MY FIRST RODEO

make every moment a first

[itsmyfirstrodeo]

[itsmyfirstrodeo]

My First Burn

When you're a child, it's so eay to fall in love with the world over and over again. Magic is alive in everything. A friend recently told me that she’d overheard a little girl maybe six or so being asked what she thinks Burning Man is? Her answer, “Burning Man is a place where kids get to be adults and adults get to be children.” Oh, how right she was, I was listening to the story while passing out little viles of flame-cooked Kraft Macaroni and Cheese laced with Fritos and doused in siracha to my perfectly crafted and deliciously dressed family in our hand-built box car home. I’m aware that may sound just a little disgusting, but that’s only because your reading this as an adult. There is a certain rawness that, before exposure to anything else, defines our spirit from birth It is our soul before it’s inevitable introduction to hierarchy and logic. When in a city we build with our hands, with reckless abandonment of both law and order, and an unspoken emphasis of simply doing things right, it is easy to feel just a shiver of that underexposed ghost of ourselves. And oh how I fell in love, over and over again.

[itsmyfirstrodeo]

“The secret of the arts is to always be a beginner.” I recently heard this as I was standing in the back of a window lit lecture room that I’d spent the previous spring living in the basement of – somewhere underneath the kitchen. More than 100 years before, a man who'd be remembered for treating tuberculous was in part responsible for my being there. He'd began a hospital right there, where I’d spent a snowy season sleeping under early breakfasts and clinky heater pipes – where the walls involuntarily paid witness as I'd awkwardly rediscover photography, stay up way too late, fall in love, question everything and sometimes fall asleep. Before all of that though, his hospital became a place where people would gather – a regular place for salons and lectures. Those walls had attracted many before me – Robert Frost, Ezra Pound, countless artists I’ve looked up to through my adult and adolescent life – all to listen, all to share, and, as my imagination would have it, all to experience the thrill of a beginning. This was not my first time standing there. It was Sunday, the first day of one of the last workshops of the year, and I was listening to Reid Callanan inspire a room. I’d heard the jokes, the rules, the introductions. I could recite a good amount of the evening. That didn't mean I wasn't beginning something important. It didn’t mean that I didn't secretly pencil down some new little bits I’d heard hiding under the exercised dialogue. It didn’t matter that I’d stood here before or that I would again. Much was different, and so was I. Six months ago, I was on my way to that building. To pick up my keys in the snow and try to make sense of the fact that I would be living in a monastery. I’ve made each and every day of those months something entirely new, and I selfishly haven’t had one spare second to share any of it. So let’s go back to the beginning. "Where can I find those?" I’d just arrived to New Orleans, the second stop along my road trip and semi-permanent move to Santa Fe, NM. I made one more frame from the asphalt beneath the growing crowd to stand up and meet the eyes of the Australian voice who'd posed the question. I handed her my information with a smile and skipped deeper into the thick family crowds of an early Mardi Gras. Her name was Haede – sounds like Haiti I'd only just inched back and forth into a cramped parallel somewhere in the garden district of New Orleans. I threw my pack onto a bunk at a hostel I'd only reserved for good measure, put on my golden turban and some smeared metallic eye paint I'd just purchased at the CVS, and skipped into the street to be alone and alive. I was in the mood for magic. The hostel I booked was beautiful and painfully dull. It was always a plan B anyway. I’d been talking with a couchsurfer named Dyaln, and I decided to text him as soon as I got in. He happened to be watching the parade on the same block as I – nowhere near Bourbon St – and told me to come meet him and the crew he was hosting. “We’ve already met,” I said with a disbelieving laugh when he introduced me to Haede and her friend Jake. The universe has its ways of letting you know when you’re on the right track. I sometimes think that’s what deja vu is. It’s the moments you meet someone you’ve known your whole life – when you know the song that will be playing before you turn the music on. It’s what happens when you forget logic and remember yourself. I lost track of my days a bit and never went back to my hostel. We filled the short, winter days we had finding magic, making tacos and watching brass. As I started to lose count of the suns who rose out of the swamp, I knew it was time to follow them west. It was Friday the 13th and we left it to fate. Four new friends had one call each to anyone we knew to pose seven words out of context. Should I stay or should I go. An Australian number picked up and with great enthusiasm, shouted,” Go, go, live your life.” With a heavy heart, it meant good bye for now, and I said so long to three of the most amazing people I’ve had the pleasure to meet. I was late, and I was not one to mess with fate.

