How concert photography chose me.

If you've read my bio, you're probably already familiar with what music means to me... at least, as familiar as one can be with something that can't be conveyed by words. So at the risk of sounding redundant, here it is:

Concerts have been the only experience in my 35 years on Earth that have allowed me to truly live in the present. Is my early exposure to such an environment to blame? Who knows. All that matters is that it continues to save me.

When I wasn't physically at a show, I was usually locked in my bedroom listening to a cassette, a CD, or whatever medium was in style to get my fix. Although melody itself has moved me to tears, (don't even get me started on minor chords) it was always the lyrics that resonated with me. As I writer, I was completely mesmerized not only by the brilliance that must live inside a mind capable of such eloquence, but also by the fact that I wasn't alone. Someone, multiple someones, could articulate what had made me feel so isolated until that moment. Especially the darker stuff. The abstract. The metaphorical. I wasn't crazy... if I was, so were they. And I fucking loved them for it.

Like most creative types, I dabbled in multiple forms of art and valued expression despite being introverted and eccentric. Drawing was so second nature to me as a child that I'm convinced it was congenital. In hindsight, compliments on my work never held as much weight as they should have. It's not that I was ungrateful - it was just that I didn't know how not to pick up a pencil any more than I knew how not to take my next breath.

At some point in middle school, around 6th grade I believe, writing became my main forte. I guess spilling ink in a way that made my pain less subjective was necessary for my survival at the time. When I felt as though there was nothing left, I would go write.

I kept a journal, and still do, but at some point, the words stopped flowing as freely. I have a few ideas as to why, but that in itself is a subject for another post, or perhaps a therapy session. I found myself drawn to photography more and more; internal intensity and outer subtlety, except to those that also understood. But I had no interest in shooting for the sake of documentation alone... in fact, I've had more than a few friends crucify me for catching them off guard. I wanted to capture what was real, what was under the mask. There is a method to my madness as far as refusing to be a wedding photographer, and it actually has nothing to do with being one of the most stubborn people on the planet.

Somewhere between the urging of a good friend and the obvious smacking me in the face, I realized that I could combine the two things I was most passionate about circa 2016. I had opportunities I wasn't prepared to accept, but learned from nonetheless... and I'm as grateful for a new start as I am unconcerned with an outcome. Which brings me back to the plot; why this?

The short answer is simple; truth. None of us want to be deceived... however, our priorities sometimes differ in importance or extremes. Reality, however harsh, will trump comfort for me every time. Sometimes what we think is genuine is merely our projected consideration. And even though I stand by intentions speaking louder than actions... we are human with or without a sense of humanity. Try expressing your feelings to a crowd with an air of stoicism, or maintaining a smile while catching your breath, or... both. Candid moments are all that's real among the noise of the world; true life lies in the details, and that's exactly where I intend to live.