I Never Dreamed of Sarajevo

As children, we dream of the improbable. And as we enter a new phase in our lives, those dreams fade, and new improbable dreams take their place. This happens again and again, year after year; dreams fading in and out of existence over and over. But sometimes, for reasons that I do not know, a dream stands out above all the others. It’s different than all the rest. It takes hold deep within, and doesn’t let go, gnawing at the subconscious.

When I was younger, I never dreamed of Sarajevo. My mind was preoccupied with thoughts of hanging out with friends or playing outside. But as I got older, I discovered the world, and the most important thing it had to offer; a perspective other than my own. It seems so trivial, but when I realized how insignificant my problems were compared to others, it forced me to face how juvenile my life had been. And while I will never claim to be anything other than a twenty-year old at heart, the empathy I have for those around me grows with every trip into the unknown.

To Capture the Moment

A wash basin sits unused in the small mountain town of Monchinque, Portugal. Later that afternoon, as we hung around in the shade waiting for someone, A small woman hobbled her way up and proceeded to wash her clothes. I approached her, thinking that I would like to capture the moment, but she looked at me and held up her hands, as if to say, “no picture”.

I feel like situations like this happen, and that’s ok. I don’t think everything needs to be photographed. Sometimes, I just try to enjoy the situation that I’m in.

The Gentle Water

A few years ago, before I headed out on my adventure around Croatia, I spent a morning wandering around Geneva. It was early, and the city had yet to wake up. I drove a few miles over to Lac Léman, a large lake that dominates the surrounding landscape. Street lights were starting to flutter off while the hum of the city steadily rose. I walked along a pier, listening as the waves lapped steadily against concrete below me. Across the lake on the opposite side stood a small lighthouse. A couple fishermen stood beside it, casting their lines out into the gentle water. It was so quiet, occasionally, conversation would float over on the wind. I didn’t understand them, but It gave me an interesting perspective on their early morning adventure.

As I stood there, enjoying myself, I noticed a sailboat silently sliding through the water, gliding in between us, heading out toward the center of the lake. I closed my eyes, picturing what their view would be. Looking both ways, a lighthouse with a few fishermen on one side, and on the other, a lone figure, enjoying a quiet morning, standing on the end of a pier in the middle of a waking city.

Something Greater

What moves us to that moment of silence?
When we stop and listen to the world while it speaks to us.
When, instead of rushing through life,
We stand with the stillness of a mountain, breathing in the sunset,
Letting the evening light fill our lungs,
The warmth wash over our body.

Eyes closed, we feel the flowers sway side to side through ribbons of light.
Mountains fade over time, only to rise again.
Life and death interweave, recycling themselves over again.

Our awe for the immensity of the world around us and what it feels like to find love are reflections,
Identical emotions running parallel through the deepest reaches of our hearts.
An overwhelming sense of belonging to something greater.
Filled with an inescapable feeling that we are not hopeless.
A fear we confront when faced with the silence of the unknown.

A Distant Land

I stood on the corner, listening to the silence. It wasn’t like the complete and absolute silence that one might find in outer space, nor was it like the silence experienced while adventuring far across the ocean in a distant land. It was the silence that can only be found in certain parts of the west.

An Endless Field

In an endless field, on top of a slight hill, tucked away off a backroad in Kentucky sits a small barn. Unmoving, it braves the elements. Facing torrential rain as storm clouds race overhead. As night falls, clouds disperse and the moon appears, a sliver among stars.

Years pass, colors fade, and owners come and go, yet the barn remains steadfast. A monument to those around it. It is a symbol of the forces that shaped this country and a stoic reminder of the hard work and sacrifice that it takes to keep it running.

Authenticity

I don’t shoot portraits very often. It’s something I enjoy, however I definitely struggle with it. What helps is having an interesting subject. My friend Chad is one such subject.  Not only is he an incredibly talented wood worker, but he photographs well, although it could just be the beard.

I had another frame that was similar to this one, but without the scratch down the eye. Eventually I decided that I liked it more with the scratch than without. I think that in an age where perfection can be achieved with the click of a few buttons, there is something nice about authenticity. I’m not saying that touching up is wrong, but it’s a different form of art. Really, it just comes down to preference.

In Search of Sunlight

Beautiful eastern european architecture dots the shore of the Mediterranean near the town of Split, Croatia. Down by the waterfront the fisherman load their boats in the early morning light, while bells clang back and forth, making their presence known to all. The smell of fish was thick as I worked my way down the shoreline. After a while I ventured into a part of town that was less glamorous, a blight on the land. Large unfinished hotels lined the road. Their concrete pillars conflicting against the calming seascape behind them. The angles, sharp; The colors, drab. No life existed except for the few plants that had broken through the foundation on their quest for sunlight.

I crawled through a hole in the fence and wandered deeper into the structure. walking down dark hallways, passing dark rooms. Visions of me being stabbed flashed through my head. I picked my pace up a bit, while simultaneously rehearsed how I would choke out my attacker. As I exited the corridor, I entered a larger room, and all thoughts passed from my mind. It was amazing. Sunlight burst through small circular holes near the ceiling. The roof itself emanated light down toward me, cautiously lighting the surrounding area. I paused for a moment to take in the scene. After a while, the foreboding feeling returned and I left in search of sunlight.

