Projects Archives

The opposite of love

High school, 2008 - from the series "Opposite of Love"

June began with a sweltering shoot yesterday for Der Spiegel in Key West that was just plain brutal even if rewarding, and continued this morning with the exciting news that as of 12:57 a.m. the fiancée and I are aunt/uncle's to a very cute and plump baby boy (congrats Madzia & Mohammad!!).

As things usually slow down during the summer I've been refocusing myself on a few personal projects, the new website, and of course on getting the hell out of Miami for vacation, which I'm going to accomplish quite dramatically on Friday when I head to Japan for 2 weeks with my little brother and sister. It's going to be an amazing trip and wonderful to get some distance and perspective in a country I've always wanted to visit.

Before leaving I wanted to share the beginnings of one of the new projects that I've been trying to wrap my head around this last few weeks. The idea began as a portraiture record of all of the people that I know, and then expanded into the memory of my friend Tracey in college and her talk about how love & hate are not opposite emotions, sort of trading on the Elie Wiesel notion that "the opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference." Born out of my belief that apathy is sort of the quintessential modern emotion (we have so much, so efficiently at hand, that many of us Westerners are bored/overwhelmed by all of it), I've started making portraits for a series titled "Opposite of Love."

The project is interesting for me because its on top of being a pretty large departure from my background, the idea exists in a paradox. As soon as you ask someone what they care the least about, they immediately care a little more than they did before you asked in naming it, which means that in some sense I'm perhaps helping to change things (minutely) just by my process. I wanted the series to find the subjects in a sort of trance, akin to the excellent "gamers" series shot by a few smart portrait-eers, and for the style to be straightforward, but overlit and melodramatic.

These first two images explore the at-odds lighting with the simple premise of people not caring, hopefully in a similarly perverse way as how the most annoying (and loud) television commercials are always for shit you would never want/buy. "High school" and "Politics" will soon be joined by several more, including (no big surprise here, from a girl) "Baseball," once I return from the land of the Rising Sun. For those needing to reach me from June 6-19th, I'll be in limited touch via e-mail.

Politics, 2008 - from the series "Opposite of Love"

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Kentucky XO

Sketches from the Kentucky bourbon trail. View the full gallery of images in my archive.

The idea for the recent bourbon tour began after my return from an early summer trip to the UK this year, which left me wanting much more including 2 more weeks to do a proper scotch trip. Once I was back home I realized that we had our own native spirit in the U.S., and I could much more easily afford the time and cash to begin digging into what makes Kentucky bourbon country. And once I found out about the annual KY Bourbon Festival, the whole trip was settled upon, with a few dedicated (eg. freelance or student) friends to join me as well.

Up until about a dozen years ago, there still wasn't much of a market for bourbon, and that lack of serious demand seems to have kept the original handful of distilleries as pretty much the sole producers (good bourbon takes at least 5-7 years to get to the bottling stage). In the last 5 years however, the market for ultra premium bourbon (think Makers, Knob Creek, Booker's, Baker's, Woodford, Pappy Van Winkle, etc.) has begun to take off in a big way. Personally, I started drinking bourbon having already fallen in love with its big brother scotch in early college. The reason was pretty simple math... my favorite scotches are $60+, compared to ~$32 for the bourbon.

The world's capital of bourbon is Bardstown, KY, which lies right smack in the middle of south central Kentucky and on top of a multiple county footprint of limestone bedrock, which offers clean spring water to all of the major distilleries. Coupled with the abundance of corn (bourbon is by definition American whiskey which is made with at least 51% corn -- the good stuff is usually upwards of 70%) and the region's location on the Western migration of two centuries ago, you get a picture of why Kentucky is the ground zero of bourbon. Bardstown celebrates all of this with a festival (this year's was the 16th), but you could also make the case that the real annual celebration is the Kentucky Derby (and its ubiquitous mint juleps).

Driving up from Orlando, via Atlanta, Eric and I began our tour by cutting up through Chattanooga and then staying north on small highways (its a bit quicker to head West to Nashville and then over) until we reached Loretto, KY, and our first stop: the Maker's Mark distillery (the south edge of the limestone region). What is shocking upon landing in the MM visitor's parking lot is that its a very, very small operation. If you have ever visited your local liquor store and were frustrated to find them out of Maker's, the reason may be that like the other small batch distilleries, they are truly S.O.S. (slow, old, and stubborn). Maker's offers a free tour through not only the property and a mini-museum, but also directly through the production, where you can literally poke your fingers into the bubbling yeast during the fermentation process to get a taste of the distiller's beer.

