about the below

The following samples posted on this blog are a combination of short stories journaling my every day life,  my photographic work, and reflective thoughts on it all. 

My photos serve as a medium in which to showcase how I see the world. Every moment a movie still, a photograph waiting to happen. Such is the life of an artist I suppose - tortured by the need to create at a moment's notice. These images vary from images of the usual unusual to series focusing on heavier topics - most notably woman's roles in society. 

I'm unsure of it will all function in the world as of now. I do know that it serves as a form of therapy for me, and true to therapy it usually results in some greater clarification on my part. I still have two years to figure it out. One of those will be spent abroad, the next focused on senior thesis. I anticipate both to be highly introspective periods in my life. Abroad I will be able to shut out the worries and expectations of real life and devote all time and energy to my photography and my writing.  Thesis will (hopefully) bring it all in together and by then I should be a well rounded artist, right? Or is that an oxymoron?

The text that alternates with and accompanies the visuals is just as much a product of my work as an artist as my images are. These stories and recounts are the verbal descriptions of moments I was unable to capture with a camera. This may be because I didn't have one on me at the time, or because the situation was a purely audio experience, or -and this is more likely- because I couldn't work up the nerve to approach with a camera in hand. 

Somethings are better conveyed through writing than through images. Somethings require both to be a powerful enough piece. The relationship between words and visuals is an extremely compelling idea to me and since I don't dabble in many other forms of art aside from photography, this is me at my inter-disciplinary. 

Explaining to people that I'm an art student is an arduous task. There are a variety of reactions that I can expect. I list them here from most common to least:

-Initial interest that is quickly lost upon discovery that I'm not a painter or sculptor but a photographer.

-Concern for my well being and my future. (As if it were any of their business.)

-Scorn, scoffing, judgement. (This one hurts.)

-Praise, pleasure, delight. (Usually a reaction from fellow artists and free spirits.)

But no matter the reaction there is always the follow up question - what will you do with your life? I've floundered around with this question for a while, and have finally settled upon a canned statement about my dream job. 

"Ideally I'd like to work in publications and journalism. National Geographic being a forerunner."

It's an placating enough answer that 95% stops their inquisition and they leave me alone. For the other five percent, the ones I've discovered to have a genuine interest in this fine young person's life, this is just a stepping stone to a whole field of questions. These are the people I enjoy conversing with and who inspire me with new thoughts, ideas, realizations. Frequently they have an unorthodox job/life history as well. 

Surrounding myself with these people and drawing from their influence, as well as my own that I create day by day fuels my passion as an artist. It can be a daunting role to play at times, but the freedom and rewards make it worth it. Yes, there is a huge degree of the unknown but I can roll with that. There's no planning the perfect photograph, so why should I expect a career involving them to magically happen either? It's the chase, the hunt, the spotting of the most exquisite opportunity and snagging it before it becomes just another blip in forever. 

the point being there is no point

The inevitable question that comes along with a fine art critique or a presentation of some sort is - why? As artists, we're constantly under great scrutiny and how we chose to function under the viewer's gaze is what often defines us. Finding that why is a process I've been considering a lot lately. Why do I do what I do and why people should look at it seems like a simple enough problem. It's definitely not. 

Being a child of the technological revolution, I've grown up in a fast paced culture that's picking up speed even as I type. The fact that I've chosen to go to school for a degree in something that is now an everyday, every minute part of our lives does not escape me. Search any blog, any photographer, any artist in general and somewhere out there someone has already done it. Countless times I've come across projects that have been a mere brainchild in my head. Even more times I find artists producing work that I never could have dreamed of. It's an extremely intimidating world to grow up and try to make a name for myself in. 

Discouraging as this may be, I still try to generate passion. Without it, my work would be bland and meaningless. It may not be considered fine art in the realm of galleries and white walls but it's what I do and shouldn't that count for something?

Take for example, the above photo. Some discarded canvas frames I came across on a walk this winter. I remember the day distinctly - I was headed to Marquette for a talk by the renowned and pretentious photographer Tina Barney. A touch of irony here - her work mainly centers around documenting the upper class life of New England. Bright colors, sullen teenagers, family ties. She is pristine in her work - never really gets her feet dirty. It's her life as she sees it, complete with all the frilly padding of the wealthy. And people like that, apparently. She had some solid connections (it's not what you know but who you know) and was fortunate enough to get into some legitimate galleries and kept producing work that, well, worked. I call it the Tina Barney factor. Money and connections can get you anywhere. 

