The Great Salt Lake

...

The Lake.

She saw it looming in front of her like an immense piece of black glass.

Like obsidian.

It looked like a black hole—once you were lost in it you could never be found.

But something about it drew her in—pulled her closer. Made her want to see for herself what was waiting under the surface.

She knew she had to go. 

She had no fear.

She walked to the edge of the rotting wood and stepped out of her boots.

She tugged at her dress and pulled it over her head, letting it drop to the ground.

She undressed till there was nothing left to take off.

No rings

No watch

No earrings

It was just her and her skin.

She stood there and closed her eyes.

She felt the breeze tickle her skin.

She heard the lapping sounds against the rocky shoreline.

And without a second thought she inhaled deeply and leapt out over the edge.

The first thing to hit was her left big toe.

For a split second it danced across the surface then slipped away into the black abyss below.

Her foot followed, disappearing in a split second.

Her legs, groin, belly, hands, arms, chest, neck, lips, nose, ears, eyes, forehead and hair followed.

She sank deeper and deeper into the dark.

She hung there—suspended in one place like a marionette.

Suspended in time like an ant frozen in amber.

Her eyes fluttered open.

Out of the nothingness she saw, she seemed to see everything.

From the piercing silence, it was as though she could hear the whole universe speaking to her.

She let the darkness take her and quietly, she slipped away. 

And then, just as swiftly as her body had sunk, it rose once again to the surface.

And she took a breath.

And she floated away.

She became an abstraction.

She was nothing but white skin against black water.

A small catch-light against a black pupil.

And finally she was free. 

...

A rumination on water. What is yours? Keep it in mind as you peruse these.

Lots of Love, 

-Lo

The Kids Are Alright

Why do we so often take our friends for granted?
Our beautiful, talented, amazing friends? The people who keep us from going crazy. The people who support us in all our endeavors. The people who shape who we become and inspire everyday.
Our go-to therapists.
Our shopping buddies.
Our out-on-the-town partners in crime.
Our shoulder to cry on.
Our families when we can't be with the actual ones (Or we need a little break from them).
Losing a friend this year has made me realize that the people who lift us up on a daily basis are far too important to let slip away. She has made me understand just how fleeting our lives really are. Just how precious our moments here all together are.
I don't want to make this post a big long mushy rant about how fantastic the people in my life are--I hope they already know how much I love them and how important they all are to me (That, and I fear I'm beginning to sound like a broken record going on and on about you crazy kids in every damn post). I just wanted to show off the fantastic people in my life and to say thank you for making me a better person than I ever thought I could be. Thank you for being my pillars, my rocks, my constants--you know who you are, and this is for you, regardless of whether I've photographed you or not...

Love You, Miss You, and Thank You. And for the record, y'all are more than alright...
-Lo

Some Notes.
1. Molly (Sex!)
2. Frasier (#ThugLife)
3. Paxton
4. Miguel
5. Wyatt
6. Daniel
7. Liz & Emma (Genie Babes)
8. David
9. Kendall (Gaga Loves You)
10. Ivy
11. Kate (The Most Beautiful Man I Know)
12. Lena (Ringmaster)
13. Sophie (Solid As A Rock)
14. Kira
15. Roya & Rachid
16. ROYGBIV (A Tisket, A Tasket)
17. Meredith

18. Maggie R.I.P (Man Ray's Tears) 

Weird Fishes/Take Me To The River

For the past month I've been living down in Bend, Oregon with the family and last week my dad and his friend took all the daughters (and son) on a little fishing trip.
I have to say I think I'm pretty damn good at fishing.
We drove up towards Bachelor Mountain (which is technically a butte in case you didn't know!) and pulled off at a little spot on the Upper Deschutes, which is part of the Deschutes River, one of the big rivers that flows through Central Oregon (others include the Mackenzie and the Umpqua). As we were driving up the mountain it was so beautiful I stuck my little plastic Holga out the sunroof and snapped the first shot. The thing I love about Holgas is the way they capture color-so saturated and dreamy. In the past few years plastic cameras have become very hipster (a term I don't care to be associated with, which, many people will say makes me even more hipster but I'm really NOT hipster and I don't know how else to say it...) so I have held back on using mine, but I'm a sucker for vintage-esque photos so I caved and brought it down instead of the Nikon. Plus, I think film and the romantic quality the camera gives each shot adds another layer of nostalgia to the series. It's like looking in on a special moment in time, but it's different than looking at photographs taken with with digital cameras. Not that I don't love and appreciate digital cameras-you can do so much more with digital, not-to-mention cut prices by at least half (I got four rolls of 120mm film developed and it cost me $65, a pretty steep price for something you have no idea will turn out or not). But, I have a job now, so I decided to spend a little extra money on my photographic endeavors this summer and go film for a change. I remember I used to be so against digital. The only reason I did end up going digital is because of the Peru trip. Then of course I realized how silly I was being and made the switch for good. It it nice to use film every now and again though.
Anyways, here I am taking a massive tangent on cameras. Back to the fishing trip.
So we get to the river and the dads suit up in the works-waders, giant fanny-pack type things with boxes of flies, and Jungle Juice and all kinds of goos and powders that make the flies float (and snacks of course) and all the kids are in shorts and t-shirts lookin like noobs. So we get out onto the river and I immediately jump in and wade out to the middle which in turn washes off all the bug juice I've put all over myself, and I get eaten alive by the skeeters (as my 7 year old cousin calls calls them). I don't notice though because I'm trying to figure out how to cast the line correctly. In fact the first fish I caught, was behind me because I cast incorrectly and the line landed upstream.
Needless to say when I went to cast, the fish I'd hooked hit me square in the face.
After that though, it got much better and I went on to catch five (count em' five!) baby Rainbow Trout (not actual babies, but very small ones).
Other memorable moments in the day?
Losing a bottle of Pepsi out of my backpack and mistaking it for a really big fish jumping just behind me.
My dad, running downstream to catch said bottle of Pepsi in desperate need of a refreshing beverage.
Sophie catching her first fish and screaming at the top of her lungs.
Sophie catching her second fish and screaming at the top of her lungs.
Sophie naming her two fish Rolfe and Jeremiah.
All in all it was a pretty great day. Can't wait to go again this week.