Starting off with Maker's was a great choice (which we only made because of its location -- be careful that you remember each distillery is at least 20-30+ miles away from the next one) because its such a small, classic operation that puts you in the right frame of reference. Though Maker's has never been my favorite bourbon, it was one of our highlights on the trip. And after eating a bit of lunch we moved on and North to Bardstown itself to check out what the festival was all about.

Ultimately, and somewhat unfortunately, the festival itself is best treated as a state fair that happens to have a bourbon theme. Bardstown is a cool little spot, but the festival doesn't have nearly enough of the very stuff that brought you there. It took us more than a full hour wandering around at the festival to even find the only place where you can actually drink bourbon, the "spirit tent," which was hidden behind the music stage. And even in the spirit tent, more than half of the people are drinking cheap bear. After getting ID'd, and then purchasing a badge and tickets (1 ticket=1 dollar, which makes you wonder why you needed to waste the paper in the first place), you can enjoy one of 20 or so bourbons (I was intimately familiar with almost all of the choices) while staying inside the confines of the tent area (which is set-up on a little league baseball field). There is no food in the spirit tent, but you can bring it in from outside, and not nearly enough seating. Nonetheless the bourbon was delicious and the weather was beautiful as the sun set.

Ultimately the festival is charming but incomplete for the real bourbon fan. The whole idea of a celebratory trip down the liquor trail is to discover new inspiration and kinds you have never tried or (hopefully) even heard of before. At most of the distilleries we visited there was nothing there that you didn't already know about. There is no special secret Maker's Mark blend that you can buy in their gift shop. Nope, just the same stuff in different bottles and on t-shirts and chocolates. As cool as it is to see the operation, I wanted to learn just how much more there was out there to try in the bourbon universe. It was disappointing to learn that except one giant exception, the bourbon you find at a good liquor store is pretty much the extent of things.

Later that first night of the festival my buddy Travis met up with Eric and I and we retreated back to our hotel in Elizabethtown (I tossed a coin and decided to stay west of Bardstown instead of east - staying in Bardstown itself requires a hell of a lot more preparation by way of advance booking - but next trip I'll be staying east and closer to the action). After a few beers and other libations we finished off the night, and got going to the Jim Beam distillery in nearby Shepherdsville the next morning.

On approach its obvious just how much larger of an operation that Jim Beam is, belying its role as one of the world's largest producers. JB is home to several of my all-time favorites including the world's best selling ultra premium, Knob Creek. Visitors to the distillery can check out a museum and tasting room, including a pretty nice video of the 200+ year old distillery, and then can step outside for a self-guided tour that is pretty limited to staring at the outside of their multiple giant bonded warehouses. A nice place to visit, but again there was nothing there for the ardent fan outside of dozens of expensive t-shirts.

After another content several hours spent tromping around Bardstown (lunch at a great old fashioned drug store lunch counter), we made possibly the smartest decision of the entire trip and joined friends of friends Simon and Jeremy up for a tasting they had heard about at the Chapeze House, a historic house in central Bardstown. It was immediately apparent that we had struck gold and finally found the uncommon road. We sat down to study a bourbon tasting menu separated into 3 flights possibilities: premium, ultra premium, and vintage. Uhh, yes please! Finally! Stuff I had never heard of, let alone tasted. We ordered 4 flights (2 ultra, 2 vintage) of 5 bourbons per flight, for a total of 20 different, including several bourbons that were 20+ years old (extremely rare).

The five of us were presented with trays of every bourbon sitting on a note card explaining what it was (many bourbons + drinking gets very confusing, trust me). And we diligently dug in, comparing and contrasting, matching ryes and ryes (one of the ingredients which adds a beautiful sweetness such as in Booker's) or 21 year old vintage vs. 23 year old (21 is much brighter and balanced). Things get better and better as we discussed the bourbon with Colonel Michael Masters who was on hand. And as we cleared the cups away I had a burning question for the Colonel: what in the hell is this "vintage" stuff?!

