I once read that “Just as a picture is drawn by an artist, surroundings are created by the activities of the mind.” Honestly, I have no clue what this is suppose to mean but to me it simply translates to “we are what we surround ourselves with.”  Well, this is my home office. Like most photographers I spend a lot of time on the computer and so it has always been important to me to make my workspace a place where I feel at home. A place to escape and allow myself the opportunity to really enjoy what I do. Even when it entails spending countless hours behind a desk. If its a desk I love, then its really not so bad after all…

My desk complete with vintage lamps from Anthropologie.

Some of the things that I think are pretty…

With a small space it was important for me to utilize every square foot possible. The tiny wall behind my door was the perfect spot for
a well organized packaging workstation. The wall mounted table is perfect for wrapping albums and then
folds down when I am finished allowing the door to open completely.

Im a stickler for Macs and door pulls.

This is actually a shoe organizer from Ikea that I use to organize my print orders and print sleeves. My collection of Anthropologie bowls tend
to collect odds and ends like keys and wallets.

Sometimes the best shot happens when you are testing your exposure…

On some days it is just photography. And on others it is so much more…

Dear Clayton,

I have been going through your blog and wanted to follow-up on the possibility of the 19th or 20th of February. I imagine that you are busy, but just wanted to reinforce doug’s and my keen interest in spending some time with you when i am back in the US on either of those dates (if at all possible). I also wanted to thank you for your blog. First, it’s absolutely beautiful, provocative and wonderful. I love the lyricism, i love the light, I love the people, I love the hearkening back to a time of yesteryear. I love its spirit. It evokes a passage by arundhati roy that i carry with me where ever i go (and which I hope you don’t mind my sharing):

“To love. To be loved.
To never forget your own insignificance.
To never get used to the unspeakable violence
and the vulgar disparity of life around you.
To seek joy in the saddest places.
To pursue beauty to its lair.
To never simplify what is complicated
or complicate what is simple.
To respect strength, never power.
Above all, to watch.
To try and understand.
To never look away.
And never, never, to forget.”

Arundhati Roy is one of my heros. Many know her for her book, The God of Small Things; it’s her non-fiction and her political activism however that inspire me. During the last several days, I have spent my days (uncharacteristically) focused personal aspects of my life. As I have made plans to celebrate doug’s and my wedding day (a day that i never ever thought would come to pass) & our life together, i grow more excited, pinching myself, feeling so incredibly blessed (when you meet doug, you will sense & see his boyish sense of wonder which AMAZES and INSPIRES me). Reading and examining your blog has given me great pause to consider whether i wish to continue my work in Afghanistan – to be separated from my life partner ~ particularly during my first year of marriage. I had been slated to return to Afghanistan on 15 June (4 days after the wedding reception) to finish out our project in Kandahar. However an incident that occurred earlier this week, in stark contrast to the images and words in your blog, has unsettled me. I started looking at your material on Tuesday – the day after a truck driver carrying educational materials for a school project we are supporting in Farah Province was ambushed by the taliban. The driver was beheaded; the truck and materials burned. Tuesday as the news came in, our team worked to do whatever we could for his family and to see what we could do to salvage the project, etc., I found myself unusually somber and perplexed. Usually these types of events don’t weigh too heavily on me (we experienced two complex attacks on our office compounds, lost about 11 security staff and 2 of our own Afghan staff in 2010). How could an anonymous driver’s death be affecting me so intensely (’not even staff’, I chided myself!)? And then it dawned on me, i am finding it incredibly difficult to focus simultaneously on the joy of life and my upcoming wedding in the backdrop of war. In Afghanistan, I am used to just doing my work and while i do it well, there has been (until last year) little space for personal planning or consideration of happy/joyous things. I find this (new) juxtaposition jarring; it has given me pause to question where i want and need to be. i am not sure if that makes any sense – i see that you have been an army medic, so perhaps you can relate in some way. Anyway, this is just my (very) longwinded way of conveying my thanks for your writing and photos; You have prompted me to analyze and reconsider what is important in my life and give serious thought to where i want and need to be. Before doug, love never figured particularly prominently in my life (nor did i think it ever would). what a gift what a gift what a gift!

wm.

Things sewn onto other things. Things that are hand made. Things that defy the modern. These are things that make my heart flutter…

A special thanks to Matthew of A Fine Press for my amazing Thank You notes…

The best thing about having friends with kiddos is that they let you practice on them.
I know its a lot of pictures but I don’t care. That’s how much I love them.

To the outside world, we all grow old. But not to brothers and sisters.
We know each other as we always were. We know each other’s hearts. We share private family jokes.
We remember family feuds and secrets, family griefs and joys. We live outside the touch of time.

It is finally finished. After months of tweaking this or being indecisive about that, I am so happy to announce the release of Songs For My Eyes. A limited edition run of eight images from my beloved Hammers & Strings: The Collection tour. Only two, 60×40 canvases, three 24×36 canvases, and three 11×14 framed prints of each image will be produced. Each image is signed and numbered which may or may not be a big deal one day. To celebrate I am giving a 25% discount on the first five prints ordered. Just use the coupon “Songs” to receive the discount!

www.SongsForMyEyes.com

A tattoo on the back is different than a tattoo anywhere else. I don’t know why. It just is. I would know because I have one on my back. And out of all of my tattoos the one on my back is by far the most important and meaningful to me. As it should be, it hurt the most. My grandfather was J.T Austin and to this day he was the greatest man I have ever known. And he loved my grandmother with reckless abandon. And he loved me too. I know because rarely an afternoon went by that he wouldn’t sit me on his lap under the cotton wood tree in the back and share his ice cold Dr. Pepper with me. I can’t be sure he ever actually said the words, but he left little room for doubt nonetheless. Fast forward to a lazy afternoon in the summer of 2005. I had spent all afternoon on the beach and as a result I had the most uncomfortable sunburn. On my back. When the phone call came and delivered the news that my gramps had passed in the night I was stricken with grief. I felt ashamed that I had not been home to visit in years and in that had lost my sense of identity, my sense of self. Then I cried a good cry before finding myself in my jeep with the top down and Sigur Ros blaring on the radio. Somehow I felt that I had lost more than my grandfather. The last link to my childhood had vanished before my very eyes and I cringed at the thought of the inevitable. My child hood home would be sold to strangers. My grandparents estate would be split among the family who to this day quarrel over who received the biggest cut. And that wonderful old tree would eventually be cut to the ground to make room for a stranger’s two car garage. A few hours later I was face down in my local tattoo shop gritting my teeth as a very hesitant artist inked into bright red, sun kissed skin, six solid black letters. A.U.S.T.I.N

I once read that Tattoos are permanent and a lifelong commitment, the same as marriage.  And so as I stood there and watched René pull Jessica closer under the ambiance of a warm glow, I caught a small glimpse of a kindred spirit. There, just below Jessica’s neckline were three words etched for a lifetime. Simple yet brilliant in every way. A confession. Over the years I have come to believe that a tattoo is something permanent when you’ve made a self-discovery, or something you’ve come to a conclusion about. A life experience that you dare not forget of take for granted. Much like the memory of my grandfather.  Or in Jessica’s case, the journey from there to here. To the man who earlier, in the cold winter wind took off his coat and wrapped her in his affection for her. René leaves little doubt of his love for her. I know this because he cried when he told her so. I never asked about the story behind the ink. It wasn’t my place to know. Whatever the reason, she believes it and on this day it has never been more true. Those three words cemented in rings and kisses. Love. Never. Fails.