Romanticized by Nostalgia.


Maine made me brave (throwing me behind the wheel, alone, to drive twenty hours across the country).

Maine made me embrace my failures (leading me to an entirely new aesthetic).

Maine changed me (giving me a new way of making that I am desperately trying to keep).

I came to realize while there that the only way to make honest work about home was to be hundreds of miles away from it. At home I am romanticized by nostalgia and distracted by life. Away from the cornfields of Northwestern Ohio I found symbols, stand-ins for my memories that were more truthful than the places they actually occurred.

Vacationland began in Maine, but has extended into something much larger. It is a book of poetry and black and white photographs that expose the truths of growing up, written in a time of life where I am finally shedding those last remaining bits of my teenage angst.

Here are a few snippets:


Mother is the moon.
Heaven and the stars are her
impossible realms.


We wept in the woods
silently mourning the loss
of our innocence.


Vodka soaked melons,
bitter-sweet-sixteen I ran
headfirst towards the stars.

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