Grain.

When I picked up my first camera ever, my dad told me not to. I said “Why?” and he said “You’d become too absorbed in taking photos,” he paused, “just like I used to.” I didn’t understand. I thought it was simple: hold the camera still, click the shutter button and you’re done. “Once I lived on photos,” my dad said as he pulled out chunks of old grainy photos from the attic, “these were for customers that never returned to pick up their pictures.” Pretty ladies in blouses and gentlemen in suits with hair combed back standing by Hoan Kiem Lake took me into a wormhole. This was here. This was right here. This was part of what we are, what I am. I guess I will never feel guilty of taking what was a part of me with my existence.

Chase.

I’ve always wanted to see the northern lights. The waves of colored gas ions light up the arctic skies in blue and red, and I, among the Alaskan pine trees surrounding, watch as they glow and shift shapes. I knew I would be there, hunting the magical forces that create the auroras on trails through the North Atlantic taiga woods. I was destined. I was simply drawn to the pursuit. Nothing can be done to change my direction. The interest has so long manifested within the region of my aspirations, which knows no boundaries as far as appeal is concerned.