Blog Archives
our strength proved false
The frescoes at the South Solon Meetinghouse were painted in the 1950s by students from the nearby Skowhegan School of Art. They are interesting, they both do and don’t go together. Some of the students were (it seems) heaving into their Picasso phase at the time. Others *may* have found some mushrooms in the forest, if you know what I mean.
But whatever their influences were, the frescoes definitely add a layer of mystical sensibilities to the place. And that mystical layer was ever-present in our contemplative few days there. (Don’t misconstrue what I am saying, though: we were silent, camera-toting monks. There was plenty of laughter. And conversation.)
South Solon Meetinghouse
Solon, Maine
photographed 3.19.2026
thanks + love + faith + grace
If you know anything about me, you probably know that I’m generally flippant about photography and about what I do.
But, in spite of that, I actually do take it very seriously. I never want to be in a rut, or just shoot the same stuff in the same way, or take any of it for granted. Toward the end of last year, I had some conversations with one of my good photography friends. During one of those talks, he gave me the word “purposeful” when I was struggling to describe some changes I wanted to make in my photographic journey/process. That was exactly the word: I wrote it down on a card that lives on my studio desk.
That led me to take a workshop last month in Maine. A small group of photographers spent two and a half days shooting inside of one building. (One unheated building. In Maine. In March. When it snowed.) But in addition to making images of the place, we spent time reflecting on the building, the space, the unseen history that got there before we did, on how we felt being there, on words we’d use to describe out initial emotions about the place.
The first day it seemed that we were going to be there way too long, that it was going to be impossible to fill our time with the things we were tasked with…
South Solon Meetinghouse
Solon, Maine
photographed 3.19.2026
if the heavens ever did speak
The National Ranching Heritage Center is only about 15 minutes from my house, but I almost never think about going there.
I went the other day because Belgian photographer Harry van Voorden was visiting Texas Tech and led a community photo walk; I often lament the lack of such events, so of course I joined up for the afternoon. Although the collection of ranch buildings is very interesting, I decided to specifically look at smaller details. I did a similar scale of looking/photographing in December at White Sands National Park, and it helps my brain calm itself the hell down if I am looking for the smaller details of things. (That’s a good realization, and it’s taken me a very long time to figure it out.)
Anyway, here’s a detail I found inside the Trinity Mission, a frontier church that was originally located in Spur, Texas, where it served as an Episcopal church.
National Ranching Heritage Center
Lubbock, Texas
photographed 3.8.2026
the unfriendly playground
I suppose using leftover rebar and expanded metal and pipes is a cost-effective way to make playground equipment. And this is beside a small church, which was no doubt working on a budget that only had room for donated materials and volunteer labor.
There are a few safety concerns, though, with such unforgiving materials.
But, naturally, the main thing I thought about was how “Suffer the little children”* was taking on a whole new meaning.
Levelland, Texas
photographed 2.28.2026
*Matthew (19:14), Mark (10:14), and Luke (18:16) all reported it. John was silent on the matter.
an agrarian society
Just across a dry and sticker-infested field from yesterday’s boat picture is a little church with the world’s saddest playground next to it. Just to cite one example of how dismal it is, this hobby horse is the best thing there. And it feels like it’s trying to get away from a crime scene.
Levelland, Texas
photographed 2.28.2026