He Spoke of the Loneliness

Montana, USA - We sat at the bar, gathered around a chunk of rock, staring at it closely. He leaned in, his weathered face looking at the rock, then up at us. “Do you see it?” We all looked closer, examining the rock as he moved it back and forth. “Gold”, he said. “That’s how you can tell. Gold doesn’t reflect the light like the other rock around it”. We all nodded, unsure if we actually understood what he was saying, but all agreeing that it did look different. Relaxing in our seats a little, he set the rock down and began to tell us a series of riddles. Every time he finished the riddle, he would look at us, repeating a line or two. I’ve never been very good at riddles, but I surprised myself by getting a few right.

Joshua was a character. Before moving to Montana, he had resided up in Alaska in a cabin he built himself. Living alone in the bush had taken its toll, though. Speaking of his experience up north, he shrunk a little, and his voice softened. He spoke of the loneliness, and how unbearable it became. How it was the reason for his move south. He looked down, fumbling with the rock in between his hands, exhaling with a sigh.

First Breath

Walden, CO - We had just finished up filming for the day, documenting an unsupported cycling race across the United States and I had some time, so I grabbed my rolleiflex and ran down to the pond. In hindsight, I should have also filmed some scenics, but I must admit that was the furthest thing from my mind. The sunset was going off, and the scene around the pond was mesmerizing. That’s one thing that I enjoy about shooting film. It seems like when I do, my mind clears and I focus on what’s in my hands and my surroundings. I quit thinking about problems that i’m having in my life, and I take my first breath.

Behind the Confines of our Walls

Sarajevo, Bosnia- Behind the confines of our walls, we weep for the ignorant. Barriers that have been built to shield us from others make us more alone than ever before. We walk among the trees and flowers, across the courtyard, reflecting on the outside influences that have shaped our world, and yet we resist. We're afraid, unmoved. Our hands remain at our sides, unwilling to grasp what the future holds in front of us. Instead, we lay waste to to our surroundings and indulge the whispers and murmurings in the alleys, perfectly content to accept any inconvenience that stands in our way to greatness.

Moments of Hesitation

Split, Croatia- Two men stand in the afternoon light, their wisdom and experience combine to the tale of youth. After moments of hesitation, they trail off into silence, fading like the memories behind them. Wrinkled faces share more about their lives than any story ever could. Looking into their eyes, one can only help but feel the past. A life filled with happiness and regret, misery and hope. It’s a story played out by billions and yet no story is alike.  7 billion individual stories, with 7 billion individual outcomes. It’s amazing.

The Greastest Match of All Time

Banja Luka, Bosnia- On an unnaturally warm summer's evening, I walked down the main road, heading north toward the outskirts of the city. The sun was approaching the horizon and the shadows were growing long, but the city was still buzzing. As I walked by a park, I noticed a giant chessboard, complete with giant chess pieces, surrounded by a group of spectators. It appeared as if a chess match was beginning. I approached cautiously, as I didn't want to disturb the spectators and planted myself on a bench. For about 40 minutes, the two opponents battled it out. Everyone was riveted, watching their expressions change from frustration, to confusion, and inevitably to joy, as each opponent maneuvered the pieces around the board. During what I perceived to be a lull in the match, I backed off a bit to shoot some photos of the entire scene. Nobody even glanced in my direction. After the win, the board was reset, and I wandered off in search of more exciting adventures, but nothing will ever top the greatest chess match of all time.

The Great and Black Expanse

Iceland- The lighthouse. A beacon on a stormy night. To those on land, it is a monument. A reminder of those who have perished on the waters. To those sailing out in the great and black expanse, it is a savior, A reminder that there is someone watching over them, keeping them safe, giving them hope.

Mostar, Bosnia: A Hopeful City

Mostar, Bosnia- Coming to a stop, the sound of tires rolling over gravel is second only to the wind racing through the grass nearby. In the distance, clouds move swiftly as the sun sinks lower toward the horizon. Before me stands an enormous 100ft. tall cross, overlooking Mostar, Bosnia, a city rife with a history of violent religious intolerance.

As I lean against my tiny rental enjoying the evening, a car full of teenagers passes by, parking in front of the cross. They get out, snapping pictures, and running around laughing. Their carefree attitude perfectly aligns with the scene surrounding me. After about 10 minutes, they pack up and drive off, leaving me to enjoy a golden sunset above a hopeful city.

Walking through old town, a familiar feeling fills the air. Cobble streets wind through tight alleyways, with buildings on either side stretching up toward the sky. Vendors beckon for attention while children run unhindered through the crowd. Mostar however, is different than other small towns across Europe.

Since the war, back in the 90's, the city has made a point to keep buildings that have been destroyed and left abandoned as a reminder of the atrocities that had taken place. Walking through town, new apartment complexes stand side-by-side with vacant, bullet-ridden hollowed out shells.

Two women walk their infants past a nondescript war-torn building. The echoes of drunks and junkies from inside reverberate out toward a bustling city, teeming with a generation of youth ready to rewrite history.

Christians and Muslims peacefully go about their lives, aware of their differences and the underlying tensions that go along with them. Struggling not to relive the atrocities that remain just below the surface, waiting to be unearthed.