Michael Cevoli

[email protected] www.michaelcevoli.com

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Steel

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Jason, captain of the F/V Old Jake. I’m thankful that our paths have crossed many times over the years. 

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Millard. Newcastle, Maine. 

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924lbs tuna fish, caught and released while on assignment off the coast of Prince Edward Island. 

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Fish camp, Hull Cove. 

This location from a recent shoot was one of my favorites in a long time. From a story on commercial fishing.

More images from this ongoing series at sea can be seen here. 

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Captain Alan in the wheelhouse. 

More images from this ongoing series at sea can be seen here.

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Benny, on the rail.

More images from this ongoing series at sea can be seen here. 

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Nets and fish.

The trap boats can haul insane amounts of tonnage, pending market demands on a given day. On this boat, the fish are pulled from the sea by this net, called the bull net, which is attached to a winch and is roughly 4ft across. The bull net is guided above the deck by hand and emptied, where the fish are then sorted by the crew prior to arrival in port. 

More images from this ongoing series at sea can be seen here. 

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Sea Robins, Atlantic Ocean

More images from this ongoing series at sea can be seen here. 

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Sunrise, Atlantic Ocean. 

Heading back to port from the #5 trap on the fishing vessel Maria Mendosa. She’s loaded mostly with scup and sea robins. 

More images from this ongoing series at sea can be seen here. 

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Hull Cove, Sunup. 

Some outtakes from a recent feature on a former national spearfishing champion and current underwater videographer. We started just before sunrise and worked our way several miles along the cliffs before wrapping up in a small cove of white water. 

A few more outtakes can been seen here. 

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Its finally getting green up in the County. 

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State Prison, one of four in town.

I grew up staring at this beast. I remember as a child watching the guards change shifts outside of this tower; they used to(and still do) drop a key attached to a chain out of a small hatch on the outside, down to another, well armed guard who could then let himself in from the outside of the prison.

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Stan, Jack’s Bar. Brickworks.

Stan is a good man, and he owns Jack’s, an old time bar in the neighborhood. He stocks nonalcoholic beer for me, which he doesn't charge me for. He hates new customers and refuses to serve anyone whose drink order he doesn’t like. He grew up shelling quahogs(clams) around the old coal stove in the back room of the bar with his father, and bought the place when he retired from working for the prison system. The bar has never had a phone. 

Stan is one of the few people I’m lucky enough to know who get exactly what Ive got going on these days.

In December of 2015 doctors found a grapefruit sized tumor in my chest. I had collapsed my lungs, and was drowning in my body. After a half dozen surgeries on my heart and lungs, I began chemotherapy just after New Years Eve.

A photographer by trade, I did not know what else to do with myself other than make pictures. Brickworks has been a series of photographs taken in my neighborhood, a former brickworks, while on the road to recovery. Other images from the series can be seen here.

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Shipwreck, Brickworks. 

A couple winters ago, a storm broke apart a large wooden barge that had been anchored off shore for many years, scattering it everywhere. Folks laid a lot of the loose wooden boards down as a plank walkway through the marsh to the beach; burned, fished and drank next to piles of it and built those creepy fish shacks out of some. These chunks were too big to be moved away and re-used, about 4ft tall each, and have yet to be swept by any tide.

In December of 2015 doctors found a grapefruit sized tumor in my chest. I had collapsed my lungs, and was drowning in my body. After a half dozen surgeries on my heart and lungs, I began chemotherapy just after New Years Eve.

A photographer by trade, I did not know what else to do with myself other than make pictures. Brickworks has been a series of photographs taken in my neighborhood, a former brickworks, while on the road to recovery. Other images from the series can be seen here.

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Cliquot, Massachusetts. 

I spent the morning walking around the woods out by my parents house. I used to work across from this shingle factory, which at the time was running 3 shifts, 24 hours a day. The Bay Colony rail yard ran between that and a huge abandoned bottling plant, which was next to an old shoe factory and a junkyard. I worked in the housing projects across the street for years as a maintenance worker, and remember how we used to hide in our trucks to avoid being pelted and burned by hot asphalt chunks from the shingle factory every time they pulled the smoke stacks. The chunks would rain down and land in people’s yards and pools and gardens.

The train, a single locomotive for all the factories, would just drive across the street; a three way intersection which had no rail crossing signs. The men would jump off the engine as it approached the roadway with flags, jumping back on at the caboose end as it cleared the roadway. Back in the good days when it was up to people to be responsible for their own safety with common sense. 

I found the old locomotive this morning about a mile out of town across the trestle bridge. I figured it had long been scrapped. It has a few bullet holes in it, and some smashed out windows, but it looked good.