21.

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, 
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day 
To the last syllable of recorded time, 
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools 
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! 
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player 
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage 
And then is heard no more: it is a tale 
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, 
Signifying nothing. 

 Macbeth

19.

   

      This is just a continuation of my first photo set of Ava. When I photograph her, I like to put in places and situations of my childhood. I could list and go over every image, but it would be boring and I feel like it would lessen any personal connection that could be made with a viewer.
      I just love photographing this kid. She's intelligent, assertive and cute! Today she asked me why the grapes on the vine were green. Before I could answer she said, "We don't know. We are not them. We are us." I don't know where it came from, but I thought it was great and oddly poignant.

18.

 

     So, Grafton NH literally means the middle of nowhere. My father has a man cave where he and his friend like to hunt bears. It is literally the middle of nowhere - the people's yards are referred to as camp sites and apparently, the women have no teeth but an abundance of underarm hair. I mistook most of the roads for four-wheeler paths or hiking trails, but no main roads. Before I go back to NYC, I thought a nice trip to the epitome New Hampshire bum-fuckness would be appropriate...It was literally the opposite of New York City.

     My dad looks so crazy with a machete but apparently it was necessary in the overgrown woods.

Pretty isn't beautiful, Mother.  Pretty is what changes.  What the eye arranges is what is beautiful.

Sunday in the Park with George 

17.

     It feels like fall. The weather is still around 80 and the days continue to be longer than those of fall, still I can't help but realize the summer is over. This has seriously been the quickest summer of my 19 years. I feel like I just got home. I spent my whole summer day to day, work schedule to work schedule. It was debilitatingly insipid. I had so many plans for this summer, so many places I was going to go, so many things I was going to photograph, so many people I was going to talk to....nope.
     Any way, today I became incredibly nostalgic. I realized that I won't have my peaceful 'country home' for much longer. Not that I'm complaining, but soon I will be back in NYC - back to the dense air, sleepless streets and celebrity. I love both places, both such different atmospheres so equally that I cannot even explain. I just love everything - the city, the country, the sea - I seriously couldn't choose, I can't choose. That being said, I came to the sad realization that I will soon be leaving my woods and decided that I should photograph my yard.
      As Irene put it, I Luna Lovegooded around my yard - without shoes, with my pants rolled up. I think I may miss her most of all. Even with working every day, I saw her every day. It's not like we ever had the most stimulating conversations, but I see her every day and not seeing her for months is going to be so bizarre. I don't think I've really ever called some one a best friend had the sentiment reciprocated.

16.

     I have of late--but  wherefore I know not--lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercises; and indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory, this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours. What a piece of work is a man! how noble in reason! how infinite in faculty! in form and moving how express and admirable! in action how like an angel! in apprehension how like a god! the beauty of the world! the paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?

Hamlet