Book of Enoch
I was born in CA and grew up in Spokane Washington. At the age of twelve, my family moved to Zambia, Africa. We lived in the deep bush of Africa for two years where I learned to live a new life that was completely different from the USA. I learned a new culture and saw a world I had only seen in textbooks and National Geographic magazines. I made local friends who took me on wild adventures exploring the jungle, looking for rare animals. I have been chased by wild dogs, almost killed by a hippo, have had food stolen by monkeys and witnessed absolutely incredible wildlife; all this opened my eyes to the joy of travel. We moved again to the city where I attended a Zambian private school for a few years, followed by two brutal years of homeschool. When I was 17 we furloughed to the states for one year of American public school, and then back to Africa for my senior year where I studied and lived at a boarding school located in the Mountains of Nairobi, Kenya. Every morning I saw Tanzania’s Mount Kilimanjaro from my dorm window and at night gazed at the most incredible view of the stars. I experienced a bittersweet brotherhood in the dorm. When I first arrived to the school, I found out they had a black and white film photography class. As a child, I loved flipping through our family’s massive photo albums and seeing all the interesting things and moments my parents photographed. My mother would always say that the best photos were hers while my father would deny her claims as they playfully argued over who took which photos. I was immediately excited at the thought of taking this class and was quickly informed that the class was full. I found out where the teacher lived and made my way up a literal mountain to his home while mentally preparing a speech on why I should be included. I was determined to take this class as this was my one and only year at this school and knocked on his door. He answered in pajamas, rubbing his eyes as he tried to understand why this stranger kid was bothering him in the morning. He listened as I gave my speech, and regretfully told me that there were a limited amount of cameras, and that as much as he wanted to help me, there was nothing he could do.
Dejected, I made my way back to the dorm and shared my hilarious attempt at joining his class with my new roommate. We laughed and shared many stories and was then introduced to the rest of the dorm. That evening I learned that a spot opened up in the photography class and that I would be starting that semester. Crazy how life works.
The photography building was small, cold and smelled of unfamiliar chemicals. Snippets of film scattered the floor while the walls were decorated with photos from previous students; random everyday objects in a multitude of strange compositions. There were ribbons of film negatives dangling from clothes lines drying over a repurposed bathtub. I noticed some framed photos of the most beautiful black and white landscapes I had ever seen. I asked about them and my teacher, Mr. G, shared of his adventures to Ireland where he took them. I was immediately inspired and knew I was in the right place.
There was a true art to how he saw the world, and he shared them with us, 1 lesson every week.
My first lesson on day 1 was the concept of perspective. The idea was this :
You see the world as you do, as you always have, so change how you see it.
The world you know has become normal, and only the novel stands out. Everything is interesting when it is your first time seeing it. Eventually, that new, interesting thing becomes normal, and sooner or later, starts to blend into the background.
Imagine seeing the world for the first time, what would stand out to you?
If you can look past the normal, and look at life as if it were for the first time, you can create great photographs.
My teacher pointed out that even something as mundane as a door handle could be interesting if you really thought about it. He pointed out that flowers are always looked at from head height and that if you get down with the flowers on their level, the world becomes different. It all made so much sense.
I would roam around my boarding school with my assigned film camera, a thirty year old, dented, Pentax K-1000 and a couple rolls of film. Each roll had roughly twentyish good shots, so you had to make every photo intentional. I loved everything about it: the action of winding the gears on the camera, the feeling of the resistance on the thumb crank as I advanced the film, peering through the hazy glass with the split focus prism, the feeling of the *click* from the shutter and the shifting of the mechanics jump around inside.
All while wondering how the images would turn out. They could be perfect, they could suck. You would never know until you finished your roll and developed them in the darkroom which, at first, was a lot to learn, but soon became second nature.
This was the absolute magic, that is the process of film photography.
I watched with utter fascination as the light sensitive paper, that had just been beamed by the photo negative projector, soak in a chemical bath. Slowly, the image faded in, and I saw my first photo ever taken. A flower - with an intentional, new perspective. (shown above)
It was in that moment that I fell in love with photography.
- I later found out that my roommate was originally part of the full photography class, and after hearing my story, decided to do the same walk up the mountain, just to let the teacher know that he wanted to give up his spot, and give it to me.
Thank you for reading - This is my website and I hope you enjoy looking at my photographs!