Turns out that "vintage" was not a category so much as an actual distillery located just a few miles from where we were sitting. And the heavens parted and the angels sang... a whole new distillery which we'd never heard of whose stuff was not only extremely rare and old, but it was the best bourbon I'd ever tasted, beating Booker's, Baker's, Pappy Van Winkle, and everything else hands down. Not only was it incredible stuff, but it was incredibly varied, ranging from their 25 year-old (and 125 proof) Willett Estate to the Pure Kentucky XO (think of a bigger, better balanced, beautiful Woodford Reserve). So why in the fuck haven't you heard of this heavenly stuff?! Well, to hear Colonel tell it they have such a limited distribution and tiny production that Bardstown, KY, is basically the only place on Earth that you can get it.

On the way out of Bardstown that night Jeremy and Simon had the smart idea of stopping by one of the local liquor stores and found some of the Vintage we had been drinking that night. I placed a phone order for 3 bottles (I would have done a lot more but you can only let friends buy so many bottles and carry them over state lines for you, ya know). The Chapeze House tasting was the bourbon highlight of the trip and its basically an absolutely required stop for anyone planning a trip. The Colonel will blow your mind.

Our final day in Kentucky was a Sunday which means that in Kentucky there isn't much you can do to appreciate bourbon unless you've thought ahead and pre-purchased. We made our way across the state to the beautiful horse country and the Labrot & Graham distillery near Versailles (pronounced in the most un-French way possible), home to Woodford Reserve (the official bourbon of the Derby). I've long since been a fan of this extremely under valued blend but even if I wasn't the distillery (a national historic landmark) was the best tour we went on during the trip. Though it costs $5, the tour begins with a short film and then takes you through the entire operation (another very, very small one). It was really a great way to end the trip, and I'd be surprised if Eric and I don't eventually end up buying our own barrel of Woodford Reserve (which is specially blended exclusively for you, for only $9000, equaling 190 1 liter bottles).

We wound our way back down to Atlanta and some more fun, and then eventually home. It was a great trip and I can't wait to head back.

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Road trip

Light streams in to one of the Maker's Mark bonded warehouses, where their bourbon is aged for about six years. Below, cypress fermentation tanks bubble with their special strand of yeast that survived prohibition.

I'm back home after a short but very sweet road trip up to Kentucky bourbon country with good friends Eric Larson and Travis Dove (along with several others we saw along the way). We had a great time touring around the beautiful Bardstown area, visiting distilleries and conducting many important scientific taste tests of their amber goodness. On the way back through we managed to stick around Atlanta long enough to check out the PhotoShelter city tour event, where it was fun to hang out with Grover, Allen, and Meagan (plus local shooter David Banks) after the show over a few beers. Giant props go out to photo stud Mark Adams and his wife Erin, who were kind enough to put us up in da ATL.

The house is currently under siege from shipping containers filled with a bunch of new crap I bought (horrible timing: buy and then leave town!) and I'll likely be busy completely geeking out over the next few days trying to get everything moved over to the new Mac Pro system. (If anyone is interested or knows someone who is looking: I'm selling my great condition G5 tower - email for info). Luckily the girlfriend is so busy on her new med school rotation that she barely notices.

I'll post a more proper write-up of the bourbon festival and a few very cool discoveries we made sometime soon. Until then enjoy these snaps from Loretto, KY, home of the Maker's Mark distillery.

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In Progress: Miami Boom I

From deep within the affordable housing crisis in South Florida, a group of homeless people living in Miami's dangerous Liberty City neighborhood banded together to create an illegal shantytown on a vacant lot. The encampment, named Umoja and located on the northwest corner of NW 62nd St. and 17th Ave., celebrated 6-months of independent living from the city, along the way defeating several attempts to shut it down, last weekend with a block party and rally. What began as a protest to demonstrate the massive shortage of very-low and low income housing despite the incredible boom in development that Miami is experiencing, became a home to at least 4 dozen people, with a waiting list to boot, contrasting the thousands of new high-end condo units lining the Biscayne corridor.

However and sadly, early this morning a candle accidentally started a fire amongst the tarps, trash, plywood, and shopping carts, and completely burnt the village down, again reuniting Umoja's residents with the more than 5,000 other homeless living in Miami. No one was hurt in the blaze, which rose nearly 100-feet high according to police. Many residents cited the complete lack of water as one of the reasons that the fire destroyed the small shantytown.

