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Small Bones in a Fist

  Discreet Music by Brian  Eno  1975 I remember exactly how this record came into my life. Unlike other important records, it did not come during some late-night study session,  algorithmic recommendation or YouTube sidebar hopping spree. I don't return to this often, but when I do I'm reminded why this hour-long gem has lodged itself into my psyche. Brian Eno was the first ambient composer that I discovered, and I was immediately pulled into the strange and beautiful worlds that seemed baked into the music. I was, up until this point, interested in finding music that discarded genre and form as I knew it (just pop music,  basically). I was drawn to bands like A Place to Bury Strangers with their supernova-like, ear-crushing loudness that wouldn't sound too out of place on an airport tarmac, experimental artists like Dreamcrusher who are about as abrasive as one can get and Lightning Bolt , who sound like pushing a marching band down a flight of stairs. My ide...
Recent posts

BART, Apricot Cardamoms and Wandering

I've been trying to avoid the checklists of vacations. The "36 hours in XYZ" approach to a new city that feels so intrinsic to how I've approached traveling in the past. I landed in San Francisco late on Thursday evening (Halloween ðŸŽƒ) without a semblance of a plan for the next 6 or so days. My great-aunt lives about an hour outside of the city in Concord, so I took the BART directly from the airport on the Antioch line straight to her. I always forget the specific layout of her home; the ways that the rooms flow into one another and how the backyard unfolds into the valley. I had barely walked in with two unruly bags of clothes  before I heard "Conor what's your guess?" Kathy (the homeowner since 1984) asks me before I can put my bags down."How many trick or treater's do you think we're getting tonight? We've been tallying them every year since 2003." It was around 7:30pm; that sweet spot where only a few groups of kids were begin...

Notes on Analog and Losing Shit

I have this terrible habit of collecting cameras only for them to sit decoratively on my shelves like trophies I haven't earned. They sit lined up, facing away from the wall as if they've seen decades of use and finally get to rest their bones (gears) in a retirement well-earned. But their history doesn't exist, at least not with me. I've somehow collected them through friends, family and odd jobs here and there where the currency was some old camera the guy had no use for anymore. They sit up there to serve as visual reminders that "I am  a photographer!" but that's it.  I think that I've felt somehow too daunted to play around with them; that they were too delicate, that I wasn't unsure how the photos would turn out; that X, Y or Z yadda yadda yadda. Just excuses.  If I'm to start using and appreciating any of the cameras in my collection, I think it must be my Olympus OM-2. This was my parents camera (sort of). In January of 2020,  I was in...

good morning

I could just jump into it (the writing), but as the inaugural post  I think that I should begin with a few things. Firstly, I don't believe that many (if any) people will be given access to this blog (🤮). This exists mainly as a semi-anonymous Public Journal for me to explore different topics and hobbies in a medium that isn't just the pen and paper journal that sits at the bottom of my backpack. As I try to spend less and less time Online (er, on social media), I figured that a private blog would scratch the same itch that sharing 3-5 stories on Instagram scratches. The likelihood that my friends and family read these words (hey) is high because I have an almost clinical inability to keep my mouth shut about these shorts of things, but I'll try my hardest to keep this secret my own.   With that out of the way, I'll start with the reason I'm making this First Post: revisiting and re-editing old photographs that I've taken. I have a tendency to view the work I...