[itsmyfirstrodeo]

My First Mardi Gras

I had about 13 tabs open. Maps. Restaurant reviews. Historical essays. I had less than a day to decide. The Mississippi Delta and Memphis, or New Orleans and Austin. The decision might seem like a no brainer, but I'd already been to Austin and New Orleans, and there's not too much I enjoy more than tamales and the blues. I was really pushing for the Mississippi Delta. It's easy to feel like you live under a rock when you're always in the moment. Always in your moment. It's easy to not know who's playing in the Superbowl or what time of year it even happens when you're trying to be present in every moment and figure out where you'll be living every other 24 hours. Big budget sporting events and award ceremonies are one thing, but I was a new level of sad for myself when I didn't realize that Mardi Gras was days away. New Orleans it was. I never did make it to Bourbon Street, but I parked my car just in time for the start of the parade in the Garden District. I didn't leave for four days.

[itsmyfirstrodeo]

“West.” Before the folds were fully smoothed open, I scanned the penciled letters on the crumpled sheet of paper. This had to have been about three years ago. I was sitting around the rim of one of my photojournalism courses in Gainesville, and our professor had just thrown us a fashion assignment. He’d written one word on lots of little scraps of paper and made each of the seven or eight of us choose one crumpled ball and conceptualize its word into a fashion shoot. It was no incredibly innovative approach to shooting, but I remember my excitement. My word was "west." That may have been the first time I’d fully realized my romance with the word, though I’d been running that direction since I can remember being able to walk. Every time I’d get close, something in the current of my life would roll me back to Florida’s coast. Like most of my life expectations, I never thought I’d stay in my little college town after graduating. I stayed. I had gotten a good career opportunity and promised myself I’d give it a year. After one orbit of 9-5 I had to start running again. The driving force was photography. I was starting to forget it, and I wasn’t ready to. I tried to get a job at the best photographic community I knew of in the states. The call-back meant packing up and driving to the exact opposite of the life I’d grown to find comfort in. I drove up out of what’s supposedly under the sea to the desert mountains of New Mexico. My First Stop: PANAMA CITY BEACH Despite a lifetime as a Florida resident, I’d never stepped foot on its panhandle. One of my best friends from J School was born there, and he’d just gotten back from a year in Africa. He moved back to live with his family for a little while and told me it would be fine for me to crash there on the way. The sky was on fire to my left and, by the time twilight started to take it’s place, I was flying past abandoned flipflop shops and dolphin-shaped buildings. There were no cars for miles. I could hear the ocean from my cracked car window and the air was thick with salt. My phone informed my that my destination was approaching towards my left, but all I could see for miles were neon signs for vacant beach-front motels. My phone vibrated again. “When you get there, go to the front desk to check in. We’ve reserved a room for you.” I turned into the massive empty parking lot of the Beach Tower Resort Motel and swung open a door I was sure would be locked. Sure enough, a man was there with a key and he told me to take it up to what must have been the fifteenth floor. John’s parents owned the motel. I soon found out that he was living in the room next to mine and we were the only tenants during my stay. A knock on the door later and his familiar smile filled the double-bed room. It was like no time had passed at all – no full-time jobs, no Africa, no leases or fancy SUVs – just back to running through the sloppy streets of undergrad and road trips to photo conferences in the south. It was just the way real friendships always will be. Aside from seeing John and his novelesque life laced with fancy bottles of bourbon and cameras in his own vacant motel on the beach, Panama City Beach was a little sad. I was there and gone with the sun and on my way to a week with strangers in New Orleans. It was Mardi Gras after all.

