Tour de Compadres: John Mark McMillan

This tour was one of the best I've seen. There's still a solid bit of it left, so if you missed this first leg, check out the next leg. Midwestern cities coming up include Chicago, Minneapolis, and St. Louis. I photographed three of the bands on this leg of the tour. The first was John Mark McMillan and company.

Mostly I'm impressed that his suit is white and I don't know how he doesn't spill coffee all over it all the time. And from a photography perspective, it was insanely helpful for white balancing the lights. 

For this particular date, the venue had strict photography restrictions. Primarily this meant that I could only shoot from the far sides of the stage, but on the ground. Sort of next to where the photo pit would be. At first I wasn't stoked about this (I didn't have my 50mm lens, so I was shooting everything with a 35--not ideal for faraway shots), but I decided to take it as a challenge. How can I differentiate these shots? How can I make them interesting or exciting, when I'm taking them all essentially from the same two angles? I worked hard and challenged myself and I'm more than excited about the result. These don't look like my typical concert shots because they are indeed further away. But different isn't always bad, and in this case, I think the result was something pretty neat.

The Line

BIG Dream Gathering

Drake’s campus was beginning to look like fall, but it definitively still felt like summer, despite the leaves beginning to scatter across the lawns. On the walk from the parking lot to the Olmsted Building, the sidewalk was decorated with chalked phrases like: “take it day by day” and “you can do this!”

You can do this. If one phrase summed up the evening, it would be that: you can do this. But: you don’t have to do this alone.

Rounding the corner, the Olmstead Building looked like any other building on any Midwestern college campus, but on the second floor, volunteers were busy stacking free books, arranging name tags, and sticking blue pieces of tape to the walls. BIG Dream Gathering founder Mitch gathered the group of Drake staff, local dreamers, and friends around into a circle. There’s been so much turmoil in the world, even within the last few days; it’s easy to dwell on the bad news and forget the existence of anything else. Mitch looked at the circle of eager faces and smiled: “We get to be part of the good news tonight.”

Less than an hour later, students and Des Moines locals began walking up the stairs into the foyer, then found seats around tables and next to strangers. Even before anyone spoke or gave instructions, folks excitedly jumped right in, writing their dreams onto the sheets of paper arranged around the room, and taping them to the walls, under different dream categories, like travel, career, and government.

Chrystal Stanley

At 6:30 Chrystal, a Drake employee whose job it is to help students figure out their dreams and take step to achieve them, introduced Mitch. He had several encouragements for the room of dreamers. Give yourself permission to dream, he urged them. And choose to diminish your fear by even 10%. Just see what you can accomplish!

Then began the challenge and the dreaming: write down your dream on a piece of paper and stick it to the wall. Students could write one dreams or dozens; then they would wander the room, writing notes of encouragement and ways they can help make the other people’s dreams happen on the bottoms of the colorful papers. the room transformed from a rather normal beige space to something of an art project: all paper and blue tape and big dreams.

The evening ended quite like how it began: volunteers cleaning up, students walking back to their dorms and other folks walking back to their cars. The music didn't stop, however, and you could hear it as you walked through the doors back to the street. It lingered, like the dreams now beginning to take hold inside of minds and on those colorful papers clutched in hands. Dreams were spoken, started, created. That alone is an act of bravery: dreaming. Dream big. You can do this. We can do this together.

Unexpected Places

Through elementary school into highschool, I took a variety of art classes, from painting to drawing to pen design. Beauty was straightforward, easy, black and white, yet colourful.

However, in college, my dorm room was tiny and I didn’t have room or time for any of these mediums. So I grabbed my point-and-shoot camera and explored the streets of Chicago, finding beauty in alleys and other forgotten places. I bought an SLR six months later and shot my first hardcore show the next month. I was hooked.

I never shot at Millennium Park or at Willis Tower or at any of the typical Chicago landmarks. Part of it was stubbornness, I think, but part of me also wanted the challenge of finding something different, beautiful and unique, a sort of extraordinary quiet grit. I found beauty in unexpected places in a small way: through my camera.

Then I graduated and left that city. In moving from Chicago to Des Moines, I anticipated a slow, boring, and rather unbeautiful life. There wasn’t the wild feeling of exploration I’d had in Chicago when I drove through the streets I’d grown up on in Des Moines. I didn’t see beauty here. I didn’t see it for over a year.

