from a conversation I had recently...

Photographers live in the past.

We take ourselves out of the moment to record it for posterity. Witnessing, but never fully taking part.

Then, after the fact, we examine and rearrange the events, hoping to make sense of them. By then, however, it’s too late. The past is gone and it doesn’t really matter that we figured it out in the first place.

I’ve realized that the several years of my life I’ve obsessively documented are now hollow memories and not as fulfilling or comforting as I thought they would be.

As I peruse these photographs from time to time, I see Brothers, Friends and Lovers. I see the places I’ve gone and places I haven’t been to in a very long time. The one thing I don’t see is myself. I am absent from these events, and consequently, I am absent from the memories as well...

I still carry a camera pretty much everywhere I go, but now the life experiences come first and the photos come second.