Photo Notes.
1. The drive up.
2. Deschutes River Sign.
3. The bridge for cars to cross the river.
4. Deschutes National Forest.
5. A pro at work. (Dad)
6. My first (and second!) fish.
7. Teva-tanned feet.
8. Upper Deschutes River.

Here's to your first fish: may it slap you in the face.
-Lo

It's a Sharp Shock (To Your Soft Side).

Home.


Feeling homesick, my latest photo endeavors are centered around things that remind me of home.


First: An email I recently received from my amazing grandma who, after a week of my neglecting to call her and thank her profusely for the amazing care package she sent me for Easter, took matters into her own hands and instead contacted me. For some reason this email in particular struck a chord in me... The title is so sweet... So informal--so unlike my grandma's usual put-togetherness... I can't really describe it, but there's my attempt.


Second: The quilt my mom, as well as all the important ladies in my life (mommy, sister, grandma, aunts, etc.) made for me last summer. It is always a part of the tangled up mess of fabric and pillows I call my bed, and every time I snuggle up with it I am reminded of how much love I am literally surrounded by, and I feel a little less lonely. The quilt is a tangible representation of my family's love and support, without which I would be lost.


Third: Letters from friends and family received over the course of this year. I've always thought letters were far better than any email or text, so I try to write my friends as often as I can. Plus there is something so wonderful about looking into your mailbox and realizing there's a letter in there just waiting for you to read it. It's old fashioned I know, but I love it.


Fourth: Homemade cookies from my family. There is nothing better than a home-cooked meal, or treat. I asked a lot of my friends what they miss about home and almost every single one of them said the one thing they missed was their mom/dad/grandma's cooking. Food = Nostalgia. Food = Love.


Fifth: A picture of my mom and I from last summer. We went to SAM to see the Andy Warhol Media Works exhibit and before going in you could take your picture in a photo-booth and post it on a giant wall along with thousands of others. So, my mom and I being who we are, jumped in and took a bunch of goofy pictures of ourselves. The photo is nothing special, and it's just a little tiny thing, but it's one of my favorites, and I keep it pinned to the wall right by my bed.


Being so far away from the people I love has been so so SO difficult for me, but these little things that seem silly to anyone else are constantly reminding me that distance don't mean no thing. And when I'm feeling sad or alone, all I have to do is eat one of grandma's cookies or wrap myself up in the quilt or glance at the collage of photos pinned to my wall, and there, in the threads, ink and dough of those objects is my family's love and support. And I feel better, even if for only a passing moment.


My family is what keeps me going, and inspires me to be the best person I can be each and everyday. There it is, the cheesiest, most clichéd line in the history of cheesy clichéd lines.


But it's true. (That's WHY it's a cliché.)


So here's to the things that remind YOU of home,
-Lo

And We Danced/And We Cried/And We Laughed/And Had A Really, Really, REALLY Good Time.

New York City. Macklemore.
What an insane day.


By some act of God we managed to make it to Webster Hall Saturday night. It was touch and go for a while there, but we made it, $60 poorer from the cab we had to take from Saratoga to Albany, a little more subway savvy after accidentally ending up in Harlem, and goddamn soaking wet from the torrential downpours Ben Haggerty and his crew brought with them from Seattle.

In the end it didn't even matter. Part of life is dealing with the curveballs.

It's funny (I feel like I say this a lot... No?) that in spending the whole day in New York City--a place so entirely different from Seattle where I'm from, I would realize how much I miss my own beautiful city.

It must have been that combination of rain and Northwest rap... Both well known in the town by the sea. Hearing him rap about the Mariners and KJR Radio (KJR Seattle! Channel 95.7! Got the jingle stuck in my head now...) and Northwest soul and the rain... It was overwhelming. Those are things I grew up with. Little stupid things like Safeco field, or a 206 area code--things that seem so inconsequential when you have them around you 24/7, but when all of the sudden they're gone you realize how much you miss it all, and how much you just want to be back in the place that makes you you.

