I've been spending a lot of time these past few weeks pouring though my photo library in preparation for next week. The lovely ladies over at west elm asked if i'd like to show my work in their beautiful new store. EEEKKKK, how could I say no to that? As simple as it sounds, its been weighing heavy on my mind. I'm one of those people that shoot, not so much for others, but because I feel the need to capture the way the evening light falls across the juices glasses drying on the counter. Of course I like when people compliment my work, who wouldn't? But would people actually spend money on one of them? I know this sounds crazy, because I shoot newborns, and engagements and even a occasional wedding, And yes, people do pay me for that, but in my mixed up head its different when its my everyday world. Does someone actually like the photo of the clothespin hanging on the line? Enough to hang it in their own home? I guess we will find out. This little project has really given me the opportunity to reflect on the things that I do shoot. The simple joys of everyday life, the pure beauty found in the imperfect. It's always been that way with me. I always preferred a trash can treasure to a brand new item. Other peoples junk speaks to me, often screams to me. And I've noticed that my photos tell that story. And that is a story I am proud of. And a story that I'm thankful for. It stretches back to my childhood,a childhood full of strong women that, without knowing it, molded my life and the way I see things. And in turn, the way I shoot things. I vividly remember my summers out in Peconic with Gam, Aunt Ruthie, Aunt Ginny, Aunt Anne, my cousin Dawn. At times, all squished into that little beach cottage, sleeping on cots and sandy couches, even in sleeping bags on the floor. Waking up to the smell of burning French toast and showering in the outdoor shower, sailing the Sunfish on the Peconic Bay, eating fresh corn right off the stalk and lobster drenched in butter, painting rocks when we couldn't go to the beach and watching the sun set into the LI Sound. Those summers taught me to see beauty in the simple things, and to be amazed at how wonderful imperfection can be. That misshapen strawberry that tastes so much sweeter than the perfect ones from the grocery store, and an old dented Buick Convertible was better than a sports car anyday. These women taught me how to drink, and smoke, and more importantly, they taught me how to love, and be content with what I had. To me, it was heaven, and to this day, every chance I get, I find myself out on the North Fork, in those same places, as happy as I was when I was 12. My photos are just that, my life, as I see it. If your around, and live local, come on down and have a look. Perhaps my simple joys are your simple joys?