Blog Archives
the way through
This is the beginning of the end of the dead-flower images. For now.
I grew up in a house full of “Early American” furniture, which featured really shiny maple pieces. My mom had a set of table pads that we put down over the kitchen table any time we used it, to protect that fancy finish.
It will not surprise you, probably, to know I took a different approach with my furniture. My own kitchen table is pine; it used to be waxed but that wore off decades ago. In the interim, it’s built up a lot of character, with scratches and marks and a variety of stains. Most of the stains fade over time, which is a moral lesson that I am too lazy right now to write about. The current most prominent stain is some turquoise fountain pen ink that got away from me. It’s already being absorbed into the wood, and on its way to becoming a forgotten thing that happened.
Lubbock, Texas
photographed 5.23.2025
the hangers on
I’d seen this building before, from the adjacent interstate, but had never gone past the “I should probably go over and look at that” part of my thought process.
Finally, the other night, I did get over there. And I have plans to return: it really was more interesting than I thought it was going to be.
Lubbock, Texas
photographed 5.20.2025
circle + square x three
If I have to claim a photographic goal for the year, I guess it would be to be less literal.
Or to stop trying to focus.
Or maybe those are the same goal, just differently stated?
Texas Tech University
Lubbock, Texas
photographed 5.9.2025
matched set
This man and his car matched.
His car is a Studebaker Lark; the very first car I can remember is a Studebaker Lark station wagon. It was the exact color between brown and pink, which is a most unfortunate color anyway, but is particularly bad on a car. For a long time after my dad replaced that car we would still see it around town, often parked behind a big house that was close to where my piano teacher lived.
And that’s the thing about having lived in Lubbock for 85% of my life: every single memory opens up a path to other memories so now instead of thinking about that car we had, I am going to spend some time remembering how much I hated taking piano lessons and how spectacularly bad I was. Here’s a piece from an essay I wrote about taking piano:
Most of my friends took lessons from piano teachers who were part of something called The Guild, which had competitions on Saturdays throughout the year. Miss Ruth wasn’t part of this, so we didn’t have the chance to compete to win ivory-colored busts of Beethoven or Mozart. Even though I wasn’t good and would have hated the pressure of performing and competing, I still felt like we got cheated by having to take lessons without the possible reward of plastic statuary.
Lubbock, Texas
photographed 5.3.2025
One Day | One Image 