Old

At least once a year all I want to sit down (or go out) and do is make photographs.  I look at old pictures, hoping that there will be some unexplored scrap that I could launch off of.  I feel out of scraps, you know?  A girl without scraps.

I took this picture in 2003.  An old boyfriend and I used to ride around in his car, hoping to end up someplace that we had never been.  We always ended up in the same spot, no matter what roads we took.  I came to realize that you can't get lost in the suburban streets that you grew up in.  But the picture reflects a different side of me that I think I repressed while I was in college.  

I very much became someone who likes to have a specific project they are shooting for; a goal, a theme.  And I've been doing that the past two years now.  But I've also been someone who very much gets caught up in their own head.  My most recent "work" has been literally all about the inside my head: breaking down, building up, being poked, prodded, diagnosed, medicated, followed-up on.  Waiting rooms.  Side effects.  Easy listening.  I'm feeling better and I'm tired of myself.  I'd like to take a drive and just shoot on instinct.

In 2003: it was almost summer, May.  School wasn't yet out for the year.  I was 17.  It seemed like I lived for those drives where I could be the passenger and look at things.  I'm going on a road trip this summer and I can't wait to loosen up.  Sorry for all of the stuffy posts abut exhibitions and whatnot.  I think somewhere along the line I also misplaced my ability to say anything interesting.