Another One Bites the Dust

Three years of long, dark and uneventful winters in Central Maine led me to start taking pictures, intern at Rogues Gallery, start a blog, and most recently watch semi-professional wrestling in a nearby civic center. A flyer tipped my roommates and me off to the night of blows, body slams and pile drivers. I entertained the idea of actually attending the wrestling matches with the same fervor as promising a high school friend to watch the Lord of the Rings Trilogy back to back. As Tuesday turned to Thursday, my alternatives quickly evaporated and the imminence of watching fake tanned men hop around on a glorified trampoline grew from that of a conversation piece with acquaintances to a planned rendezvous with a group of close friends.

Inspired by famous wrestler-turned-politician, Jesse "The Body" Ventura and the granddaddy of Hulkamaniacs, Hulk Hogan, these wrestlers travel around New England on weekends battling it out in bars, civic centers and high school gymnasiums.

Arranged on folding tables surrounding the ring, memorabilia such as these vintage figures, posters and DVD's acted a reminder to the foundations of the sport and a reference point for the character of all of the wrestlers and the attitude of the fans. I am interested in what inspires people, regardless of my personal preferences. The process of inspiration to create is universal, with no specific inputs or outputs but with a transformation as the only consistent part of the equation.

This is Pro Wrestling in Maine!

Pile Driver.

I was surprised by the contrasts between the brightness and optimism of the foundation of the sport and the reality of wrestling now. Wrestlers of old wore bright colors, had goofy hair cuts and had larger than life personas. Today many wrestlers look like they are auditioning for a horror movie.

A close line in the making.

For two and a half hours a dozen men assumed various aliases and romped in front of some 50 or so Mainers. They worked the crowd and screamed.

The last jump of the match.

Here are some more links,
Another One Bites the Dust (Picasa).

Once In a Blue Moon

On my last night in the Northwest, I made the routine drive back from Portland to the Gorge under the cover of an almost full moon. A 30 mile per hour east wind shook the car from side to side as I listened to Rebellion by the Arcade Fire on my iPhone. Staring out of the window at the scenery illuminated by the vibrant light of the moon, I realized that December was a Blue Moon. I slammed on the brakes, hopped out of the car, opened my trunk, grabbed my tripod and 5d Mark II, and set the shutter for long exposures.

The near full moon's light illuminated the landscape and provided surprising contrasts and colors.

Every few minutes, headlights appeared down the road and I released the shutter to avoid over exposures. Baffled by the by concept of being outside of their heat seats and radios, the drivers sped on.

The harsh wind and cold temperature only increased the solitude of the night. I guess it's my contrarian nature, but the longer I stayed outside numbing my ears and fingertips, the better I felt about standing alone and enjoying the night.

The harsh wind shook the tree's limbs and tall grass, blurring edges in this 30-second exposure.

Protected from the biting cold and gusting wind by my Filson Mackinaw Cruiser, I danced to the Arcade Fire as as my camera stood close, capturing the night on its tripod. Like a silhouette from an iPod commercial, I bounced around inspired by the night's beauty and the possibilities of youth.

Here are some more links,
Once in a Blue Moon (Picasa),
Blue Moon (Wikipedia).

The Most Interesting Three Weeks of My Life

One of my favorite high school teachers would always quote Socrates, "The unexamined life is not worth living." At the time I thought little of this pedantic morsel and often responded with a quote from a most excellent movie, "you mean So-crates?" Despite my D in sophomore English, most likely a function of smart ass comments and failed vocabulary tests, the lesson of introspection and evaluation resonates more and more as I grow up.

On the morning of Sunday, December 13th, I packed up four shirts, two pairs of jeans, a handful of underwear and socks into a backpack and headed towards the wild blue yonder. I split the next three weeks between Boston, New York and the Portland, Oregon area, my toothbrush and iPhone with me at all times. For three weeks, I went to bed early, I went on walks by myself, I saw old friends, I roughhoused with my brother, I played with my dog, I ate my mom's food and more than anything, I thought.

Our campfire at sunset.

Emma in Central Park.

Sunrise in the Columbia River Gorge from a window in my mom's house.

Acrylic Paint in Soho.

Alice and Bob's Maine Cooncat in the West Village. In the summer he has a lion cut.

Tim overlooking the Columbia River Gorge on a foggy day.

Liberated by my freedom of mobility and lack of obligations, I traveled light, snapping photos with my iPhone as I went. Each photo connects an image to a thought like news clippings on a refrigerator. I know it's not what my sophomore English teacher envisioned some six years ago, but thank you "So-crates."

All of these photos were taken on my iPhone 3GS and the Colorcross Camerabag Filter.

Here are some more links,
The Most Interesting Three Weeks of My Life (Picasa),
Camerabag (iPhone Application),

A Hike in the Snow

On Christmas Eve, my brother, dad and I set out on an adventure into the Silver Star Mountains. A drive up gravel roads to inspect the previous night's snowfall quickly turned into a hike when my dad pulled his 4runner to the side of the road and asked if I had ample footwear for a hike. I looked down at the red laces on my Danner Mountain Light II's on my feet and responded with an unequivocal "Yes."

For the next three hours, we slowly gained altitude tromping around the Silver Star range, overlooking Portland, the foothills of the Cascades and the Columbia River Gorge. We trudged through six inches of snow on the old logging roads that dissect the hills like trails of ants on a kitchen floor as clouds flew past east to west.

My dad, and dedicated proofreader, on the left and my brother Tim on the right. For reference my dad is 6'0".

Frozen leaves on the side of the trail.

The north face of Mt. Hood overlooking the Columbia River Gorge and the foothills of the Cascades. Snow highlights the clear cuts. As a teenager I spent most of my winters snowboarding on Mt Hood's east face.

The sun started sinking below the hills as we made our way back towards the car. Snow trapped around my foot seeped down into my socks like water in a flowerpot. The breeze picked up, numbing my hands as I cradled my camera. My brother and dad charged on ahead as I lingered behind taking photos and listening to the post-storm tranquility. I trudged on smiling ear to ear.

Here are some more links,
A Hike on Christmas Eve (Picasa),
Outdoors (ART).