the gray period

Lately, I only want to shoot in black and white. Habit made holy is ritual.  Sometimes I document the little routines keeping me sane: lighting incense, reading in the morning, observing the light as it changes. 

Or, I externalize my insanity, photography the big, bad, beautiful world. The abandoned churches. The music in bars and backyards. The street signs and the people turning right angles as they follow them⏤or ignore them completely.

Last night, I went to a house show in a garden. Tiki torches staked the wet earth. Bright on wooden tables, citronella candles burned off the mosquitos. The music was atmospheric, a soft petrichor. The words were  full of vowel sounds.

I didn’t photograph this experience. Sometimes I let go of time, let it pass me by without pinning it to an artifact. 

But only sometimes.