Paragliders launching off the Oregon coast somewhere near Astoria. I had travelled out that way from Florida for a photography retreat. I was looking for direction, I’d been making images non stop for a few years at that point but I couldn’t really see how they all fit together. I was younger and a bit more sad and I figured having a group of folks tell me what my art meant would set me on a path.

I couldn’t even really tell the folks what the beginning of the story was though so the workshop ended up being less than useful other than the fact that once again I was on the road with that weird little Yashica TLR pointing it at things.

I got this image to show for it. The journey is the destination? Not all who wander are lost? Some other cheesy phrase that you might find on shabby chicified plaque at Marshall’s?

I’m still piecing together the little fractional seconds I’ve collected over the years, they’re starting to make a little more sense. I get the idea that I might be pulling on a thread that’s connected to a bigger ball of yarn. Hope springs eternal.