A Umoja resident (top) sleeps between discarded telephone poles that have been gathered near the shantytown after an early-morning fire burned the illegal encampment to the ground. Community members gather (above) at the scene of the fire and watch city crews begin to remove the burnt out remains with construction equipment. (Click on images for a larger version)

After reading some of the NYT headlines early this morning online, I visited the Miami Herald homepage and saw a news alert about the fire... then quickly put on some shoes and headed over to Liberty City to see what had happened myself. In the early morning light the scorched earth was still steaming when I arrived and things were pretty tense between the media and the displaced residents of the shantytown. So I waited and listened to stories. I talked a bit with the small group of other media members there (a surprisingly small number... I was expecting a scene). And finally it was OK to start taking some pictures, even though I ultimately only made a few dozen (a nice relief since I've been lately burning up my shutter).

I first read about Umoja months ago and immediately recognized its potential importance within my Miami Boom project (very much still in progress). I am still struggling to document the darker face of the development explosion, but this morning, and my subsequent return trips I plan to make in order to watch as the residents rebuild their camp (they seemed completely unified about this), was a step in the right direction.

Knowing that upscale condos are helping to destroy the middle class of the city and push us further and further out into the Western suburbs (which of course shouldn't even exist because they are destroying the Everglades) still doesn't make it easy to figure out ways to photograph that slowly decline. Its much easier to photograph the giant new high rises and cranes filling the air, and that is what I've mostly focused on thus far with the project. My hopes are that I can get some of my clients interested in the "progress" part of the story, and fill in the "reality" part as I can.

What this morning teaches me is that you can't just wait around and be lazy because the opportunities to tell the human stories within a project like this can literally disappear overnight if you aren't careful. It also reminds me that I need to form a lot more connections in the community to learn about these issues as they are happening, not in the next day's newspaper.

My main interest in the Miami Boom project is in connection with my frustration at how the business magazines report on financial news. Economics is what makes the world go round, and I've always felt that the business magazines should be filled with so much more than glossy, lit pictures of white dudes in suits. Who are those fuckers?, and how is it possible that we've continued to publish the same image over and over again? Why don't we spend more time actually looking at what their companies are doing and making, and how that is affecting millions of real people all over the world. Fortune does present some very cool stuff from time to time, and sometimes reporting on certain types of companies make anything but a CEO-approach impossible. But a lot of time, the difference is really just in ad revenue and laziness. How much easier is it to live with a format that just requires a new big face of a smiling CEO on your cover each month?

Burnt remains litter the former site of the village (above), leaving only a hand-painted sign at the edge of the block reading "Take Back The Land" left to start over at Umoja.

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1st down and 11

The Miami River shines its way into downtown and the towering business district at sunrise.

My natural reaction to the beginning of each new year is a mixture of hope, resolve, and regret. And just like a 12-step recovery program, I spent most of January going through the stages of trying to right my tiny boat and keep a weather eye on a distant, passionate horizon. The process repeats itself regardless of the previous year's outcome because I'll probably always be someone a hell of a lot more interested in where I'm heading, than where I've been.

In Miami, however, the future and past keep knocking heads with each other and the history of my life and family. Last weekend I shot an assignment for People en Español along Ocean Drive, photographing a very nice girl named Lulu among the palm trees of Lummus Park. These days the park is ground zero of the modern South Beach "experience," but it was once just a pretty stretch of grass in front of the ocean that my great, great grandfather (J. N. Lummus) gave to the newly formed city of Miami Beach as its first mayor.

Yesterday while heading back from Calle Ocho in Little Havana I slowed down as I neared the interstate on-ramp to take a look at Wilbur Auto, a garage on SW 8th St. that my mother's father worked out for 4 decades, servicing the Cadillac’s of celebrities like Jackie Gleason and Art Carney during the post-war boom era of the city. Inside the old shop I saw a quick glimpse of an old man who is surely my great uncle, and the last of Grampie's living siblings. I was on deadline for The New York Times, so I headed on home, but I'll be stopping back by once the Uber Bowl insanity has left town.

I moved back to South Florida in part to rediscover a place that my family had helped shape and grow into the confusing, amazing, and overwhelming land it is now. And over the last year as I've become acquainted, both again and for the first time, I've begun to formulate a new project idea that I'm going to turn into my first book. I'll write about my process along the way once I've completed a chunk of the work, but in the mean time here is another recent image I made in Lummus park.

