I fell into photography on accident. I fell out of photography on purpose. I grew tired of the precision, the expectation. Somewhere along the way I fell for the egg. They're beautiful and they're mysterious and they can represent oh so many things. Working with eggs—empty, whole eggshells—offers a starkly different set of challenges than compiling an image. Perfection does not exist. Ideas are forced to transform as the material is handled, cracked, broken. There is no undo button on an egg.
I'm at the beginning. No idea where I'm going. Eggs, thread, space—that's about where I'm at. We'll see where I end up.
eggs. all the eggs. thread. beeswax. crumbling books. hammers and saws. band-aids. profanity. lasers and robots. general weirdness. curation. frustration. donuts.