 Des Moines required the same skill I’d began to cultivate in Chicago, but in a bigger way. The skill of seeing and seeking beauty in unexpected places. I learned that when you have to seek beauty in that way, you learn to own it in a different way than when it’s more obvious. You’ve discovered the beauty: it’s yours.

 And somehow here my restlessness turned into discovery and I was met with community and collaboration and more creativity than I’ve ever experienced in my life. I grew to love Des Moines deeply, seeing it not only as beautiful, but as perhaps the best place to create and experience art that I’ve ever lived.

 I’m reading a book called “The Artisan Soul.” I’ve been reading it for a while, and I’m slowly and steadily approaching the end. The premise is that the greatest works of art we can create are our own lives. That our lives are a work of art, and the same principals we use to create a visual or musical masterpiece are the skills we use to create a masterpiece of a life.

 Part of art is finding beauty in unexpected places. In shooting Chicago alleys and hardcore shows and on gritty street.

 And maybe that’s part of life, too. Sometimes that unexpected place is instead a corporate office. Sometimes it’s a routine or something new and scary. And sometimes that unexpected place of life and beauty and art is your own city.

 Most of you know my friend Sarah, and one of the things she’s taught me is that beauty is a choice: she often hashtags her photos “choose to see.” And maybe that’s the point:

 Part of art is finding beauty in unexpected places.

 And your life is the most beautiful work of art you can create.

But sometimes it’s hard to see any beauty around you. It’s a Tuesday, storming, and you have an insane workload. You’re ready to be anywhere but here. But I promise you, that wherever you’re at, there’s beauty all around you, if only you choose to see it.

 And perhaps learning to see beauty is the greatest work of art of all.

Switchfoot : Disposable Camera

On Friday at noon I had zero Friday night plans. Around 12:30pm, my photographer friend Chris posted on Facebook. To give you some background, Chris is the touring photographer (among other stellar occupations) for Switchfoot. His post was a list of tour dates; Switchoot was on a short tour, and two of the dates were within three hours of Des Moines. So I shot him a quick message, asking if he’d be coming through the city at all. He wouldn’t be, but he offered: if I was able to make it to the show, he’d get me in, and we could hang there. I scanned the dates. The closest show was Omaha—that night. Show at 7pm. I worked until 4:20pm. And it was a two-hour drive. Challenge accepted. I texted Brittany and she picked me up from work (with food and a hat because she’s awesome and my hair was a mess) and we booked it to Omaha.

We arrived with 15 minutes to spare. Enough time to take a photo with this animal head.

Switchfoot

I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve seen Switchfoot, and in how many city and venues. Outside, inside, Illinois, Iowa. I can’t count anymore. The first time I saw them was at the state fair with my dad and brother. I was in 8th grade and had just gotten contacts. It rained that day, and, as the show was outside, we got ridiculously wet, but it was completely worth it. A decade later, the band is still at it. And I’m still showing up, singing along, dancing, and feeling the words even more deeply than I did then. Stories of struggle and hope mean different things when you’ve lived more years. Deeper things. They settle into your soul and you find kinship in them.

During one of Switchfoot’s songs, frontman Jon climbed into the crowd and wandered through nearly every section. He walked down the aisle behind Brittany and II held out my right hand to high-five him. He high-fived me—then grabbed my hand and pulled himself up onto my chair. He stood right there for a moment, then grabbed my hat right off my head. And put it on his own head. He stood there, right next to me, on my chair, singing to me, with my hat on his head. Fifteen-year-old Liz geeked out. And let’s be real: adult Liz geeked out a little as I sang along to the same song. A minute later, Jon set my hat back on my head and moved on.

Lecrae

After the show, Chris met us in the foyer to say hi. He is an incredibly kind and gracious human and it was delightful to make his acquaintance in person. Until Friday, we had simply been internet friends, our paths barely missing each other in Chicago. One of my favourite times in life is when internet friends became “real life” friends and this was no exception.

post-concert Buffalo Wild Wings

Tory met us for dinner and it was wonderful to laugh together and hear about her life and adventures.

Our last stop was Walmart. We needed a phone charger and caffeine. At that point, we were pretty tired, after working and driving and the concert, so everything was funny. Those are the best drives: singing as loudly as you can to twenty one pilots and He is We and laughing and everything and nothing at all.

