Last June, when Sarah and I went to Chicago, we took a lot of stranger portraits and this was my favourite set by far. All these images were taken within a few minutes. I saw Brian leaning in front of TopMan, quite Robert-Pattinson-esque in the best way, and summoned up enough courage to ask him for a portrait. He was rather convince he was going to be more awkward than photogenic and I dearly hope I proved him wrong.
'68 /
I want to write more about my real life, so here is an attempt. I shot '68's show last night, and between bands snagged some portraits. I edited everything either with a VSCO 00 black and white filter or VSCO 05 Portra 100T--. In case you're curious.
This is Michael: he's in '68, the evening's headliner. I talked to him for a few minutes inside Vaudeville Mews, about Des Moines and Kansas City and burgers and donuts. In most conversations, at some point, I start talking about donuts because I'm awkward and that's my default. He was kind enough to continue the conversation and when I explained to him how I do stranger portraits and asked for his portrait, he said yes. We stepped outside and shot in the doorway of a partly-rennovated building then parted ways, him to play the show, me to walk around a bit more, then shoot it.
Between bands, I stepped outside to get some fresh air and get some portraits. Meanwhile, I shot a bit of the surrounding area.
Pro tip: wear mom jeans to show if you're shooting. The big pockets are perfect for lenses and prisms. Also, they're just comfy.
The next portrait I got was of the other half of '68: Josh Scogin. Josh and I had met briefly a few years ago, when The Chariot came through Chicago and we all went out for cake shakes, but we reintroduced ourselves and, once again, I asked him for a quick portrait. Shooting portraits this quickly is a fun challenge. You have a minutes (sometimes less) to scan the area, find a place, and pose a person. The area by Vaudeville and the Royal Mile was too colourful and distracting for my taste, but we didn't have time to find anywhere else. So I spotted the one place that wasn't splattered with paint--the stairwell. Josh nailed it. Then we made our way inside to watch Idlehands.
I've shot loads of hardcore shows; it's how I began shooting and I feel strangely at home in those loud, sweaty, screaming, dancing rooms. This was the first time I shot a hardcore show without the safety of a photo pit. It was exhilarating and I headbanged as I shot and only got hit in the head once.
Idlehands was a fun surprise. I hadn't seen or listened to them before, but quite enjoyed their set.
I missed '68 the last time they were in town--about 2 years ago--and I was not about to miss them again. I snagged a spot up front and watched and shot. I love how Josh and Michael play off of each other and seem to have a blast.
I'd seen Justin playing earlier in the evening (he's in Idlehands), then shooting around the venue with a disposable camera. Partway through '68's set, he came up to me and asked if I'd shot his band, too. Yup! I had. So after the show ended, he gave me an email to send the photos to and I asked, "Can I take your portrait?" He agreed and suggested the green room, where we used the single lamp to take this shot. He's about a foot taller than me, but I stood on the couch and we made the shot work. I'm all about light and people--this is both.
I was on my way out of the venue when Michael asked me what I thought of the show, so we chatted for a couple minutes, mostly about Zombie Burger. Then, because it's what I do, I asked him for a portrait. It was absurdly dark, both outside and inside, but we found a bit of light.
After the show and conversations, I wandered across downtown to Zombie Burger. I'm pretty sure I pounded some fries. The walk wasn't long on the way there, but it felt long on the way back. However, I snagged the shot below which nearly made the walk worth it. And I refuse to regret spending time outside or in my city. Slowing down is good for me. And, strangely, so are hardcore shows.
Paige in the Springtime /
I thought it was foggy yesterday. As it turns out it was smoke drifting down from northern fires, which is totally insane. Weather is fascinating. If you're a meteorologist, could I job shadow you for a day? I'm very intrigued. Anyhow, the weather was peculiar, yet warm, and I was itching to go out and shoot. Paige met me at Mars Cafe and we hit the streets. By "hit the streets" I mean we took our cameras and went exploring.
This gal is a fellow adventurer and traveler and it had been way too long since we had hung out. We talked about our travels and wandered and found a sword-fighting Renaissance Fair group in the park! What an afternoon.
