An Escape Into Portraiture
AUGUST 2021 ● JOURNAL
For years, all I truly cared about was playing hockey: my life revolved around the game. And it didn’t matter if I was playing at the highest possible level I could have been playing at for my age group. It didn’t matter if somewhere, deep down, I knew my career would never ultimately “amount to anything.” Nothing really mattered except for what I internalized and what I made of it. For a couple hours, the entire world would disappear. It would vanish. No, it would transform. The world existed solely within a 200 by 85 foot sheet of ice. It was my choice to either drown out cheers or hecklers from the crowd, or to let them fuel my compete level. It was my choice to let go of the real world and get lost in the chaos of the action, or to let the real world incite something within, something that would elevate my game. It was my release. On the ice, I was in control. I was surrounded by brothers who all wanted to achieve the same thing - we shared common goals, identities, and bonded in our pursuit for victory. I remember the feeling of losing and my hatred for it being more intense than my excitement for winning. I am not sure if I can definitively pinpoint why, but the game made me feel more confident - and losing, well, that was a challenge to my confidence, to my character, and to my being. The game made me feel more whole. More me. Forget the skills I had learned over years and years. Forget the early morning practices. Forget the days spent training until I was physically drained and on the verge of pure exhaustion. Once I stepped on the ice, with my friends and brothers, the technical aspects of the sport were second nature. We had each spent years immersing ourselves within the art of the game. We had all come from various backgrounds, yet we all had hockey sense. And that sense is what drove us.
Before games, I would meticulously go about my own cultivated routine. Same meal before each game. Same hype music on the way to the game. Same arrival time. Same suit and tie. Same pre-workout and stretching. Same dress routine - right shin guard, then left, right sock then left, right everything before left. Same tape job on my stick. Same pregame music, also meticulously crafted and delicately ordered to impact the motion and flow of moods I wanted to channel. And before every game, my heart would race. My leg would shake like a jackhammer as I awaited my time to jump into the play. While it may have seemed like the waning moments before battle to a stranger had they stumbled into our dressing room minutes before game time, I was in my element and I was full of joy. I could look to my right and to my left and see 20 other guys all on the same page. We all wanted, for the duration of the game, to physically bankrupt our bodies in order to enrich our souls. We yearned to fly a million miles an hour, relatively speaking, of course - in our own heads - and slam our bodies around, make crisp, tape-to-tape passes, and punish our opponents for sharing the same goals as us. We wanted to embarrass those who sought what we sought. And we wanted to share it together. We craved those flashy goals, the ones that make the other team shrug in defeat or scream in outbursts of animosity. We were hungry to battle for loose pucks and clash against our enemies in front of the net, doing whatever was necessary to get a little rubber disk in the back of the net. I’ll never forget the sounds. Blades digging into the ice, creating swift melodies of intricate edgework before hastily transitioning into tunes of thrashing slivers of ice as the play would abruptly change direction or pace. Pucks ringing off the goal posts, echoing into the rafters and in our minds (praise to those that hit those of our net and bitter disgust for those that rattled off those of our opponents). That ever so distinct sound of the puck knocking against a stick blade or careening off the boards and glass. All of the little noises concocted a symphony in which to get lost and perform within. While competition was the fundamental component of our pursuits, what we really took pride in and what genuinely nourished our beings was simple. It was pure love for the game. It was the undertaking of doing what we were fashioned to do.
That ever so distinct sound of the puck knocking against a stick blade or careening off the boards and glass. All of the little noises concocted a symphony in which to get lost and perform within.
(perhaps my favorite portrait of 2021)
I’ll likely address this in greater detail in a later edition of this magazine, but once my time had come to hang up the skates, I was lost - a sardonic, bereft shell of myself. I realized I had let so many other things pass me by while I had been so focused on just one aspect of my life. I, perhaps subconsciously, attempted to fill that void with other things and undertakings. Many of these would prove to be unhealthy and toxic. I had lost an outlet for such tremendous amounts of passion and I didn’t quite know where to re-place it all. It bottled up. It took me years to even play the sport again. I mean, how could I without the competition, the organized chaos, and the high standards for which I had placed on myself? I figured I would do what everyone else was doing. Maybe I could join in on everything I had been “missing out” on. So, I drank. I developed nasty habits and was terribly caustic toward myself. And I self-destructed. I also realized some truths inherent in our world that were hard to face. After all, I had a pretty naïve understanding of life - for years I had been preoccupied within my own little bubble. And when you age, things get taken from you. At least, that was my view at the time as I stumbled through a new phase of my own tale. For so many reasons that began to surface as this prolonged blunder dragged out - more than just the loss of the game - I felt as though evil would never die. I was drawn to darkness and the notion that the weeds in my life would overshadow the flowers. Again, I don’t particularly feel compelled to get into the details at this moment in time, but for several years I found myself in a state of darkness. What I needed was to heal my spirit.
