10/06/2025
Ed and Kate were off at Fright Fest. Lizzie was deep in chemistry.
The house was quiet, the kind of quiet that leaves space for wandering thoughts. I pulled out my old photography books, not looking for anything in particular—just a bit of inspiration, maybe a sense of direction.
I kept coming back to something my cousin Greg said years ago, about Roger Deakins—the way he uses light to tell a story without saying a word. I remembered the warmth and weight of his frames, especially in The Assassination of Jesse James. Golden hour. Harsh light. Deep shadow. Stillness filled with meaning.
I wanted to try that. Not recreate it, but respond to it.
So I set up a shot.
Me—still, direct, holding the camera’s gaze.
Sully at my feet, looking away but present, as always.
Our expressions completely different, but somehow in conversation.
Maybe he is my emotional foil. The softness I sometimes forget I carry.
The light carved a line between us—bright and shadow, sharp and quiet.
And maybe that’s what I wanted all along: not just a portrait, but a moment. One that feels a little unresolved. A little like true life.