isolation

It was the concept and personal project I had assigned myself to photograph.
and so I did, on Sept 21st, 2024, I raced out to photograph the last light on the great salt lake.

I left the shoot depressed. frustrated. unfulfilled, unsatisfied, nothing clicked. I clicked the photos, but nothing resonated. I had photographed hungrily. I searched for meaning. I wanted to photograph what I had felt for so long; isolation.
And the emotional and physical experience to this shoot turned out to be even more depressing. That night I fought a storm of horrendous biting gnats that drove me insane. (Nothing can cause my blood to boil more than being in a swarm of biting bugs.) And yet I tried to temper myself through it, fight it, practice mindfulness, be the observer of my thoughts. “You can’t control your first thought, but you can your second”. And so I remained, even finding creative solutions and approaches like shooting through the bug smeared window to avoid the carnivorous air outside. And in that present act of shooting nothing really stuck. So i returned home deflated, i felt it was a piddled result. And the only thing I had returned home with was a lot of bug bites all over my ankles. My venture in the desert heightened my feeling of isolation in the moment. It compounded it. So I archived the shoot away for maybe another day, to poke it around after the skin of the unpleasant memories had healed.

so why isolation?
let’s back up.
That summer my therapist had made known to me that I was too isolated.
Over a process of recent years, I’d removed myself from the herd I’d known. i’d weaned myself off the tit, I’d broken the generational patterns and chains, I was no longer a product of my environment. I’d come to see that i’d outgrown the house I’d lived in.At that time, I’d been outside the house for a couple of years. And I’d wanted to scream from the streets but couldn’t. I didn’t want to hurt the people I love. I didn’t want to hear the infuriating defensive retorts back. I knew I couldn’t handle it. Maybe I still can’t. Maybe I am screaming. Am I screaming now? Is this what it is to let go? To let it out? I’ve been hiding in a cave for so long, trying with all my might to not offend, to always lean towards positivity, but… damn. It was so fucking isolating. By putting other’s feelings first I’d shackled myself into isolation.

I became a prisoner in my mind. I’d become isolated in a crowded room of my own thoughts. I read “Man’s Search for Meaning” hoping I’d find meaning again. I realized I was psychologically in a concentration camp; having a distortion of time, not knowing where I was, how I’d gotten there, how long I’d be there, or would I ever escape, where moments would feel like eternity and months would scream by into a thousand disappearance of days. It’s called an existential crisis. It’s called depression. It’s called anger. It’s called grief.

My therapist was right. He let me know I was too isolated. He told me I needed to get out and connect. I needed to serve others. And so I did. I volunteered and became a little league football coach with my buddy Mike. And it was life changing. Ironically I was reminded once again that in losing myself in service I did find myself. I was reminded that there are healthy universal truths. And service breathed life into my lungs. I quickly grew to love the practices, spending time on the late summer grass with the community, connecting and loving the goofy kids and Dad coaches. It was there I was reminded of family. Our huddle breaks we’d say “Family on three. 1, 2, 3, family!” I was reminded how life is a team sport. And what we do matters. My contribution to the each play matters. That I need to play until the whistle. If you get knocked down, get back up. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
And in this game of life, you might take dark night of the soul side quest. that journey will likely take you to the land of nihilism. And there you hit a glitch, and you realize you’re stuck in a game to which you don’t know how you got stuck in it. The only thing you do know is one day you’ll die. One day your game will be over. And how you play your game matters and it affects other people’s game’s. And one day you look your wife in the eye and you have the stomach to say that’s the only reason you keep playing the game is because you know you don’t want to fuck up their games. And so you keep playing. And when you see you’re stuck in this game whether you like it or not - why not play the best game you can?

We play until the whistle blows.
What we do matters. How we play affects our team and the game. How we fulfill our assignments affects the team, don’t do it well enough and it might even harm your teammates. If we get knocked down, we get back up. And if we happen to make a mistake; shake it off, reset, and focus on the next play. The only play that matters is the present one. The present is all we have.

I aimed to photograph isolation because, just like being a volunteer little league football coach, and I put myself out there and it was healing, I wanted to continue to try and put myself out there, if I could objectively see how much i had become isolated, I wanted to photograph it and share it, to bring more awareness to it, and transform my isolation into its opposite: connection.
(the avalanche broke and it has put me out here whether I wanted it or not). I photographed isolation to shine a light on this emotional space and to expose it. It’d hoped to bring more awareness and dialogue for those who suffer in an isolated state. With my art, I hope to shine a light for others to see, and let you know that you’re not alone.

Revisiting these images months/years later, I’m thankful for the images and what I recorded. We see the rainbow, the full spectrum of light, looking through the glass of a bug smeared windshield, a Gettysburgian scene on a micro scale, we see the life giving light through the windshield of mortal carnage, it’s the extreme opposites at the same time. It’s life and death. It’s positive and negative. Its harmony and balance.

Now with the hellish night of biting gnats far removed in memory, i no longer see the pain. I see beauty and vibrant colors. I like how the colors make me feel. And i like that it’s the colors of a rainbow, showing the spectrum of light, and so too showing a spectrum of our humanity.

You are not alone.
And somewhere within that canvas of light and death, somewhere within that spectrum, we are hanging out together. We are biologically designed to thrive together. It’s in our blood and bones.
And I see you.
You look lovely in the light and the shadows. Mind if I take a photo?
Let’s connect.