Fill Flash

This week in lighting we are supposed to be photograhing portraits of athletes using fill flash. I called my ballerina friend, Hannah, who was gracious enough to pose for me while I attempted to figure out how to use the strobes. It was not easy. The first hour or so was of me experimenting with the strobes, trying to light her correctly. It wasn't easy for me at all.

The other subject is Kathy Brock, an equestrian recovering from intense brain trauma due to a foxhunting accident. I'm considering following her through her recovery to her first competition in mid-October. If I execute it correctly, it can be a great story. Shooting portraits with an animal was very difficult, especially since I was having troubles with the sensor on the remote strobes. If anyone is willing to sit with me and teach me how to do this right consistantly, I would be eternally grateful.

comment and critiques (especially lighting tips) are very appreciated.

xoxo, 

wes

Headshots....

The assignment this week is portraits.....I think. The assignment sheet was a little confusing. Either way, playing with all the lighting gear that came in the mail was pretty interesting. Special thanks to Hannah and Paige for being patient with me. Let me know what you think!

Pears.....

Nostalgia...

Sounds of pre-recorded fingertips picking gently at guitar strings brought a grin to my face as I opened my eyes for the first time that day. The blinds left white stripes on the shadowed floors as I raised myself to a sitting position on the bed. I was careful not to wake you. Your nose was pointed my direction with both your hands supporting your neck under the pillow. I watched your back slowly rise and descend with your breathing and sighed. A perfect February morning is nothing close to common, especially in these days of uncertainty. I hold that morning close to me, and grow more and more nostalgic everytime I hear the song that welcomed morning. I knew then and know now that I will love you forever. 

xoxo, 

wes.

Serious Face...

It would seem that by my Junior year, my cumbersome legs would have developed a calf muscle that could handle the incline of the sidewalk from my front door to Cherry Hall. I have a feeling no amount of previous physical training could prepare any pair of calves for this particular hill, seeing as everyone else seems to struggle just as much as I do. Either way, I refuse to take the bus. The wooden floors of my apartment make it seem so cold. The eerie buzzing of the air conditioner disguises itself as other, more intimidating, noises that no "girl-living-alone" would ever want to bounce off their ear drums. The place is a wreck, but it's home. I love how haunted it seems, almost as if it is the literal translation of the phrase "skeletons in her closet." There's a strange comfort that comes with living alone, almost as if you are suddenly taken seriously since no one knows what it's like to live with you. Maybe I'm overthinking this. Or maybe I'm choosing to grow up a little. Look for me on the hill sometime, I'll be the girl with the serious face. ;)

xoxo, 

wes.

But I ain't got wings...

The tiny room grows less and less familiar with each passing holiday, especially as she continues to line it with boxes and dustmites. The fact that she's allergic filth makes it even less inviting. There's a constant conflict of where she wants to be and what will make her happy.She stops at inspiration, scratching the surface of all things interesting. Staying safe often leads to unknowingly taking more and more risks. Insanity is defined as repeating the same behavior while expecting different result. This girl, by default, is insane. 

Tomorrow she leaves, as she does quite often. She's always been great at disappearing, and starting the same life somewhere else. Living out her insanity against a different backdrop, while following the same script with different characters. One day she may realize that life isn't just a play, but the insane being never stops to take a still image of themselves. Maybe this time, she'll decide to do things differently.

Better is one day in your courts...

The sun rose this morning just as I knew it would. I've never enjoyed that my bedroom windows face the east, but today the bright rays of Sunday brought peace instead of discomfort. The drive to Leiper's Fork was as beautiful as ever. The winding two-lane road guided me through the green rolling pastures of Tennessee to Grace Chapel, a quaint church tucked between the horse farms and the rocky hills . I don't care what anyone else says, Tennessee is perfect. I could hardly find a parking spot today. This Sunday was different than any other in the past, today was Grace Chapel's first Sunday without beloved friend, brother, and son: Josiah David Berger. With a heavy heart and watery eyes, I made my way from the back of the parking lot to the church lobby, where I fought my way through the crowd to the balcony of the sanctuary. Today, every single seat was filled, and every hand was raised in worship.

 Josiah had been in a terrible car accident Tuesday night, and had been on life support until he slipped from the hands of man into the arms of God Friday evening. For days friends, family, and strangers prayed on their hands and knees begging God for a miracle: that Josiah Berger would live. As in any story of faith, God had another plan. When Josiah Berger applied for a drivers' license, he checked that tiny box on the application, signing himself up to be an organ donor. Little did Josiah know that his decision at the DMV would change the lives of 77 people as well as save 5 lives. His death was part of a bigger picture we could not see. Our prayers were answered. We saw a miracle, because Josiah David Berger gave a miracle. Just as Jesus did.

 "On Christ the solid rock I stand, all other ground is sinking sand..." Hands were raised as voices were echoing off the walls and pews of Grace Chapel. My eyes fell upon the front door of the sanctuary where pastor, Steve Berger, led his family hand-in-hand into the crowd of worshippers who loved Josiah. There was cheering, tearing, and many many hugs. Even still, the hymns never fell quiet. Finally, Steve and his wife, Sarah, faced the alter and raised their hands to the God who gave him their son, the God that took their son, the God that made it possible for them to still have faith, hope, and love. 

The sanctuary fell silent as Steve and Sarah tip-toed onto the stage, facing the family, friends, and strangers who had been praying for Josiah's miracles. They were barefoot and their hearts were heavy. Steve held his wife close as she leaned toward the microphone and softly said, "We love you guys." The sanctuary cheered, and they smiled. 

"This did not destroy us," Pastor Steve declared, "my son is with God. He went from life, to life. We don't use the 'd' word, unless we cuss. Which isn't often." It was then that I felt peace and the presence of God tapping on my shoulder, and for the first time in years, I opened my heart and let it in. This was real, this was honest. 

Christianity is not a 'Jesus Camp', it is not a book, and it is not a moral courtroom. It's a leap of faith, a comfort,  a will to help others, and a belief that all things are possible through the intelligence God gave us. Josiah David Berger's miracle was real and now, so is my faith. 

Thank you for reading.

XoXo, 

wes.