The soft notes and cracks of light playing through the windows reminds you of the world outside, that despite your introspective exploration, your solitary self-critique, that everything you’ve shut yourself away from is eagerly crying out for your return. What can you do but pick yourself up from your nostalgic wallowing and give them a show they will not likely ever forget?

    Everyone is waiting.


Anonymous asked: Who inspires you as a photographer? And what do you want to accomplish with your work?

Interestingly enough, it isn’t photographers. I can throw names for days: Caravaggio, Velázquez, Dalí, to name a few. In reality, there are works that stand out, but using specific people as your only sources of inspiration is like using training wheels, and you’ll always be in second place.

What does anyone hope to accomplish with their work? I can knock out all the cookie-cutter answers, but in the end, we would all like to build one step closer to our perfect world. In mine, you may live freely, spreading your infectious ideas without a single thought that you may be crucified for them. You live for yourself. You go for what you feel is right, free from the expectations of society.
You may ask, “How the fuck is this related to your photography?”
Unfortunately, it looks like this discourse may fare better in working towards that goal.
It all boils down to how much of yourself you pour into your work. In any strong work, you will find a connection to the piece to its maker. Go in-depth enough, and you will find that there is a reflection of the artist in his layers of words, paint, or film. I am not ashamed to say my work may very well be a subtle autobiography of myself. Allow me to dip my pompous hat in apology. Whether you want to believe it or not, you will invariably gravitate toward your passions. After some sampler platters of grass from all the “other sides”, this is where I’ve ended up. Browse through my life as you wish. Take as much evocation of energy and feeling as you can handle. I hope my translations reach you well.
P.S. I can’t wait to hear your stories.
Ductus Exemplo.





TECHNICAL GROUNDS 2011


“Hey man, are we going the right way?”I thought you had the map? God Bless America etched onto a bench.“Don’t take pictures of benches.” You are tired, hungry, and lost. You are finishing up a daylong bike trip to and through Rochester while hauling a 4x5 camera. Can you imagine, maybe even picture, the most welcoming sight to you at that instant? Okay, it’s not quite a queen-sized waterbed, but in the moment, it very well may be. Despite its splintery, weathered seats, you will find that this will be the most comfortable thing to have caressed your ass in too long. People tie memories to pictures, and benches— well, benches just seem to be nostalgia magnets. My heart truly breaks for all those pictures of benches without their other halves. They may as well be stamped with a serial number, hot out of the cliché factory.

“Hey man, are we going the right way?”
I thought you had the map?

God Bless America etched onto a bench.
“Don’t take pictures of benches.”

You are tired, hungry, and lost. You are finishing up a daylong bike trip to and through Rochester while hauling a 4x5 camera. Can you imagine, maybe even picture, the most welcoming sight to you at that instant?

Okay, it’s not quite a queen-sized waterbed, but in the moment, it very well may be. Despite its splintery, weathered seats, you will find that this will be the most comfortable thing to have caressed your ass in too long.

People tie memories to pictures, and benches— well, benches just seem to be nostalgia magnets. My heart truly breaks for all those pictures of benches without their other halves.

They may as well be stamped with a serial number, hot out of the cliché factory.


“Hey city boy, did you know Rochester used to have a subway system too?”What’s the price of a ticket, local girl? Monuments, biographies, and cave paintings. Man’s obsession with unattainable immortality. Life is precious. This is why we write on walls, why we inspire. Because who ever knows when you’ll kick it. Go live. Really.

“Hey city boy, did you know Rochester used to have a subway system too?”
What’s the price of a ticket, local girl?

Monuments, biographies, and cave paintings. Man’s obsession with unattainable immortality. Life is precious. This is why we write on walls, why we inspire. Because who ever knows when you’ll kick it. Go live. Really.


“Hey dude, I see you’re into bikes, have you ever been to the Boneyard?”No, but now that you’ve told me about it, I have to, right?This is where all of RIT’s confiscated bikes go to die.Set behind a set of locked gates, even the air in here smells a bit rebellious. Maybe it was from the double meaning spurred by a nearby sign, as if it were inviting us to acts of defiance. Upon further exploration, the discovery of an old school boombox and stationary bike. Jackpot.Makes you wonder. Will the causeless rebel ever achieve his goal? Maybe he’ll turn the volume down; even the radio is bleeding.

“Hey dude, I see you’re into bikes, have you ever been to the Boneyard?”
No, but now that you’ve told me about it, I have to, right?This is where all of RIT’s confiscated bikes go to die.
Set behind a set of locked gates, even the air in here smells a bit rebellious. Maybe it was from the double meaning spurred by a nearby sign, as if it were inviting us to acts of defiance. Upon further exploration, the discovery of an old school boombox and stationary bike. Jackpot.
Makes you wonder. Will the causeless rebel ever achieve his goal? Maybe he’ll turn the volume down; even the radio is bleeding.


The act of bringing together thoughts in sentences that may never be read again retains a fresh sense of doing something that has never been done, making memories that have never been made, even if it exists only to be buried again. Maybe that is how we live, sparking up as a jewel of light in the night sky like fireworks, only to fall back to the ground, just like how everything else will return to the earth.


[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

The Jezabels - A Little Piece

There’s a cold easy glow, dancing over our street.
I could have chased you down; I could have held your love.
But wouldn’t you think me weak?
Of all I should know how the streets come and go,
And you chased the kaleidoscope dream.
Stranger, baby, always keep me in your sweet memory.






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