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Second Saturday

Art patrons fill the streets of the Wynwood Art District on the second Saturday of every month just north of downtown Miami, in an area which normally belongs to the homeless and textile warehouse workers. Above, gallery walk participants walk in front of a video installation projected on a warehouse exterior. Below, a girl watches another video installation at Locust Gallery on NW 23rd St., one of several dozen small galleries in the emerging Wynwood art scene that are connected by a series of dark streets on the brink of gentrification, bottom.

This weekend I finally got out to another 2nd Saturday gallery walk in my neighborhood with my friend Josh. I had been on a bad streak of either being out of town or otherwise occupied/lazy over the last few months and hadn't seen any of the new gallery shows that are basically, besides the Chinese clothes warehouses, abandoned lots, and a Salvation Army depot, the main outposts in my backyard.

My beginning work on the Wynwood/Miami emerging art scene is somewhat connected to my larger project on the development boom -- but I've approached it a little more loosely. Really, I just love to be out in my own neighborhood trying to meet people and get a sense of what is all around me... and I don't do it enough. This Saturday I was lucky to meet, and re-meet several friends of Josh and artists in the neighborhood who I'm going to try and meet up with and photograph their artistic process and connection to where we all live. I don't really think of Miami as a great place for artists -- especially now that the Miami Herald reports that it is the least affordable city in America -- but Jason, one of the artists that I re-met, says that he can't think of a better place to be and show art. I'm excited to learn what he means.

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Big box

Customers wait for the grand opening of a new Target store in the Midtown Miami superblock project on Sunday, October 10, 2006. The big box chain is the first to open its doors in the new development which spans 18 blocks from 29th to 36th streets just north of downtown and south of the Design District, on the site of a former railroad depot. The impact of the project, which is still largely under construction, has already impacted the community via the building of high-end loft condos and a emerging art gallery scene, dramatically recreating a neighborhood decreasingly populated by latino immigrants, homeless, and textile warehouses.

I woke up early again today; a slave to the light. It was a really nice morning, even if the Target opening didn't draw as many people as I expected -- and tsk, tsk, no local media coverage whatsoever! In my perspective, the opening of a superstore wouldn't draw any people to wait outside at 7:30 a.m. on a Sunday, but I'm often surprised and wrong about those types of things. Too bad they didn't open on Black Friday, that would have been a scene.

There is a lot more to write about the project that these pictures are connected to -- some of which can be seen on my website, as an essay-very-very-much-in-progress -- but I don't have any time this morning to begin to try and lay out the territory of this body of work. I need to get showered, grab my cameras, and pack my lighting kit and bathing suit for a shoot today in Naples.

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Waiting for the Man

In my opinion the long-term project, documentary or otherwise, is the most important and difficult form of photography. Hence my passion for them, and Blueeyes, etc. etc. But as hard as I believe projects are to create and work on as a freelancer -- getting access, finding the time, the money, the motivation, getting solid feedback, pushing yourself to go back again and again, not giving up, making images that mean something, etc. -- what has been consuming my mind lately is the arguably even more challenging/frustrating task of pitching your ongoing or completed project, your labor of love, to a client for publication.

What makes this a huge sticking point for me is that I don't believe photography is valuable unless it is seen by as many people as possible. Photography as a means of mass communication can only be powerful if it completes its role as such. And I'm not interested in being involved with photography outside of a role where its effects are powerful... fuck that. Photography shot and then never shared is worth absolutely nothing to anyone other than the photographer, who may have learned something from the experience and journey taken. Strictly speaking, and I think we've gotten further and further away from this as there has been so much less editorial space given to long-term project work in magazines and newspapers, photographers must and should do everything they can to get their images seen.

But what does that entail... how many compromises, or absolute injustices, can be allowed for until the project, finally published, is only a shadow of its original form. If we all want as many people to see our work as possible, does that mean we should all pitch everything we have to the Associated Press? The New York Times? To People? To some internet zine who may allow for the most editorial control, but pay nothing? What is the fucking answer?

These questions make my head spin, but what I've come up with for myself is a varied approach that allows for the project to remained focused, but its parts to be used in multiple ways. That sentence probably doesn't make sense -- but what I mean is that when I begin working on a big project (which is pretty much the only kind of projects that I'm doing currently) I immediately break that project down into pieces that represent different segments and issues. Within each of these segments I often find that there are specific stories that may be very pitchable to one of my clients, even if the entire project would get no attention at all because the idea is just way too big for them to consider. With the Everglades project there are more than a dozen different segments that I'm working on, and I've broken each part further down into a couple of specific story ideas that can be spun in any number of ways to a business magazine or a lifestyle client. The sum result, if this is done smartly, I hope, is to create ways for your personal projects to be supported and profitable (at least in some small way) while also becoming a resource for interesting new story ideas for your client.

