In a Blink of an Eye

Working with models is always a little slippery. Inevitably, they’ll bring with them expectations for the outcome of a shoot that almost never coaligns with my creative desires. Most of the time, they're looking for a beautiful and flattering image, but what I'm looking to capture is something more interesting, something visually arresting. What good is a photograph if it doesn't compel the viewer to to look at it, and resists being forgotten?

For instance, occasionally I'll "accidentally" press the shutter as they're blinking–this is actually a lot harder to time than you'd think. Try doing that with another person without saying a word–it's tough.

A regular black and white portrait turns into a shifting moment of quiet delirium.

The Chicken Liver Virtuoso

Every Thursday afternoon she would arrive at our quiet little neighborhood square. She'd sit on one side of the weathered, beef-jerky-bench under the gazebo, alongside her brown-paper-bag-companion, where she carried her midday indulgence.

As she listened to music on her headphones, swaying her head in lackadaisical figure-eights, she'd snack on fried chicken livers in an elegant and dexterous way that made one believe they were witnessing a kind of performance art.

I was ever her only audience–no one came, no one saw–except Me.

I dislike fried chicken livers, but I continue to be enchanted by her eating of them.

An Alex Jones Catholic Love Conspiracy

I once dated a girl who believed Catholics were a Roman Jesuit Satanic conspiracy.

She didn't know my family was Catholic. This didn't really bother me because I never did my first communion, nor did I ever go to Catechism. Therefore, I was safe from her persecution.

Besides, I was in love, and she looked good in a bikini. My heart was hers, and my cock was her bloodmeal.

Nowadays, I don't believe in romantic love anymore, for reasons that will remain left to the imagination.

If you see Alex Jones, tell him Beelzebub's a motherfucker.