I lay down in the grass and wonder why you brought me here
In September I spent four days with my extended family traveling to Massachusetts and North Central New York State for a multi-day family gathering. These places played a key role in my childhood and the history of my family, but they also bring up strong associations of a being a young person shuffled through the world of adults without much say in what we were doing or where we were going. I remember as a child I felt that life could be a period of infernal waiting for adults to make a decision of where we would be going or what we would be doing next. I was nervous that this trip would bring those feelings crashing back. The ever creative Marissa Falco suggested that a document them through a series of iPhone self-portraits, which I dubbed #TeenagedSelfies.
Colonial living room waiting
Bored in the car stuck in traffic in the Mass Pike
I jumped into the lake. Then snuck a beer out of the cooler.
The ability to snap and share digital pictures instantly was a long way off when I was a teenager, but I used this series to reach back into the feelings of isolation, boredom, angst and possibility which defined so much of my teenaged years and also drove much of my creativity during that time. It’s also about how the ability to document and share your daily moments can provide a needed sense of escape and connection with a wider world when you feel cut off from it, a feeling I felt acutely as a teenager growing up in a rural area. It was this feeling that drove me to make and share zines and DIY music. You can see the whole series on Flickr.
Let’s talk on the phone!
Mirror in the bathroom, I just can’t see, the door is locked just you and me
I’m free to roam in NYC!
The other weekend I went “home” to Maine for the wedding of one of my best friends from childhood and to celebrate my birthday with my parents. Like most people I have a complicated relationship with home. My current home is in Brooklyn, New York and probably will be for the foreseeable future (unless someone wants to offer me a job in Paris or London, hint hint). But usually when I refer to “home,” I mean Maine, where I grew up and where my parents still live. When I was a teenager I couldn’t wait to get out of Maine and transform myself into a bohemian urbanite. I am the first to admit I had romantic ideas about what life in the city would be like, and not a lot of idea about the heartache and hard work it would actually entail. As the years that I have lived in New York City go by I become more comfortable with where I am from, but I also don’t feel like I need to flaunt it. Accepting my home is also about accepting who I am and how it has shaped me.
Dressed up for the wedding at Hawk Ridge Farm. Brooklyn Industries dress and sweater, American Apparel tights, Robert Clergerie shoes
After the ceremony the bride and groom lead us through the pasture to the reception.Of course, being Maine the weather was something to contend with, but we're used to it.
Nola Springtime bag by Les Compasantes (a birthday present to myself), American Apparel marine sweater, Ben Simon sneakers
Hanging out with Sonny. I borrowed my Dad's jacket.
On top of Bradbury Mountain, my favorite place to walk when I'm home.
Maine springtime "color block."