I’m feeling it.
The weight of success.
The looming specter of failure.
It’s almost been two full years since I quit my job without a plan, and I’ve somehow made it.
But it’s not enough.
It never is, is it?
Humanity is conditioned to look at the horizon and fear the storm instead of marveling at its beauty.
That’s me, on a hill looking into the distance, scared out of my mind even without a storm.
Lately the fear has paralyzed me… but at least I’m recognizing it, right?
I’m facing it. I’m admitting it. I’m telling the world.
The audacity of humanity also allows us to give a middle finger to the looming, possible disaster.
So: Fuck you, failure. Fuck you in particular.
Lately my photography has been rejuvenated by imperfection. While 2022 was an incredible year for my art, having sold more than $10,000 worth of art prints, it’s also the year I plateaued creatively. I began to get pretty freaking good at taking nice photos of plants, of old houses, of dirt roads… all easy to get with any camera on the planet so I could post them and get a few likes and subscribers.
So I’m going to be taking more chances. Loving the imperfections. Embracing the chaos.
If you want to go along for the ride with me… let’s go.