[itsmyfirstrodeo]

I couldn’t see. I was winding through the roads of my two-day-fresh home in Santa Fe, NM – the land of enchantment, and I couldn’t see. My eyes were running so badly that I couldn’t even stop to laugh at the irony behind the years of making fun of Florida’s allergy victims. My phone vibrated a few times in the seat next to me. When I finally turned into the market, I looked at the glowing screen through the two strained and squinted teardrops that had taken over my eyes. It looked like a handful of Twitter notifications – all full of congratulations from an awards ceremony back in Florida. I wasn’t aware that the ceremony was even taking place, but I’d been on the road for a week and a half. My mind was admittedly consumed with the moment and the moments to come. I don’t think I ever won a single award in college for photojournalism, but I’d just heard that my work received four ADDYs during my first year working as a creative in an agency. A couple of seconds later, I saw that the project I led while still a fulltime student at UF (I skipped a lot. I mean months at a time) took best in show. I didn’t think about it again until after getting home, tortuously trying my first Neti Pot and typing out this blog. When your foot is always two steps out of every door, things like celebrating are few and far between. This Neti Pot-induced-post is my little way of celebrating so that maybe I’ll see it one day and have time to feel something down the road. More importantly, I realized that most of the people I’m closest to have no idea what I’ve spent the last year of my life doing. These awards seemed like a timely opportunity to mention it and share some of the projects that became my life for a little while. Here's all of the work that took awards. Please explore the case studies if you have the time, and they'll walk you through the process and depth of each. BEST IN SHOW This was my baby. The case study here will walk you through the project, or you can skip to the bottom and watch the series. I was responsible for everything from concept, to script to production, and it was an awesome first project. GOLD I did the initial discovery for this project with my creative director in San Francisco. We flew straight from Maine after shooting the Unity videos with our CEO to interview all of the tech company's founders and shareholders. I wrote the script and informed the storyboards for the motion graphic here on the case study. GOLD This was the longest of the five videos in the Unity series that sums up a lot of the messaging in the first four. It's what the president uses to raise awareness about the importance of sustainability science when he travels for lectures. SILVER This was a half video and half print campaign we created for Santa Fe Community College's CTE. My creative director and I did all of the research and interviews and then partnered on the rest. I was responsible for all of the writing, photography and filmmaking. xxxx Last year, I had the chance to work on a very small and very talented team of amazing people. Some were web coders, some were designers and I wore a lot of hats. I got to work with tons of different clients, listen to their stories, and come up with the best ways to tell them (whether copywriting, filmmaking or experience design). Each project and client had almost nothing in common with the one before it. The trust and responsibility instilled in me was through the roof from day one. That’s probably one of the things that attracted me to Parisleaf. Perhaps even more important was the chance to collaborate and create work with such brilliant people for such brilliant companies. Just because, here’s a little lineup of some of the superhumans I got to call family for a year. Congrats on the huge wins guys. Thank you Chad and Alison Paris for bringing it all together. Patrick would sit snugly on my top five reasons to move to Gainesville if I were to ever make one. He’s a visionary, a teacher, an artist and a friend. His work speaks for itself, and that’s not what makes him amazing. If you run into him in Haile, ask him to take you out to the canoes at Newnan’s Lake Jamie is a legend. I once watched him turn from just another bald guy complaining about mayonnaise to a certified OG in seconds. The proof is on his arm. He’s now happily taking over the world from New York City. Andrew can code anything and he’s younger than I am. He also knows how to play the entire Bohemian Rhapsody on the piano and can read binary code. Zack doesn’t know how to use chopsticks, but he has a croquet set in his trunk. He shows up at last 30 minutes early to work every day and never does anything less than deliver. He’s the definition of solid. Benji is a unicorn. He’s a ridiculously talented artist. Don’t let the muscles fool you. He’s also a hell of a friend. Frank’s a go-getter, a great partner and a blast to watch when he gets excited. Austin really came through when I needed him as a project manager for a real estate photo shoot. He organized the crane and the snacks. Joe once gave me a Dashboard Confessional CD and told me I’ve got cojones. He’s okay in my book. Thanks for letting me rant about my team. We made great work together, and I know they'll all have brilliant futures. For me, I'm already pretty deep into a new rodeo. Trust me, you'll see the whole trip there very soon.