And it is. Seattle and West Coast culture are such a huge part of who I am. 

So you can imagine being at this concert... Inevitably, it reminded me of the days when I would drive my old-ass-broken-down Volvo through downtown or along Alki or up by school blasting Crew Cuts or Irish Celebration with all the windows rolled down as if to say 'What up Seattle? I know I'm a motherfuckin' badass.' When he sang My Oh My, I nearly cried. When he sang The Town, I felt an overwhelming sense of Northwest pride. 'Yeah bitches,' I thought as I watched and listened and sang along, 'That's where I'm from! Y'all New Yorkers got nothin' on me. That's my city. That's my jam!'

Sometimes out here in New York, so far away, I feel lost... I feel like I forget who I am. When I came to here, I knew who I was--I knew what I wanted in life and where I was going. I had a plan. Nothing could have stopped me.

Of course that all went to shit.

How could it have not? Leaving your home--your friends and family--turning your life upside down, can have that effect on a person.

That said, moving out here has been an amazing adventure despite my homesickness. And even though being away from the place that makes me me--the only place I have ever truly felt grounded and secure, has been the hardest thing I've ever done in my entire life, I don't regret my decision. Not even for a second.

I don't believe we should always feel grounded. I think part of life is about being uncomfortable. It's about trying new things, new places, new people, and seeing what works for you. It's how we find ourselves. It's scary as shit, but how else are we supposed to do it?

I'm doing my best.

I realize that's a lot to say about one concert, but what can I say--it was a great show...

Here's to the filthiest city in the world.
-Lo

A Little Seattle Sweetness... For Your Listening Pleasure.

Hands Up. Guns Out. Represent. That World Town.

Why does M.I.A describe India so perfectly? Of course that's the biggest cliche ever, as well as slightly racist, but there it is.
I've said it.
Everyday on our way to school, I'd listen to Kala and look out the bus window onto the dusty, bustling streets of Hyderabad and I'd think to myself 'I'm in a fucking movie right now.'
The combination of the street with all it's color and grime mixed with M.I.A's perfectly chaotic beats come together to form the biggest cranial clusterfuck of your life.
And I mean that in a good way.
Everywhere you look there's a million things going on--there's a million colors, a million people, a million cars, a million sounds. Everything you could possibly imagine happening in one place at one time is going on. And then some.
It's like New York City on acid. Everything moves so fast and changes so frequently if you're not constantly paying attention you miss it all.
It's funny... (Although not at all) It is a place where despite the extreme poverty--despite the pollution, overpopulation, heat and corruption, India is one of the most alive places I've ever been. There's a kind of spirit there.
And it's quite infectious.
So even though you produce more sweat in one day than you ever have in your entire life leading up to it, and even though you feel a deep sense of guilt as you pass tent city after tent city, you can't help but feel a sense of happiness--a sense of purpose when you're there.

Like traveling to many places, Nothing (capital N) can prepare you for India. As a part of our schools study abroad program we had to take a bullshit class on "Global Leadership." It makes me laugh thinking back on that class, and how little it actually did for us.
All that preparation for nothing.
You can eat all the Indian food you want in preparation, but you've still never tasted real Indian food.
You may think you know what a "hot day" is, but your sweltering hot summer days are like winter compared to India.
I ate food so spicy I thought I would never taste again.
I sweat so much I had to take two showers everyday, and I still went to bed with a thin layer of grime on my skin.
Something I never expected in a million years--or maybe I expected it but I never really thought about it, was how much I, a lighter skinned American female, would stick out in a sea of chocolaty brown people.

People would stop me on the street just to touch my arm, and compare colors.

I would turn around and catch people taking pictures of me.

Bizarre.
I have never gotten so much attention as I did in India. There was something so uncomfortable yet so lovely about it at the same time. Everyone at school knew our names, and wanted to be our friends, but it was similar to being a celebrity--they didn't really want to get to know us, they just wanted to say they'd met us. We were something to brag about.

Ultimately I think not knowing what to expect is what made India so special. I think it's what makes anything special.

Wouldn't you agree?

We did a little of everything in India. We broke all the rules. We were in a country where it so easy, why the fuck wouldn't we? There was a sweet satisfaction in knowing we could spend the whole day in a hookah lounge blackening our lungs then go straight to a school function and nobody had to know except us. It was like we were flipping the bird to our teachers with giant flashing signs and fireworks all around us, and they couldn't see us. It gave us such a buzz. It gave us a little pimp-limp in our step.

No going out after 8 o'clock? Yeah right.
No riding on motorcycles? Haha!
No drinking? No smoking? Woops.
No amorous conduct? Yeah about that...

The one regret I do have about the trip was that I didn't shoot almost any pictures, and the ones I do have are simply dreadful. I have a few that aren't too horrific to show, so I'll post them here, but they don't even begin to describe what Indian life is really like.

My hope is to someday return and attempt to do this country a little justice.

जीवन और प्यार 
-Lo