And that's the name of the game. As I've come to see it, the currency in the photography industry is not talent nearly as much as it is relationships... and relationships are often flamed and formed based on unique and well researched story ideas. Instead of waiting by the phone for someone to call with a really great story to shoot, finally, many of us decide that we will find our own ideas.

Over the past several weeks I've been pitching several story proposals, both through my agency and by my own efforts, connected to segments of my personal projects which are newsworthy because of an upcoming event or anniversary. I wish that I could report that I've found a home, or multiple homes for each proposal... but that is not the case. However, finally this week I was able to land one of my ideas with Newsweek and will be shooting it for them as the story develops. I knew that pitching stories was hard, but I was shocked to hear one of my editors at Newsweek, who helped me pitch it, tell me that mine was the first pitch of his the editor has ever accepted that came from a photographer. Holy shit. I would feel proud if that idea wasn't so depressing. I know the reasons have way more to do with the role of writers vs. photographers (staff vs. freelance) and who is expected to come up with the stories that fill each publication... but its obvious that photographers at large need to be more serious and more determined to find stories that are smart, timely, specific, and original for their clients. Maybe then it will be easier for all of us to get our projects some love and respect.

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Correction

In an e-mail from my mom this morning (Happy 35th birthday, ma! wink, wink), I have learned that some facts from my previous post about my Everglades project need to be set straight.

Here is my mom's corrected version of the events of my childhood and our family's long history in Miami as it concerns my interest and connection to the Glades, from her e-mail:

As a kid growing up in Miami......and into early adulthood......[Denise] went to the Everglades quite a bit. Both with school fieldtrips.....and with family, we would go to the everglades......often times to the Miccosukkee Indian reservations, where I was
fascinated by the people, the colors, the smells and the art. I always remember feeling somehow connected to this culture since, even then, I knew that part of my distant heritage was American Indian (although at the time I did not know what tribe). I also certainly remember our jaunts into the Everglades on airboats,
fascinated by the wildlife in abundance there.....so close in proximity to my home (the big city....or so I thought). I remember the alligator wrestlers, the roadside stands where back then you could buy almost anything made of alligator hide. So, the Everglades was a part of our lives growing up.....we knew it was always there......different but very much a part of our Miami.

Leave it to mom to set the record straight! Well, my mom's passion for the Everglades is surely in my blood... and there is even more reason for my project.

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In progress: Everglades I

South Florida Water Management District scientists drive along the Southeastern rim of Lake Okeechobee on the Hoover Dike, which was constructed around the entire lake to control water levels and flow. Scientists test the water at different stations every day around the lake.

Of all the long-term projects that I'm currently working on, none of them is as ambitious or logistically daunting as the Florida Everglades. Not only is it huge physically, but its politics, restoration efforts, and history is so immensely complex that its nearly impossible to figure out where to begin trying to understand it... other than actually just running head on into the monster and starting, which is exactly what I've done.

But why? The River of Grass is like no other place on Earth, and the history of it, as I've come to learn through a lot of research, is really the history of not only the state of Florida, but also metaphorically of man's dominion over nature, and fight to bend all lands to their "good use." As a kid growing up in Miami, I don't think my family ever went there (it was then, and is still now, thought of mostly as a barren and strange other world) but I fostered a fascination about the Everglades that was heightened during the 90's when Clinton passed the historic deal to try and save it for all future generations. And that is what is so amazing about the Everglades to me... it has this incredible story arch... from waste land that stood in the way of the riches of progress and development to an international environmental treasure that must be protected and returned to nature at any cost.

So, where to begin then? Having already learned some lessons from my ongoing work documenting the development boom in Miami (a project which is also deeply connected to Glades politics and restoration), I decided to begin by looking at the current efforts at restoration, and then work my way back to the actual park and how its being protected and enjoyed by millions each year. In short, I decided to basically go at the ugly end of the stick first -- far from alligators and air boats -- and make some friends with the many different organizations who are committed to restoration. My first call was to the South Florida Water Management District.