[itsmyfirstrodeo]

My First time using my camera just to play For those who’ve never had the opportunity or interest in making the winter migration South for Miami’s Art Basel, here is a little taste. It’s a different experience for everyone, and it’s a different experience every year. The only thing that’s really guaranteed over the years is traffic that even Uber can’t save you from. Every day there’s at least three hundred different parties, lists, galleries, pop-up events, screenings, concerts and installations circling through signage and mobile event invitations every minute of the 24 hours -- all week long. It’s easy to make fun of. But if you really think about it, most things probably are. The sun meets the bay, tonight becomes tomorrow, and blurs of people shuffle out of parties and filter back through a new days worth of exhibits. Thousands of people breeze by visual representations of what could be the single most significant moment of someone’s life -- every second -- thinking only of how they were to get to the next venue or whether their name was on a list later that night. At least that’s a thought that crossed my mind as I watched. I sometimes find my imagination getting the best of me. Every now and then life serves up little punches -- moments when you stick around a little past closing time and accidentally catch a glimpse of the smoke thinning and the mirrors being put away. If everyone’s reality is so incredibly different from one another’s, and we’re all just extras in one another's story, then how is it possible we take things so seriously? This made me want to play. Earlier that day, I got to sit down and finally meet someone I’ve been wanting to meet for a while. We shared many mutual friends, we’re from the same city, went to the same college for the same degree and held many of the same positions at the same jobs. Long story short, he goes by Max Reed, and he’s a ridiculously talented photographer. I was reading through his blog before we sat to meet, and he did this great post about digital double exposures. I’ve never been a big gear head, and I admittedly had no idea that was possible in-camera before reading his post.. As I walked through one of the tents later that day, I started paying special attention to the people who weren’t on their phones, the ones who strayed from the pack and didn’t seem to be in a hurry to get anywhere. They were just engaging with someone else's moment displayed on a wall. This seemed like a fun enough reason to get a little experimental. But if you really think about it, most things probably are. I shot from the hip as inconspicuously as I could and attempted to double expose images of strangers and the piece of art they were engaging with. Like film, you really only get one shot. On top of that, I didn’t approach this very scientifically, and kept moving after each the capture to leave those strangers alone with their moment. The images aren’t perfect. They’re not even very good really, but I had fun trying something new. I’m only sharing them because it felt good. New rodeos always do. Happy Rodeoing

[itsmyfirstrodeo]

My First Rodeo goes to Art Basel Miami 2014

[itsmyfirstrodeo]

If one person's life is being positively impacted simply because you are surviving, thriving and using your time to be alive on this planet, then you are doing just fine. I was laying on my back with my feet open softly and palms to the sky -- feeling my body cool from the last two hours of Jivamukti. This was an ending mantra during meditation. I feel I'm not alone in this seemingly insatiable search for better. Better is different to everyone and changes every moment. There's nothing wrong with growth from reason, but there's also nothing wrong with celebrating the present and being content in a moment. I'm only sharing all of this undoubtedly lame words-of-wisdom nonsense because it's so easy to forget. I know a good amount of people out there that could use an excuse to remember how brilliant they can be in the moment -- better will always be there waiting. I've been down because I haven't had much time to pursue this blog, to shoot, write, or play with any side projects since taking the dive into the full-time-job world. That's life. There are bigger problems. And I'm trying. I set aside some time to do some EP art for Palmedo last month -- an amazing Gainesville based duo. It felt right, their sound was dope, and I had the time of my life getting to feel creative again. There should always be enough space in life for a new rodeo.

[itsmyfirstrodeo]