Katie and Hannah : Disposable Camera

I've been focusing more on being present. On creating life, and if art comes with it, all the more beautiful. To that end, I've been shooting more with disposable cameras in my "real life" (read: my non-hired shoots). So when Katie and Hannah visited from Colorado, I shot through the entirety of the 27 images in those 18 hours. These gals are such kindreds spirits and I love them and their company. This was our day. A little blurry, but beautiful and brilliant and summer and windows down and catching fireflies and not enough coffee or sleep but just right.

First stop: coffee at Mars Cafe

Stop #2: lunch at Zombie Burger

Domestica

Coffee #2 at Scenic Route

Just before dusk, we headed to the prairie.

The last morning. Bittersweet.

I'll see you soon. Some state. Some day. We'll adventure.

Romance

Working at a job at a desk by myself and road tripping nearly every weekend has lent itself well to pondering. My most recent thoughts have circled around the concepts of the known and the unknown and the romance of both. All these photos are film and of my own city.

My first thought was this: 

Maybe there are two great romances in life: the romance of the unknown and the romance of being known. Perhaps God is both.

I left the idea there—as a stand-alone thought, as a caption, as a few words with no more depth or conclusion. But they were a beginning. A few days later, those words chased me down again: this time in regards to a city. There are so many stories that begin in cities. Poems about cities. Songs about cities. 

Ed Sheeran crooned: “The city never sleeps, and that makes two.”

The 1975 chanted: “Yeah, if you want to find love, you know where the city is.”

And those are just two that come to mind in a few seconds as I sit, writing, balanced on this little wooden chair.

Cities have a romance entirely unique to their size and diversity. They’re a delightful picture of the romance of the unknown. Unknown like eye contact with a stranger. Like buying a train ticket without looking at the destination. Like the feeling in your stomach when the airplane leaves the ground. Every day is guaranteed to be different, delightfully and extraordinarily so.

The city is dangerous in all the best ways. In this romance of the unknown, we may brave a bit more physical danger, but we are emotionally safe. Whereas in the romance of being known, we are safe physically; but emotionally, to be known, we give some person or some place the ability to draw close to us, the potential to reach close enough to hurt us. The unknown is a safety net of romance and being known feels like a free fall, not knowing if the bottom is a canyon or an ocean—but I wonder if the reality is the contrary. Perhaps the unknown is a free fall and being known is the safest place—it is just contrary to our feelings.

We tend to latch on to the romance of the unknown because it feels safer than the romance of being known. Or at least I that’s what I tend to do.

The biggest city I’ve ever lived in was Chicago. This week I thought about its adventure and mystery and opportunity and how difficult it was to leave. Years later, I still feel a kinship to those trains and cafes and dirty streets. 

The year I left, I wrote:

“…in the month before leaving the city, I was offered somewhere to live and fantastic photography networking opportunities seemed to present themselves. I began to question everything. What was I doing? Am I crazy to move to Iowa? There’s so much more going for me in Chicago.

But here’s the thing: in Chicago, I can make something happen. There are so many opportunities. I can work hard and take the credit. And then there’s Iowa. If something is going to happen here, it has to be God. I felt as though there were less opportunities and less dreams.”

The city represents opportunities. The numerous unknowns that I can make my own. 

The city is diverting, distracting, beautiful, romantic. It’s the perfect setting of a novel or to meet a stranger at dusk. When the world is so large and so completely out of my control, I feel strangely like it is more in my control. The unknown feels safe to my tumbleweed soul. It’s easier for me to cling to only one of those romances—the unknown—while forsaking the equally important romance of being known.

It’s why the boy across the bar is more intriguing than the one leaning against your elbow.

It’s why it’s easier to start a new book than finish the one on your backseat.

It’s why we run to mountains and away from our childhood homes.

It’s almost nearly easier for me to leave than stay. To stay and be known is messier. And more difficult.

The unknown is poetry. It’s picturesque. We can shoot mountains and write poems about the ocean or a boy whose heart we hope to meet. We don’t write poems about the grocery store at night or crying on the phone at 3am or the struggle to cultivate romance in a place that has lost most of its mystery.

However, in only romanticizing the unknown, we lose some of the depth of what love can be.

I’m of the opinion that romance must be both: unknown and becoming known and when I run from the latter, it’s only a sort of wanderlust or hunting for the person in the painting, only to realize he doesn’t exist. That the real people may have callused feet and messy hair and crooked collars and crooked smiles, but they have something the painted man or the mountains don’t: they are here and they can hear me and I can hear them and we can learn to know each other. It’s slow. Driving into the unknown is faster and fiercer and makes for more beautiful photos. And not that the unknown is always wrong. I simply think both are necessary.