I had lost an outlet for such tremendous amounts of passion and I didn't quite know where to re-place it all.
Although I am still learning and acquiring elemental skills, I feel comfortable in some areas of photography to again, just like with hockey, forget the technical aspects of this new game and let my senses drive me.
And as I write this, I realize that this is just my story - or at least part of it. Everyone has one. Cue photography. After years of self-reflection and internal struggle as I slowly nudged my way to a better place, I realized that for so many years, I was chasing happiness. I thought that with the loss of hockey, amongst other things, I had lost happiness. As it turns out, what I had really lost was joy. And I don’t know if photography found me or if I found it, but there’s something about the art and something about the practice of the craft that resonates with my soul. It elicits emotions, and joy, more so than anything else I have experienced since my time with hockey. For quite some time now, I have been nourishing this special thing that has woven its way into the fabric of my being. And while I may not be the best at it, that doesn’t matter to me. It is exactly what I want to make of it. And that has helped to restore my confidence. It has helped to make me feel whole again. And it has also helped to healthily give me something to get lost in. While there may not be competition present akin to that of a hockey game, I have acknowledged that I can still compete - with myself. I can push myself to get better. To experiment. To learn. And to find new ways to incite that passion from within. I feel that passion is passion, not necessarily constitutionally attached to one specific thing, and it all comes down to where you choose to place it. What matters is how you choose to reveal it, embrace it, and relish within it. I am grateful to have found an outlet to express this inexplicable passion, a passion that was present during my time on the ice, and reconstruct it in a way to fit my current being. It may not be the “same” passion, but maybe passion is something within all of us just looking for an avenue in which to be expressed. And as with hockey, I feel it in my bones when I pick up a film camera. I may not shake uncontrollably or wish to punish “opponents,” but I do feel as if I am in my element. Although I am still learning and acquiring elemental skills, I feel comfortable in some areas of photography to again, just like with hockey, forget the technical aspects of this new game and let my senses drive me. As I continue to mature and evolve, I am increasingly becoming more and more aware of the importance in rejecting the emotional response within myself to seek some sort of victory or desired outcome. But don’t get me wrong, I would of course love to attain accolades or recognition and acknowledgment. All I’m saying is that I hope to continue working on my spirit so that I am less concerned with the results of my photographic pursuits. Something tells me that will serve me best. Something tells me that if I can authentically accept the notion of my work, and life, as always being under construction, life will taste sweeter.
Being behind the lens, capturing the character of another being, has taught me so much about the stories of others. You can feel them, even through images.
My own story has thus far involved eliminating negative things, people, or habits from my life in order to make more room for those which serve me well. And while voluntarily doing this has not been necessarily easy and is still very much an ongoing process that I am navigating, I can feel the flowers outgrowing the weeds. My all-time favorite writer and poet, Jack Kerouac, once wrote, “There is no good in work which does no good.” I believe in myself more and more and believe in my work - and as Kerouac also said, “The evil in you will die, & your flesh with it, but the good in yr heart & soul will live forever - Evil can’t live, good can’t die.” So, I continue to work on myself and my craft. I feel empowered, inspired, and connected to the film and photography community. And I wish to continue to experiment with alacrity and to discover new symphonies in shutter clicks and lever advances to get lost and perform within. While much of my catalogue has been composed of and centered around capturing neon signs, Americana-themed scenes, classic cars, and general street photography, I wanted to test new, unfamiliar waters and shoot portraits. While I recognize failures in some of the work I’ve chosen to present here, I am proud to share it and continue developing my craft. Portraiture is interesting. I have spent so much time trying to understand myself. Being behind the lens, capturing the character of another being, has taught me so much about the stories of others. You can feel them, even through images. Thanks to my mom and my dad, my girlfriend, Jules, and to Wiley, Scott, and Alyssa for allowing me to expand upon my passion.
This article is featured in the eighth issue of the Y35 Mag. Check it out here.