At the Edge of the Columbia River Gorge

As a child, I spent a lot of time 45 minutes due east of Portland in the Columbia River Gorge. Protected by the Columbia River Gorge National Scenic Area, the land has strict and drastic growth limitations. State Highway 14 connects the sprawl of Southwest Washington to the tall forests, basalt cliffs, and waterfalls of the Gorge (as its called by both x-pat Portland yuppies and local loggers).

After ten miles of dense spec homes and sewage treatment plants, the suburban sprawl evaporates, exposing the Steigerwald Lake National Wildlife Refuge and its flood plains speckled by the occasional tree.

My parents now both live in the Columbia River Gorge and I frequently drive through this game reserve on my way to and from Portland. Despite making the trip thousands of times in my 21 years, the beauty of the contrast between the gross urban sprawl of the Portland area and natural beauty of the Northwest always forced me to look up from my phone or magazine and take in my setting.

While driving home after a few errands in Portland on a despicable December day, the wind, rain and clouds flowing out of the Gorge inspired me to stop. I parked my car on the side of the road, turned off the Dire Straits, grabbed my camera and headed towards the fields. I hopped the barbed wire and strolled aimlessly through the fields. The minutes melted together as my mind started racing, keeping pace with the whistling of the wind through the grass and the pendulum like bending of the leafless branches on the occasional tree.

Drawn to the creaking of limbs, I followed the sounds, eventually settling on this lone tree. Bending and shaking from the winds rushing west from the desert east of the Cascades, I stood watching the clouds fly towards the big city like bubbles towards a bath's drain, or to those of the Luddite persuasion, toilet paper towards the sewers.

Here are some more links,
The Edge of the Gorge (Picasa).

A Trip to Winn Perry

Last fall I started hearing chatter about a new menswear shop in my hometown, Portland, Oregon. As time marched on and my interest in menswear continued to grow, I kept tabs on the budding shop in Southeast Portland. After a 12 month hiatus from Portland, I finally made it down to SE 11th to check out the shop's wide selection of menswear brands including Alden, SNS Herning, Band of Outsiders, Quoddy and Hill-Side.

Winn Perry sports a nice array of Hill-Side ties and bandannas.

Jordan, Winn Perry's founder, giving a breakdown of some of his offering ideas for future products and collaborations. Jordan named the store after his great grandfather and started the store after graduating from Portland State.

Some parts of the shop reminded me of Alex Carleton, like these Aldens, harpoon and chest.

Where the cards are swiped, the cash is given, and emails are answered.

Those Band of Outsiders plaid shirts caught my eye, I am just a sucker for red and blue.

Winn Perry has a nice mix of New England Nautical, Classic English and local Northwest.

Wherever I go, I find pieces of Maine. These Quoddy's looked great.

Some Pendleton pieces from the collaboration with Opening Ceremonies.

Rules for My Unborn Son showing proudly.

I am glad to see young entrepreneurs making a run at it in menswear and putting Portland on the Map. For a one room shop, Jordan has amassed quite the list of brands that would leave many of Manhattan's most coveted shops envious.

Here are some links,
A Trip to Winn Perry (Picasa),
Winn Perry.

The Cost of a Toss

A week ago, I sat on a snow-caked bench throwing my shoe in the air. My hands trembled as a chilling wind picked up, bringing the adjusted temperature down into the the single digits. I shook the snow off of the Vibram sole, rearranged the red laces, reset the focus and stretched out my hand. With a toss and subsequent "thump" of the shutter, my 5d Mark II took a 1/8000 second exposure, freezing my Danner boot in the air forever. Unsatisfied with the result on my three inch LCD, I repeated the process. As blood drained from my hand, I focused on the small image visible through the viewfinder for another 40 minutes deadset on getting the desired image. After 100 tries, my freezing hands overcame my uncompromising, perfectionist desire to get the perfect image and I retired my camera to my backpack and headed towards the car.

My stubbornness, overly critical tendencies and often stratospheric expectations instrumental in creating my aesthetic taste lend themselves to all aspects of my life and identity. Recently these traits have put a lot of pressure on the relationships in my life that I value most and forced me to take a step back and assess.

The cost of not getting your way or being over critical is not an uncomfortably cold hand (like with taking photos of flying shoes), but a break down of close ties. I can afford to toss my shoe in the air 100 times to capture an image but I cant afford to approach my personal relationships with the same selfish criteria.

On the flight home from New England to the Northwest, I finished Edward S. Curtis's biography, Shadow Catchers. Curtis' inability to compromise and approach to his personal relationships with the same criteria of his capturing images of Native Americans resulted in an extremely depressing personal life culminating with his death at 84 in the house of his only child that would put up with him. I share this story and metaphor not as an excessive public self critique, but because I feel it has relevance to a lot people and is a topic often overlooked. The challenge is to let my critical eye, high expectiation and conviction to my values florish with my work but not define my relationships with the people around me.

Here are some more links,
The Cost of a Toss (Picasa).

Changing Seasons: Winter

Winter comes on early Maine. Starting in early November, the imminent threat of snow lingers on the fringes of the ten day forecasts. When the snow finally arrives, Mainers show their true colors and break out plows and shovels and attack the snow with the tenacity of a teenage boy attacking a zit on his nose. The snow and freezing cold usher in a new tempo and force people to adjust to the harsh conditions. I like it. This collection of images shows the contrasting aspects of my aesthetic and the rugged seasonality of the place I currently call home.

Sitting on a bench over the quad last fall I took off my shoe on an ADHD impulse and threw it in the air.

Paul Smith Hudson Canvas Sneaker in January.

Common Projects Court Sneaker in April.

Vans Era in August

Ralph Lauren Wingtips in October.

My Danner Mountain Light II over the quad on a chilly Thursday in December.

Here are some more links,
Changing Seasons (Picasa),
Changing Seasons (ART).