The Come Down

In the waltz between “Piercing Presence” and “Nearly-Out-Of-Body Absentmindedness” a common cadence tends to come from Nostalgia, Melancholy, and Reflection. A constant rhythm of critically analyzing the story I have lived so far. 

Upon emptying the basement closet shelves into moving boxes for our transition to our new Idahome in High School, I unearthed a peeling black camera bag coated in dust. At the time I was developing a taste for Analog, Vintage, and Storytelling. I was fascinated by the world that happened before I was born, and yearned to swim in it. Inside the bag was an old film camera, a few undeveloped rolls of film, a file of negatives from a past life, and a desire to make it my own. I sprinted up the stairs to find my mom, thinking it must be hers. I excitedly asked her if I could have it - the same routine as when I found her sweaters from Junior High and her Letterman Jacket from High School. 

“You’ll have to ask Dad, I’ve never seen that in my life.” Dad? Took Pictures? When? Of What? I asked silently. My father, as close and similar as we are - is one of the most mysterious people in my world. I know little of his childhood aside from his Dad’s passing when he was 13, a few flipped cars on icy roads, and a 10 year stint of working in the wilderness of Idaho before marrying my Mom. He said “I don’t know if that thing even works anymore, but sure, have at it”

I spent my remaining time in Oregon and my reintroduction to Idaho clicking the shutter; advancing the film; and framing my transition from one place to another. The printed photos piled up over time into a small box that I have taken with me every time I move - and upon examining the stash I was drawn to a photo I took from the top of Bogus Basin outside of Boise in my first winter after the move.

The orange glow of the cold  inversion air and profile of fir trees felt like a familiar hug from my house in hot-and-palm-tree-decorated Florida. The photos were placed into my notebook to be revisited.

When I looked at them again, I began to draw a girl with a posture of exhaustion. The same feeling I get after a long journey, a big shift, a precursor to reflection. The feeling of taking off clothes to shower, rubbing feet after a long day on my feet. I wanted to keep the specific orange glow that elicited the drawing directly attached to the drawing as an anchor because without it - she seems far too somber. The reality I drew from the photo to the girl isn’t one of misery, but of processing a fond memory.

It is my hope that the combination gently guides the audience to a moment of bitter sweet recollection of the orange glow they’ve had, and a sense of calm after an overwhelming experience.