While I am waiting for MILK Photo Books to have a sale, because who prints a book on demand without a discount, I’m continuing to work on A Map of One’s Life.

I’ve added a few more pictures—two photos from the Archives that helped to tell a missing part of the story and bridge a color transition, and two new photos from Class and Trash. I really can’t make a map of Route 1 or of my life without including a thrift, junk or antique shop, because that just wouldn’t reflect my authentic life.

Letting a project simmer gives the time and perspective needed to rearrange, sequence, add or subtract images.

I also added a new photo, just made yesterday, an industrial view of teal-colored scaffolding set against a backdrop of colorful containers. This type of photography, which I think of as vernacular landscape, is fairly new to me. I’ve been putting my 35mm lens through its paces and even wishing I had something a bit wider. I’ve also had to reckon with my lack of intuition about what is straight or lined-up with the proper perspective. One of my secret talents is being able to eyeball typical measurements (this comes from years of sewing quarter and half-inch seams) and finding the perfect sized container for leftovers or storing a big batch of granola or a dozen homemade cookies. But these skills don’t seem to translate to making a photo that is not cattywampus. I’ve tried using the fancy feature on Lightroom that straightens photos but sometimes the corrections don’t ring true and I’m left to my own devices. More to learn—always!



Just finished a new project, A Map of One’s Life.

I suspect we all have these well-worn paths in our lives, where we make memories and mark time. These kinds of maps are not about milestones or accomplishments. Not about how far we have to go but rather how far we have come. These maps seldom include keys or clear directions, but somehow we make our way.

The landmarks of our lives are often those small things that go almost unnoticed—until they aren’t there anymore or are changed by the ravages of time. In much the same way that we miss those little things about a loved one once they are gone, and wish so much to have just one more chance to love them, the map of our life reminds us of what matters most. It is a living breathing testament to all that we are. A good map can bear witness to a life well-lived, folded and tattered, trusted and true.

Ashland Milling Co. | Route 1 | Virginia

I am in deep work on another project, a collection of photographs I’ve taken over the years on historic Route No. 1 between Fredericksburg and Richmond, Virginia. I’m culling through the archives and making new work, too. The photos form a kind of map of my life and I’m thinking this may be the theme or narrative that hold this series together. It’s about those mileposts along the road that we look for or those landmarks that mark the place where we change direction. Those places we pull over. The signs that tell us we’re on the right path and those that comfort us when we feel as though we are lost.

I’m holding this work close to my heart as it grows. I am protective of these pictures. Most of them are not stand alone pictures. It is only now, as I bring them all together, that I begin to see their significance. This journey is meaningful for me, and if it is meaningful for me, it may be that it will resonate with others, too. Who knows?