Abby at the Art Museum /
I met Abby a few weeks ago at an art opening. We talked for quite some time, and have been friends ever since. Recently we went to the Des Moines Art Center to explore, check out the newest exhibit, and shoot some film. This whole post is film (portra 400, if I recall).
Abby has rad style and is full of ideas. I'm constantly surprised in the best way by the new people I meet in this city.
One of the gallery workers told us all about this sunflower display, but I don't recall all the details. He said that they were ceramic, hand-painted, and designed by a Chinese artist. The whole display was originally together when it opened, but since them the sunflowers have been separated and sent to different museums; the Des Moines Art Center only has a fraction of the pieces.
Greens on film are some of my favorites. You can't capture this digitally.
Emma in Black and White /
Emma and I began as Instagram friends. We met in person last year, and meet up every time she is in town. Today we were at the same Instameet and ran around in the woods. I love this lady's creative spirit and how she chooses joy and chooses to see beauty and adventure everywhere. She's one of the most interesting artistic humans I know.
Ben Rector /
There was so much joy and dancing on this stage and it makes my heart happy. You better believe I was multi-tasking: dancing, singing, and shooting. Then after my three songs, I stood on the right side of the crowd with my backpack--and kept dancing.
The couple in front of me, perhaps high school age, swung and spun and dipped each other, like they were alone in the room and it was adorable and perfect. They knew every song and sang along, sometimes to each other, sometimes towards the stage.
I danced like someone who can't dance and that was perfect, too.
Life is too short not to live deeply and exuberantly.
Dance everywhere and all the time. In the grocery store. In the parking lot. In your car. In the photo pit. With backpacks and without. If you're happy and you know it--dance.
Fearless /
I started 2016 with one word: fearless.
In January I did many large grand scary things: traveling across the country alone, quitting my job, starting a new one. The two proceeding months have been full of forming routines out of the ripples from those tidal wave decisions.
My lease is up in July and I looked ahead to the next decision: moving—and to where? Nashville was in mind, but the opportunity fell through. LA was another idea, but I didn’t get the job. Colorado was an option, but it didn’t fit quite right. I frantically looked for places to go, opportunities to pursue, folks to stay with in those cities and places.
Then I realized yesterday: what I’m most afraid of is staying. I’m afraid of staying in a city without mountains or oceans or as many options. I’m scared I’m giving up adventure. I’m scared my story will be boring and my life will be haphazard and unimportant and forgotten. Perhaps that sounds harsh and melodramatic, but I’m just being honest.
I’m afraid I won’t visit all the countries I dream of. I’m afraid I’ll have gifts or passions or ideas that will go unpursued. I’m afraid I’ll settle for a less worthy life. Worthy of what? Remembrance? Being told? Being photographed? A good story? Since when is being remembered or extraordinary a criteria for a good story? I’m starting to ask myself harder questions.
I didn’t ask for fearlessness like this. I wanted large, epic bravery, full of new languages and foods and little sleep and sore feet and full suitcases. There’s nothing picturesque or sexy about staying. I didn’t ask for this: this slow quiet bravery of staying.
But we don’t get to choose how bravery finds us. Sometimes I desire qualities, but I don’t think of what is required to cultivate them. Bravery and fearlessness sound extraordinary, but the reality is to attain them you must strike head-on what you fear most. To some folks that may be a road trip or a small paycheck. Those barely intimidate me. Normalcy scares me. A stationary life scares me. I didn’t realize how much until I recognized that may be what is next for me.
But here is the question: what is more important—an adventure or my character? How often I longfor adventure and what perhaps I’m pursuing most is selfishness. Not that adventure is always selfish, but when I desire my own adventure rather than character or relationship, it can become so.
I don’t know for certain if I’ll stay, that I’ll stay. But I know for certain that I want to become faithful. I want to become fearless, regardless of where I am. I want to trust that what God has for me is good. I want to be so secure in his faithfulness, that he cultivates mine. I want to come out of this life better and braver. Grand or quiet, I want my life to be fearless.
Wonderstruck /
Somewhere between sandboxes and cubicles, life stops surprising us. Out of necessity—and granted, sometimes complacency—our lives becomes more routine than magical. We have bills due at the same time every month. Most of us have jobs that require us to be at a certain place at a certain time. Life loses most of the mystery of unpredictability.
