garrison beau scott

There are more than a few ways to look at this. I guess it all depends on where you are standing.

Such is life. Yes?

This was taken about a year ago. There are a few reasons why it’s just now seeing the light of day. Regardless, I remember as soon as I found this scene, I had a feeling it would look pretty cool on film. For as many times as I’ve cursed the Holga and its limitations, there are moments such as this when it works really well.

As far as options go?

More than a few wise people have told me that life is about balance. Some have gone even so far as to say it’s a balancing act, but that has connotations of a high-wire, a long pole, unicycle, and bowling pins perched precariously on a nose. My doctor says it’s about moderation, and there’s probably the reason college students don’t go see the doctor.

The Chinese, I think, describe this as the Yin and Yang, which is fitting as it was Winnie the Pooh who taught me the way of the Tao. Something heavy, something light. Is it any wonder just about everyone likes sweet and sour shrimp? Well, any way, here’s a little Tao for you.

I’ve been avoiding this post for some time now. As soon as I got the news, I knew that the next time I wrote in my blog, that I’d have to address this thing, this horrible thing.

A very wonderful person lost his life earlier this month because some drunken asshole not worth the alcohol coursing through his veins decided to get into his car and launch himself the wrong way down the turnpike. Unfortunately this pile of shit walked away unharmed, but left in his wake, tragic death and loss.

Death in the form of Joseph Conway, loss in the form of anyone who knew him, from his loving family, all the way to my four year old daughter who delighted in playing with Joe, and who Joe treated in the short time he knew her, as one of his own.

I met Joe through Kurt Kolok. Kurt represents my work here in Massachusetts and Joe was Kurt’s partner, in life, love and at the gallery. When Kurt opened his home for me to stay during a photo trip, it was Joe who offered me his time to guide me to places I’d never have found on my own. When Kurt and I were discussing the particulars of an upcoming exhibition, it was Joe who gathered all the colored markers and a few scraps of paper and kept my daughter entertained for a few hours, playing on the floor with her, engaging in her realm of make-believe. On opening nights, it was Joe who made sure everyone was taken care of, it was Joe who took all the group pictures.

In short, it was Joe whose life should not have ended September 3rd. I can’t believe he’s gone, and I can’t believe the anguish those who knew him a lot longer than I have are going through knowing this very special person is gone to them. I especially feel for Kurt. His pain is unimaginable.

I’ve thought about an image to display and have gone back and forth from showing nothing, or a black square, but have decided that I’ll do what I can, feebly and inadequately, to put a small piece of beauty in the very large void Joe’s death has left. He was with me when I took it.