Boxed

I made a quick trip home earlier this week to see family and help my mom unpack, organize, and trash a dozen years of memories and junk from the family storage unit. I'm somewhat famously unsentimental, but it was still cool to see (and chuck) pieces of the past, which together sort of form the building blocks of our family.

At night in my dad's house I listened to my little brother Michael, one of my all-time favorite photo subjects (mostly because he truly doesn't care and is therefore fearless and open), playing piano in the empty dark living room. I thought about my sister and her amazing dance talents, which are matched my Michael's rocketing musical virtuosity, and how she had recently told me how funny it was that the three of us turned out so deeply connected to different creative paths. Even my older brother does a lot of painting these days (which used to be my thing before photography).

Amy and I have talked about plans to work together and try and create something as a family. I have no idea what shape it'll take but the idea of it fills me with pride and admiration, and also an incredible love for our parents and their support which allowed us all this freedom and life.

For the record, I kept: a small shoebox of correspondence from middle and high school; a collection of minature John Deere tractor models my dad bought for me as a child; a stained, Cam Neely-autographed Boston Bruins jersey; my sport cards collection (would love to get rid of these, but they are worth something everyone keeps telling me); 10 selected issues (total) of the Leon High School High Life newspaper, The Tallahassee Democrat, The Maneater (Mizzou college newspaper), The Arizona Republic, and The Hartford Courant; and a Graflex Speed Graphic 4x5 camera (I have no idea where this came from or why it was in our storage unit) which I can't wait to check out and get repaired.

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