Jamie Tworkoski, founder of To Write Love on Her Arms, is a wonderful wordsmith, genuine and articulate. I like honest people. He wrote a piece a couple years ago called “There is Still Some Time.” He talks about identity and hopelessness and hope and he has one line that has stuck with me: “There is still some time to be surprised.”
Sometimes we seek to be surprised. We visit haunted houses and plan birthday parties and vacations, and we hope for magic. Sometimes we forget how to be surprised. We want to have all the answers, all the reasons, all the possible endings. We want to choose our own adventure. But sometimes, despite our efforts towards surety, surprise finds us. Wonder finds us.
A couple of weeks ago, my friend Mickey posted on Instagram about a magic show. Eager to try something new, I replied and a week later I walked into the Temple Theater for the first time, not sure precisely what I was getting myself into. Frankly, I didn’t really want to know in advance. I don’t usually watch movie trailers anymore; I want to enter a story with fresh eyes. So I knew very little about this magic show, other than the magician Nate Staniforth used to have a show on the Discovery channel.
I didn’t even know what to wear. Usually when I shoot a concert, I’ll look up the band to see what they’re wearing, so I can dress somewhat appropriately. (I’ve been the person wearing teal and orange at a metal show, and I learned my lesson.) So I looked googled the show: Nate was well-dressed, but not presumptuous, and I decided that my usual simple t-shirt with nice jeans would be alright. I added lipstick, just to dress it up. As it turns out, that was perfectly fine.
Though I wasn’t necessarily skeptical going into the evening, I was cautious. I’d heard sort of magician horror stories: things like hypnosis or situations where folks were made to do uncomfortable things. That’s not my cup of tea. My friend and I sat down, just as Mickey introduced the night with these words: “There is no age limit to being astonished.” And within the first five minutes of the show, Nate set me at ease.
The next week, we sat down and I talked to him later about his life and job.
In our conversation, I mentioned that the only magician stereotype I could think of really was the sort that did tricks for children at birthday parties. I wish I’d written down what he said next, but I was too busy listening, so I’ll paraphrase it the best I can. “My favourite part of performing at children’s parties are the adults standing at the back. They have the biggest reaction. The people who have forgotten how to be surprised are the ones most likely to be surprised by mystery.”
That first night, as I sat in the 3rd tiered row, unsure of what was coming, a little excited, a little nervous, I felt a new emotion creep in: wonder. Nate did his first trick. I had no idea how he did it. I went back the next week: I still don’t have any idea. My jaw dropped and I turned to my friend, grinning and eyes widening. How was this real?
A few years ago, Taylor Swift released a song about a boy from Minnesota with the line: “I’m wonderstruck.” He coined the word and she sang it from stages to arenas. I love when people create words for feelings. She sang about a crush, but I think you can be wonderstruck by other things, too. When the lights rose at the end of that evening, when I stood up in the tiered room of the Temple Theater, I know what that word meant. I felt it.
We seek to be surprised. Part of me wished to know how it all worked, but most of me was soaring on that unexpected feeling of being surprised by magic. Halfway through the show, I was seriously considering volunteering for something. If you don’t realize how big of a deal this is: I’m an introvert. I never raised my hand in college and I certainly didn’t volunteer for anything. But in that short amount of time, Nate had gained my trust, no small feat for a stranger.
How did he do this? I could tell he valued people. He asked for the name of every volunteer and remembered it. He talked to us like we were his friends, like we were important. We weren’t props—we were part of his story. When Nate and I met the next week, we didn’t meet to talk. We met for portraits (for this story). But when I walked in, he sat down and patted the row of red cushioned seats next to him, motioning for me to sit. He asked thoughtful questions about my life and photography; I learned that there is a close-knit magician community. I learned that Nate has traveled the world doing magic.
It reminded me of a pause during his show, where he said: “Mystery is the universal language.” I’d never thought of that. People are everywhere. Surprise is everywhere. It transcends age and culture and language. At the shows I went to, there were children. There were folks my age. There were folks old enough to by my grandparents. I saw older people laughing, children grinning: all amazed.
