Photography has always been my second love after writing, and I was lucky enough to shoot somewhat professionally for a a few years. I worked as a headshot photographer (come on, now. This is L.A.) and did some street-style fashion stuff in London, combing the streets for fashionable people for magazines like Lucky and various websites. I also was able to shoot my own features when I was travel-writing. A two page photo spread in Grace Ormonde Wedding Style to accompany my feature about the Amalfi Coast was thrilling. I was hooked. But it's been a while since I was able to really shoot photos. With a manual camera and a pocket of T-Max film.
Digital cameras are great, of course, but lack the soul and grain of manual photography, in my opinion. I also feel the same of MP3s and High Definition. Sound isn't supposed to be clean, and films are supposed to be grainy. Picture isn't supposed to be refined or appear instantly on a screen. The surprise of watching images appear slowly in the darkness is what makes photography, to me, so sexy.
This morning, my friends at Smith Magazine published a selection of photos I took several years ago at Folsom Street Fair in San Francisco, along with an essay: Lost and Found: The Libertines of Folsom Street. (Warning: Some photos may not be suitable for work.)
And suddenly, the normal girl is the one on the outside, appearing lost amidst the found.