Ready to Run.

I have a restless soul, prone to wander and ready to run. I crave adventure: road trips, tent camping and climbing mountains. This is a huge part of who I am; this is a huge part of why I am an artist not a business woman or a factory worker. Monotony kills my creative spirit; currently I feel as if I am drowning.

While last night gifted me with my first nervous breakdown of the semester, March promises bountiful adventures to new places with wonderful photo friends. If I can make it through February, I get to go towards the sunset. I love being West, I love the wide open spaces and lack of humidity, I love the mountains and the prairies, I love that you can see forever away and that the night sky is infinite. I soon get to fly for a second time to spend a week in Las Vegas at SPE with professors, classmates and alumni, all whom I admire. Then it’s back to Ohio, immediately to leave once again. A dear friend and I will be driving to Boulder: a week on the road, making pictures and breathing fresh mountain air.

Colorado is my favorite place (thus far). The last time I was there was before I shot film, before I had my own aesthetic and before I was confident in my picture making abilities. I am beyond grateful to have the chance to go back and capture everything, to make work worthy of such a majestic place.

2016 is quickly turning in to the year of travel, and I could not be more excited. All of these adventures are happening because I am not afraid to say yes to opportunities. I used to think that travel required a lot of time, money and planning, but that is not necessarily true. If seeing this beautiful country is a priority, you just make it happen. You eat McDonalds, drink gallons of cold gas station coffee and sleep six to a hotel room, tent or car. You pick a map dot, get in your vehicle, and drive sixteen hours strait. If you’re fortunate like me, you’ll have a friend or two crazy enough to get in that car with you, ready to run, no questions asked.


Left: My father (right) with his oldest and youngest brothers. Top of Pikes Peak. Late 60’s.
Right: My second cousin Megan (my father’s oldest brother’s granddaughter) and I. Top of Pikes Peak. 2014.

Same place, same family, one to two generations apart, fifty years later. This is why I love photography.

PS) I am aware of the fact that there are a lot of references to songs by the Dixie Chicks in this blog post. While it was unintentional, I am not ashamed.

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