The Way is Red

It was unsettling; we knew the city was just ahead but we couldn’t see it. All we could see was the bloodshot night and random cars every few minutes. We talked the whole time but don’t remember what was said.

Jack would keep riding ahead and come flying out of the red mist.

We carried on, in this burning atmosphere. We were happy.

I’m becoming more comfortable with photos that aren’t perfect. It’s not being lazy or communicating that I can’t take good photos, but it’s more of an acceptance of the experience. I struggle with the idea that if the photos didn’t turn out “right,” then I won’t share the experience.

If I can be frank, the experience rarely looks or feels like the photos. I try my best to take photos in way that are simple enough to stand on their own, be inspiring, and maintaining an accurate representation of the experience. And sometimes the experience was out of focus. Besides, who says your subject has to be in focus to be inspiring.

Ultimately, I’m being selfish when I assume other people’s perception of my work. At times, even my own perception can’t be trusted.