We all have the chance to be wonderstruck. I’d never considered the art of surprise, the art of wonder before. The wonder of mystery. We want to know that there is still something unknown, something worthy of awe and surprise. We long for it, I think. It’s a glimpse of something bigger than ourself, in the best way. That in our daily lives, there are still things to be discovered. That magic is real, even just for one night.
That evening I left my adult life and bills and routine behind. I didn’t check my phone for two hours. I didn’t want to. My imagination, like the Grinch’s heart, grew three sizes that day. If you want to be surprised, to be wonderstruck, to feel a little more wide-eyed about life: check out Nate’s show. I’m not being paid to say this—I mean it. Thank you, Nate, for surprising me. For the wonder of the unknown and the mystery of magic.
Chances /
April 18, 2010, I shot my first show: August Burns Red.
I still have the email from Josh, their tour manager. I asked him the most naive questions, from “where do I pick up my ticket” to “what do I wear” to “when do I show up.” I probably would have been annoyed with me: a young gal with no experience to merit the opportunity to shoot at a great band at one of the best venues in Chicago. But Josh was super gracious. He answered all my silly questions, going above and beyond, letting me know what to bring and when to show up and the order of the bands and even gave me a way to contact him day-of if I had any more questions. Who does that? Only the kindest people. Josh gave me a completely undeserved chance at something great and it changed my life in ways I couldn’t have anticipated that day.
That was the first day I picked up my camera. Ever. I’ve since taken it to multiple states and countries, shot dozens of bands. I’ve made friends because of it: folks like Sarah and Alyssa and Meanz and the dudes in Holdfast. Some of my dearest friends. I’m in Sarah’s wedding in four months because of my camera. That’s how we met: shooting together.
My camera has given me the courage and reason to walk into dark rooms and crowded streets and talk to strangers. It’s given me the push I needed to become braver. I’ve met folks in most states I’ve visited: shop owners, tourists, bands, baristas. My camera has given me the opportunity to eat amazing donuts and cross state lines and have better adventures than 18-year-old me could have imagined.
Today, April 3, 2016, I shot August Burns Red again—almost 6 years later to the day of that first show. It feels like bookends to something, but I’m not sure what, as I don’t think my time with a camera is over, but I feel a sense of completeness. I feel like I began something and I’ve come around the track, back to where I started, but with a journey between there and now: like I circumnavigated something grand, this part of life in-between.
Thank you, Josh, for giving this gal—with no experience or knowledge—a crazy, undeserved chance. You changed my life.
I’ve told this story before and I’ll tell it again because it changed me and I’m so thankful. My story is entirely different because one man gave me a chance.
Give people chances. First chances. Second chances. Undeserved chances. Give lots of chances.
We all need them.
We all need them.
You can change someone’s life.
*Full disclosure/epilogue:
I wrote this the afternoon before the show. When I’m full of nostalgia, I write, so I did. That was about 3pm. I showed up at the venue at 6:30, and at 7 I stepped outside for a breather and to eat a Clif Bar. I was walked down the sidewalk when a man asked, “Liz?” It was Josh. We’d never met in person before, but he saw my photo pass and took a guess; he was right. I told him the condensed version of what I wrote above here. I thanked him for giving me a chance. He remembered that I’d lived somewhere else before; what are the odds of someone remembering that, years later? I’m telling you: this fellow is the kindest human. So I asked him for a portrait. Later in the evening, as he walked by, he thanked me. I guess this whole story is a thank you to him.
Distances /
I’ve never been good at judging distances.
all photos are film, taken on a Pentax K1000 in Colorado in January
The only accidents I’ve been in have been scraping cars in parking lots, not realizing how close they are. I’ve hit curbs and once a bird (that was his fault).
I always think places are farther than they appear and people are closer
I think each sentence you write, you speak, is a step towards me and I think we’re getting closer to something. I think each coffee shop roadtrip afternoon adventure in a new city is like driving closer together.
Then I hit a curb and we hit a standstill and I realize neither of us was moving. We were standing still, throwing words across state lines, dancing in eloquent phrases, each with the ghost of the other.
I thought we were close and the end was far, but I’ve never been good at judging distances.