I don’t want solely beautiful photos; I want a beautiful life and beauty comes with both length and breadth. With both unknown adventures and new humans and quiet deepness and late-night home-in-this-place laughter.

And the most beautiful thing about being known is this: you don’t have to face the unknown alone. You can face the unknown—known—and together.

(I’ll likely have more thoughts on this later, but these are a few hours of my life and thoughts on a page. Please, if you have thoughts about this, talk to me. I’m still pondering all of it.)

LANY

All the images are unedited disposable camera shots and all the lyrics in quotes are from LANY's "Youarefire."

"Half days and Fridays and any days..."

I've been hustling 10-hour work days this week so that I could leave work at 11am.

Our only stop on the way to Minneapolis was at a rest stop. The light and the trees were just lovely and Blake is quite dapper so I asked him for a portrait. I was afraid it would be too dark without a flash, but it turned out lovely.

I'm pretty sure I took this at Spyhouse Coffee, but I honestly can't quite recall.

"...any days without school."

It's summer and roadtrip season. The world is wild and awake and saturated in color and life and adventure.

Spyhouse coffee. Otherwise entitled: 4 shots of espresso is a lot.

"Can I get a portrait of you right here next to all the cars?" Real life. Blake taught me about seltzer water and it was very interesting and feels quite European.

"Means more days in more ways, I've been running around...with you."

Blake and I left Ames around lunch time and drove straight to Minneapolis. Coffee, and all black everything, and no rain, and good parking. The world was in our favour. The city was ours.

Blake was kind enough to drive downtown and I took photos out of the passenger seat window. These tunnels fascinate me.

I took this shot--with flash--as we left, avoiding eye contact as we ducked out of the door, after lighting up the foyer with my 90's camera.

Minneapolis was full of old signs like these. This particular one was one of our favourites.

H&M

"Suburban World"

The valets across from this restaurant were doing a crossword puzzle together.

"This is it."

LANY

LANY went on just after 9pm and we sang and danced until the last song.

LANY : Paul

LANY : Les

LANY : Jake

OW: Oh Wonder / Oh Wow / Oh What a darling duo

Midnight found us in a white peeling parking garage (some might call it 'ratchet'), then we drove home, hands full of cold pizza, road full of fog, and eyes full of startlingly clear Minnesota stars.

"We are gold.
You are fire."

KC

'68: Round 2

Last week I shot ’68 for the second time. In a short period of time, they’ve jumped from I’ve-never-seen-them-live to one-of-my-favourites-to-shoot. The dynamic between Josh and Michael on stage is energetic and they engage the crowd so well. Plus, they’re just rad humans.

Josh recognized me in the pit and played right to my camera.

These fellows are returning to Des Moines this summer. If you haven’t seen them live before, you’ve got to go. You can dance, sing, scream—all of it. It’s a blast and a superb way to spend an evening.

After Michael and Josh’s set, I was done shooting for the night. I stood on the right side of the crowded room—mostly teenage girls and guys wearing all black everything. For once, I had more color on than most of the folks around me: with my mom jeans and red Chucks. I head banged a little (more like “bopped,” if I’m honest), then wandered over to the merch table to say “hi” to Michael.

The evening ended in the best way. I was quite hungry at this point, so I decided to check out the snack booth in the back of the venue, sort of kitty-corner to where I’d been standing. I’d already eaten so many Clif Bars that day that I couldn’t quite eat another and needed “real” food. By real food I mean something like a hot dog. My standards for “real food” at a concert are pretty low.

But the lady working behind the counter told me they were out of hotdogs. Then my eye fell upon something else sitting behind her: popcorn. If you don’t know me, I love popcorn. As a kid, I would go with my family to the movie theater and my mom and I would finish a large popcorn—the kind with a free refill—before the previews ended. Not eating popcorn was the worst part of braces. But fortunately I’m past that stage in my life and I’m back to enjoying one of the best treats.

So I ordered it: a gallon-size ziplock bag full of move-theater-esque popcorn. I carried my prize back to the spot I’d been standing earlier. I wasn’t quite in the thick of the crowd, which was perfect for eating. As Bring Me the Horizon, the headliners, too the stage, I munched on popcorn and people watched. Any time you can watch a hardcore show—or any show, for the matter—while eating popcorn is a pretty swell night in my book.