Among many other images I shot that day, this photo would be classified as the mundane. The everyday. The boring. So why take it? For one, I work digitally and it literally took about three seconds to capture this. I'm not even sure if I had to adjust my aperture or shutter speed. It was that instantaneous. So why not take it. 

And for two, it was attractive to me...

This dirty city snow forming odd organic shapes on the depressed grass;

Providing an abstract landscape setting for these two geometric and structured forms;

The mostly hidden frame to the left peeking out just enough to make the viewer aware of the repetition in shape; 

The muted color tones of Milwaukee in the winter time;

The textures;

The simplicity of finding beauty in the unexpected- trash in the street gutter. 

The list goes on. Whether it's of importance to anyone else is yet to be determined. I've had enough positive reactions from my peers that I continue to generate similar pieces, but it does beg the question- how will it function outside of the school setting? Am I just going to be another one of those faceless bloggers or will I become something more? I have this awful feeling that as much as it's up to me to make it all work out, there's still that Tina Barney factor that inevitably comes into play. 

Use the handle on your oven as a support for squats.
The additional weight of the door will tone upper body muscles
while the squat works your glutes and quads!

For more upper body workouts, find some hefty cans in
your cupboards and use them as weight resistance.
Sculpted biceps and triceps will be yours in no time!

Taking a break during a strenuous session of scrubbing
 the bathroom floor on your hands and knees
 is a great time to get in a few push ups!
For more advanced workout, place
 bucket under alternating arms. 

Step 2.

Including a little Yoga will be a great bonus!
The calming, resistance training will center
your body, mind, and soul. 

Don't forget those abdominals!
3 sets of 15 upon waking and prior to falling asleep
 willensure a solid core and strong back. 

Step 2. 

Step 3. 

Idle hands are the Devil's workshop!
Just think of the many ways you can continuously improve
your body. A resistance rubber band is a great way
to get a workout on your lower legs while your
upper half prepares supper. 

The Plank exercise is great way to build endurance for
your back, oblique, and stabilizer muscles.
For additional resistance,
lift a 2-5 lb. weight over your body.
2 sets of 20 reps. 

More resistance training. Be sure support your back
and lift with your knees.  Varying width of stance for
range of intensity. 

Step 2. 

Step 3.  

To top off all of this core training,
complete a 20-30 minute cardio session.
Vacuuming the entire house, top to bottom
is an excellent way to get your heart pumping!

I came across a blog the other day for pilates, cleverly titled "Blogilates". The thumbnail on my tumblr dashboard featured a woman's bust and closely surrounding area struggling to burst out of the hot pink spandex top the figure was wearing. 

The technique worked well - bright colors, enticing shapes, sex appeal...  I clicked on the link and ventured inside a web domain that had apparently and recently been thrown up on by a cliche. Pastel flowers lilted lightly on the screen, as turtles and other sea creatures swam happily about. It looked a bed spread one might fight at Urban Outfitters. 

Not one to judge a blog by it's theme, I explored on. The feature article can be viewed below.

Several questions and concerns ran through my head at once:

That woman's expression is alarming to me. What kind of creature is she hoisting above her head? 

Is that supposed to be food? I'm glad she clarified what 'mini' means. 

But above all, I'm starting to notice an unfortunate motif here. All of the images and videos feature this girl in provocative positions. Her product shots and promotional videos all feature her taught body and most feedback from her followers are men praising her good looks and hot bod.

This blog isn't about being healthy. It's about selling sex appeal and being skinny: two of the most influential subjects in American culture. 

So I decided to create my own workout plan, designed specifically for women to maintain their waistline and keep fit in the home. It's an extension of a previous series which featured my lovely subjects preforming the domestic duties expected of them. The second installment serves as ideas for turining cleaning and other upkeep tasks into a fun way to stay toned. 

mr. dependable

I went to a Passion Party the other night. For those of you unaware, like I was prior to attendance, a Passion Party is like a Tupperware party where a group of women get together and pass around whatever product is being featured. They exclaim and squeal and get real excited about stability and storage conveniences. 

Only this was a party for dildos. And lingerie. And massage oils. Edible creams, his and her bondage equipment... the list goes on!

My roommate and I arrived late and walked in on a circle of ladies all grasping rotating, vibrating, pulsating phalli. We had unfortunately just missed the sniffing and testing of aforementioned appetizing body lotions and personal lubricants.