My first time embracing routine My last two weeks have been filled with revisiting things once familiar -- With visiting the things I've forgotten for too long, and doing so with a new perspective. I have not been able to stop smiling to save my life. XXXX It was a little after 8 this morning when I opened the little glass door of one of the establishments that sold me on moving to Gainesville three years ago. A long, thin and visibly bored girl with short curls started to pour me a to-go cup of homemade granola and almond milk. I’d been out of town for more than a week, but apparently people don’t forget how much you like their granola. The idea of routine may seem to contradict the very foundation of what this blog stands for – On the contrary. Every day deserves the opportunity of the unknown, But there’s also beauty in knowing what you like and embracing it. All the more beautiful is approaching a familiar experience with a new mind every time you encounter it. I could never understand why someone would read the same book more than once, but I've found that a growing mind changes with the fingers of a clock. If you watch one film a second time, and you aren’t left with a slightly different perspective or a new knowledge of something you may have missed in the first impression -- then perhaps my thoughts are underdeveloped But as I shook the miniature right hand of the giggling two-foot-tall, Marti, I realized the beauty of a changing routine. She was here the Monday before last at the same time. We were the only two tables, given the hour, and she must have been on her way to kindergarten class. She shared a table with mother and father who I assumed to be recently divorced as I listened in occasionally through my sips of coffee. All of this was merely a character development I was building in my head in between pre-work writing and bites of ginger granola. She was very sweet and mature for her ripe old age of what I guessed to be 4 and a half. Her father encouraged her to introduce herself to the “big girl,” and I remember being mildly annoyed at the thought that that was my new identification. She walked over and told me her name. "Marti." She said she also enjoyed granola in the mornings before school. I offered my right hand and taught her how to do the same, look me in the eye and hold on tight for her very first handshake. She bounced and gurgled and jumped about a little. I could tell she was particularly proud of herself. I returned this morning for the first Monday in two weeks to write. Sure enough, Marti was there. It had been two weeks since she’d reminded me that it’s okay to smile and that we shouldn’t forget to dance. When she made her way to my chair “to shake hands with Ashley” I saw the beauty in revisiting a situation. XXXXX One year ago I moved to Brooklyn for a short summer to make my first video and experience my first Independence Day in the city of dreams. I returned this year to go to a new take on the same party I ended with exactly one year ago. Here are the pictures from my City Fox Experience. Don’t forget to dance.

[itsmyfirstrodeo]

My first time deciding my last time. Growth for the sake of growth is the ideology of the cancer cell. I remember reading the sentence through the cracked glass of my iPhone while melting into the white linen couch on some stage in Miami. They were all of the words I'd been looking for for months strung together in one perfect little line. That Edward Abbey knows his stuff. The sun was sinking a little lower, and the crowd in front of me seemed to be bobbing around a little less. I told myself I wouldn't work on much that weekend, but I'd been hung up on this one project as about 45 more were blurring by. I was beginning to lose it. In nature growth just happens. But why do human beings obsess about it. Is it ultimately exponential -- does it always lead the decomposition of something else – would anyone care if it did? What traits imbedded into the roots of pollination – the molecular structures of mold – the intricacies of Fibonacci’s numerical explorations— has mankind taken, restructured and claimed as its own? What modern interpretations have we attempted to choreograph around the chemical romance of spontaneous combustion and apply to our innermost decisions? I asked myself. I took time to put myself into the situations and chose to put the other usual mental deliberations on hold. My thoughts and open tabs were interrupted momentarily by a charming British accent fighting the music to ask about a key. I expressed my disinterest. I was finally feeling a little less grey. The questions were tugging at me so hard for months that I ultimately decided I didn't want to create anything ever again, and I certainly didn't want to write about it. My last first rodeo had been my last. But I’d still finish the project. XXXX The project During these few months, I was working as the photography director for Gainesville Fashion Week. The quiet theme of the year was “inspiring growth.” I took the role while wrapping up my last semester at UF, freelancing for the Sun, starting my first full-time job, helping facilitate a few other random endeavors, and trying to be very much of the human being I am genetically destined to be – degenerate. It seemed to only make sense to put work into the art exhibit at the end. To say I'd create something entirely new and harder than anything I’ve done. It was to be around the theme -- Inspiring growth -- and it seemed easy enough. XXXX It wasn’t until I decided I wanted nothing to do with it any more that I remembered why I do any of this. It was a frightening and humbling place to dig into, but I’m glad that I did. Who hasn’t gotten sad? Who hasn’t felt uninspired or questioned the meaning behind the ways we run our lives? Who hasn’t had to meet their ego face to face and stare into the fabricated version of themselves? It was a frightening place to dig in to, but it takes a reminder of what we already know to move past what we don’t. XXXX Long story short, I learned to ask myself why, again. After asking for months, I finally remembered my answer. As I type, things seem to be getting a little less grey. It’s time for a new rodeo. XXXX Growth -Inspiration- Pollination-Adaptation-Decomposition-Exponential- Special thanks to Patrick Smith, Albey Coronel, Niko Pifferetti, Nicole Collazo, Benji Haselhurst, Davis Hart, Ashley Young, Tanima Mehrotra, Lindsey Buz, Jennifer Staples, Victorria Sanchez, Olivia Sanchez and Adrian Alahs

