crossed the country, or the globe, looking for the big adventure, looking for our souls. But back home, it was all just there, waiting for us, unconditionally.
Now we visit. We bring ourselves down there, out there, drive out, take the train out, fly down for the weekend. We get back there and look for our youth. We nearly find it.
But this home, the one we grew up in, it’s changed. It looks pretty much the same, but it’s changed. Look underneath the carpet, look behind the couch, under the cushions. It’s not even the same couch.
Sometime, not long ago, the city encroached. It sprawled, like good cities do, and our home, our suburban paradise was lost. It pushed on out to the county, like two tectonic plates, passing in the night.
Now you cross the border, the Mason-Dixon line, and you jump from one city to the next, unless you go west.
Unless you go west.