The sales lady leading the discussion sat us down with two vibrators to assess and passed us a catalogue full of the merch. The first paged I flipped to featured the men's items which was a considerably less intensive product line than for the girls. Despite this, they were all carefully photographed with smoldering cigars and poker chips. This struck me as particularly classy and well advertised. It's a nice image to have in your head; your fellow rubbing one out in this blue and vaguely deep sea urchin-esque silicon mouth while playing poker with the guys. I find it really brings the relationship to the next level. 

They did however have some pretty convincing names. Each of them... except for Jill. Poor Jill. Look at her down there by herself, all bloated and pink. 

Meanwhile the hostess pulled out a new item on the PLATINUM line that had rotating ball bearings and a vibrating suction cup for clitoral stimulation. This was described as a "beautiful flower" but in reality was possibly the one of scariest devices I've ever laid eyes on.

One of the collections, The Diamond Collection "because diamonds are a girls best friend!" advertised rechargeable toys. Similar to cell phones, the dildo - be it The Cabana Boy, The Concierge, The Millionaire, or The Trainer - simply docks at an electrical outlet and eliminates the need for midnight remote battery raiding. 

The world is changing right before us, dear readers. 

It was an eye opening experience to be sure, especially when it came time for those who wished to place and order did so. It occurred to me that I might soon witness that awkward moment when the plus sized girl at the party purchases an extensive amount of fairly expensive sex toys and a red lace teddy that you just know will end up looking like

this.

I say the more power to her, of course, and I'd recommend those plug-ins of the Diamond Collection to her if I could do it over again. Disposables are costly after a while and with technology advancing the way it does, rechargeable battery life is ever improving. 

As we left, with no bounty to show for our adventure, the bros smoking joints on the upstairs porch shouted down at us how was the dildo party?

Another chimed in that he hoped our toys vibrated enough for us because he sure didn't, along with other unintelligent and leud comments. 

Who needs the All Night Bender or any of these other (relatively) silent fellows pictured below when we girls have fine specimen like that to full fill our needs? ...

true story:

"So I took him home drunk, and when they arrived he decided to walk up the street to go get stoned with his friends. He gave me a hug and the container of sauerkraut soup from Sigrid's. I was reminded of the time when he was 18 and under similar circumstances lost his glasses falling into a puddle, only to be subsequently attacked by a flock of geese in mating season."

"Kidz Bop 5 is blowing my God damn mind."

the euphoric state of a bacon goddess

Today is one of those days that starts off with a man in a full business suit sprinting by you on your way to the bus stop, the black and yellow labs at the end of two leashes that twined around his right hand because the left hand is pushing an empty baby stroller while he flashes a fairly exuberant grin through his ginger beard and you want to ask him if he was missing something or someone, but he's past you in a second or less and you don't feel like interrupting his apparent and intensive mission. 

another horrible moment brought to you by toothpaste and orange juice.

the tragedy inside

After two bottles of red wine Thursday night the roommate and I decided it'd be a good time to take those rotting pumpkins sitting in the front stairway down to the lake front and chuck them in. They'd been their since our ridiculously out of control Halloween party and were finally starting to rot. The larger of the two had a full fledged black ring seeping from the stem out about a quarter of the way down the pumpkin. 

Somehow I ended up with that one which was just the worst idea in the world because naturally I'm going to want to find out just how rotted out that stem is. 

We got them outside, into the major snowstorm that was currently smacking Milwaukee full in the face and started trekking towards the lake, which is roughly a dozen or so blocks East on a slight upward slant. Fortunately the way back was not uphill also and we did not have to do it barefoot, like in my dad's childhood stories. 

I only made it about two blocks before that ill-fated curiosity got the best of me and I decided it'd be a good time to test that stem out. 


Sometimes I feel like I have an internal Shakespearean play going on somewhere deep in my brain and each of my personality traits are the cast. Unfortunately the fatally flawed character always has to have her way. So, I picked it up.


Not surprisingly the rest of the pumpkin detached itself and fell onto the snowy sidewalk splattering stinking guts and carcass in a gory arch around me. 

The remaining ten blocks were saturated with the rotting scent being emitted from the gaping remains of this body I held in my arms but we did eventually make it to the lake. Or rather a bridge overlooking the lake. Close enough. On the count of three we launched them over our heads into the cold white ditch below us. Despite its misshapen corpse body, mine hit and rolled with thunderous gusto; hers stopped short against the tiniest of saplings, a muted thump swallowed up in the wind. 


We hoped our respective failures of the night weren't bad omens of an impending socially lame situation ahead of us, or perhaps a metaphor for an unfortunately awkward life. 

That awkward moment between your birth and your death.

abstract cat act

the fruit of thursday labor.

I've recently rekindled my sordid love affair with Snickers bars.