[itsmyfirstrodeo]

My First Team Portrait Session After a more than 12-hour day of helping organize and shoot casting calls, orchestrate the more than 120 model head shots, set up a make-shift studio, take the entire team's portraits in the back, and help finish god-knows how many bottles of wine, the GFW2014 team photos are edited and live. Thank you everyone for a very productive First Rodeo.

[itsmyfirstrodeo]

My First Earthskills Gathering Even during my temporary affair with veganism, the idea of surviving on only what you grow or kill has always been extremely intriguing to me. It’s romantic, hunting for your meal. Taking life with your hands, and thoughtfully and thankfully putting each piece of something to use. Romantic. This dance is sadly something today that at first glance seems barbaric in a generation consumed by consumption. Once a year in the woods surrounding my tiny college town exists a gathering dedicated a self-sustaining population. This year I went.

[itsmyfirstrodeo]

[itsmyfirstrodeo]

My First 'Outliers of Normality' Feature I was in the passenger seat of one of my more spontaneous First Rodeos, when I had a stranger point out this attraction I seemed to have towards outliers of normality. Well over a year later, and somewhere along the same salty southbound Florida roads, I remembered the conversation and thought it might be interesting to spend an afternoon or two searching for a few people who chose to live life a little differently and capture a glimpse of their stories. Captain Steve is the first of those little stories. He had everything he was raised to believe he ever wanted. But one day he decided to throw in his time card and all but 100 of his possessions to live on a tiny boat parked in a marina outside of Key West. He spent less than $16,000 to live last year and doesn’t have health insurance, but he’s the happiest he’s been since he can remember Steve’s parents grew up during the Depression. Growing up hungry, they compensated later in life by owning a lot of things and raising their son to believe that things were the key to success happiness. Steve Neil had a secure corporate job for years with Harley Davidson, a nice home in Florida, and all of the things most people spend their lives working towards, but one day he gave it all away to explore a life of minimalism, living just a little bit outside of the realm of normality.

[itsmyfirstrodeo]

My First Time Going Home to the Keys Where are you from? To someone who hasn’t had one address for long enough to remember the zip code, this the single most annoying question in the world. The concept of “going home” changes regularly, but since my mother made the recent move to the small stroke of islands strung beneath Florida, I went home to the Keys this Christmas. Words cannot explain the feelings that came with experiencing the truly deserved joy in her I found when I finally got to visit her. To see one of the strongest and most beautiful women I know in love, in paradise and in the moment of a lifetime was the best present I could have hoped for. xxxx It was New Year’s day. I pedaled as fast as I could through the colorful old homes of Bahama Village exchanging warm nods and smiles with weathered Bahamian men through their long white mustaches. Dodging cats and roosters, I wound through cigar shops and coconut stands getting momentary peeps into the lazy porch-side conversations of aging artists and writers. The sky opened to empty sheets of abrupt and heavy rain, and in an instant it was only me and my bike. No roosters, no mustached men, nothing but 8 square miles of rain. I biked to the southern most point of the country and drank a coconut as far out on the rocks to Cuba I could get. When I realized the rain was going nowhere, I biked to the little spa that my mom was working at. The back door opened. One of the massage therapists whispered, “Take off all of your clothes, lay down on the table and I’ll be in in a second.” Who argues on New Year’s? While I enjoyed every second of a massage, my clothes were drying with spa towels, and the second it was over, I opened the back door to find a miraculously sunny day. Here’s to making every second of the New Year a First Rodeo to remember.

[itsmyfirstrodeo]

Art Basel Miami, 2013 as seen by MFR