At the very beginning it was VERY slow going. Proposing a big story is hard almost everywhere, and doing so as a freelance photographer is much harder even still. But trying to get people to take me seriously that I wanted to do a multi-year, long-term project on the Everglades and the many different aspects to the current state of restoration... well, it wasn't easy. Eventually the best way to prove my seriousness was to show up in person. I kept in touch, and did whatever I could to be professional... and when I was given access to a media event early on... one that was several counties away and very early in the morning, I showed up and proved I was willing to make a big effort to do this work. That was my ticket.

Since that morning, in which I photographed one of the hundreds of ground-breaking events that celebrate a new phase of construction in the Comprehensive Everglades Restoration Plan (CERN), I've been steadily moving towards trying to get access to the major systems and projects that are being undertaken by a coalition of Federal and State groups, (SFWMD, Army Corps of Engineers, State of FL). But again, even now with some good contacts... its slow going. And here is the problem that I've now discovered with working on BIG projects: in order to create a body of work that looks at the whole issue and explains the complexity in an interesting way, you have to become an expert. Becoming one takes a lot of time.

And that's where I'm at now... I'm learning everything that I can. I get access to different sites to photograph different restoration efforts (different both in kind, and in visual scale and type... dirt is dirt, swamp is swamp; and you have to find ways to make things separate visually) and I ask a ton of questions about how this thing is related to that thing, how the amount of water flow here affects there, what each scientist thinks is the most interesting part, and the most visual part. And then I ask more questions. When photographing I let my mind wander and explore how to make each single piece as visually arresting as possible because I know that it'll be combined with a lot of other "process" images that need to engage the sense in order to move the viewer forward.

SFWMD scientist Pat Essex examines a sample of water for its phosphorus content at pump station S-2 on the Southern rim of Lake Okeechobee. Phosphorus is a critical indicator of health in the Everglades, and has been a major focus of restoration efforts.

Next week I'll head back up to Okeechobee, this time on the north side, to take a first look at one of the most fascinating single projects involved with the Everglades restoration: the re-crooked-ing of the Kissimmee River, which feeds into the lake and was once one of the most winding and confusing bodies of water in the nation, absolutely teeming with wildlife, until the Army Corps made it straight as an arrow to try and control its water flow and flooding, much as they have with the Mississippi. After spending millions and millions to make it straight, they are spending billions to make it crooked again. And amazingly, as the project reaches its second stage, its already working and the wildlife has rebounded in an incredible way. A crooked to a straight to a crooked river again... god I love Florida.

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Project bullshit

I went to journalism school... and in journalism school, especially at Missouri, everyone was always working on something.

"So what are you working on?"

"A year and a half ago."

That's basically how it went. I know this because I've said something similar dozens of times... while in school, later to friends and family members, and now during my trips to NYC to meet with my editors and clients. I haven't spent much time in other journalism schools, but I'm relatively sure that they teach the same art of bullshit everywhere. This happens in orientation... way before the first day of class.

Here is a short list of projects that I've been "working on" previous to moving down to Miami in the beginning of 2006: Baptism and religion in America's South, the legacy of Tobacco in rural North Carolina, a long-term project on fatherhood, a long-term project on Superfund sites, a portrait essay on Day Laborers... I'll end it there because its already depressing enough.

So, after learning or otherwise becoming capable of trying to fool myself and anyone else who cared to listen while in college, its taken me a long time to beat the shit out of myself enough to wake up and focus my efforts. Part of it is just the natural process of becoming more mature and responsible about finding meaning in my life and work. Part of it is truly getting so sick over the images I desperately wanted to make, but didn't know how to start. A lot of it has been over coming my fears that I wouldn't be able to do well the kind of work that I deeply loved. But on the other side of all of the project bullshit I've heard and spoken, I'm now finally beginning to create a life for myself that is actually dedicated to doing the work I care the most about.

This year I've been able to push the needle somewhere closer to 50/50 (personal projects/work) for the first time, and to that end I'm currently in the middle of shooting more than a half-dozen major projects of various types. The results have been very slow in coming, but they are starting to build up, and I can already see the enormous peace and pleasure that I'll have created for myself on the other side of completing the work I've begun.

Tomorrow morning I'll be waking up early again and racing the dawn as I head North into the mouth of the Everglades to continue my project focusing on the River of Grass and the restoration of the 'Glades. Later this week I'll be writing the first of many posts discussing my interest in the project and my journey in trying to photograph a large and complex photography project.

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