When I first walk into a person’s house, I look for photo opportunities, much like when I live through some crazy experience, I think of how it may end up in a story. I don’t write as many stories as I used to, but photography is different. An empty room flooded with light may inspire me, or in this case, Sheryl and Becky’s staircase and the black and white linoleum floor in their hallway. I sketch out scenes in my photo journal, my illegible handwriting directing stick figures since I can’t draw for real. It’s the closest thing to seeing what is in my brain coming through in images. Sometimes it’s easier than finding the right words.
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