“Price Is Right” rule. Camping is great because you lose track of time. With 4:30 sunsets (#GoldenHour) you fall asleep early and wake when you please. I think this is because all screens are out of service, out of country or dead. But sometimes you camp with that one asshole who has a working phone. They check the football score every 15, and then tell you the time even though you didn't ask. Therefore, breaking your timeless zen state. In this scenario my favourite game to play is “Guess What Time It Is!” Right before he tells you the time, everyone takes a stab at the current time. Closest to the time wins!
campvibes
On the drive to the beach we laughed about the size of our campfire we would have since we all had axes and a chainsaw. Rene bucked the driftwood while Will and I split the chunks and we all high fived over the smell of fresh cut cedar. It was a late rainy evening so we needed the water proof red cedar and we only had yellow. 45 minutes of fire building techniques and we still didn't have anything hot. So I poured some gas on the tiny flame to speed things up but the fire crawled up the fumes into the jerry can and I threw the blaze. With no threat of an explosion, I hung my head at the melodramatic scene of red plastic melting and laughed. That's when Will placed the logs around the flame and built the second largest fire ever.
A smouldering fire, the morning after.
The Silent Minority.
Retention.
At dusk, we weave our doubts and dreams into favorable scenes.
Our hearts were arson & riot.
Her lie, reflected my lie.
Mad for the Ocean. Mad like the Ocean.
You spit me out.
"Will was looking at the dirt when his voice rose just audibly above the others, “My dad died two years ago.” It was particularly poignant because, while he felt like a close friend, I didn’t know much about his story. I’d only spent a few days crushed next to him on the road. The crew was taking a couple of days rest at his childhood home in Seattle before heading back to Vancouver. It had been awhile since he had stepped between his house’s old walls, which no longer had any photographs hanging on them. His ratty frame was a fresh six beers deep and taking strange steps, but I knew that he had chosen this time in particular to say something about his father. Five days on the road together was enough. I’m sure he was still reeling from that weighty overloaded sensation that accompanies taking in over 3,000 kilometers of distinct planet. Apparently a road trip will do that to you. The reality of not having an inch of privacy is juxtaposed with that infinite freedom that can only come from having time to do whatever the hell it is that you want to do, and a wheel and some tires that will take you wherever the fuck it is that you want to go. Thoughts that once felt sincerely personal begin feeling intimately free and space around you fills in as your head throbs with the thought, “Fuck it all, I’m out here.” There was a sense of solidarity in the failures of our trip, and I knew that once rested we would get in the car and we would have to drive again." -Sasha Barkans
An excerpt from “Water In The fuel”. Featured on Desillusion magazine with support from Sitka
"This is why the road trip is dying. Driving loses its novelty with consistent scenery and without a swell, the only high is found reveling in that feeling of invincibility that comes with rolling into a new town with five dirty friends, laughing at the soft insults slung your way by strangers as they acknowledge your youth. You grow tired of sleeping in dirt and only smelling the ocean’s brine, the feeling of being lost with a head inflated with substance and scenery is only as enjoyable if the rest of the car feels the same – and in our case, the census was out. You begin to chase that ability to feel weird and alive and look upon a new place with ignorant eyes but you soon realize that the highway has rendered many towns similar.”- Sasha Barkans.
An excerpt from “Water In The fuel”. Featured on Desillusion magazine with support from Sitka
"The night before the trip we loosely spoke about our goals; we’d get an early start, get some surfing in around sunset, sleep on the beach, then wake up and carry on. But the next morning arrived at 1PM. I pulled my swollen eyelids as far apart as I could manage to look at my phone. I hadn’t missed any calls. I stood up and braced my hand over my eyes as I made my way to an unfamiliar washroom to unload whatever Greek-fry and shawarma medley was knocking at the back of my throat. Finally, the crew clumsily came together around three in the afternoon. With all of our belongings in the vehicle there wasn’t much room for movement, and the drive to the border was slow. The car was quiet save the exchange of pills and hangover remedies. It was a panorama of mouths agape, hoodies up, and heads resting on windows, and the air smelled of coffee sweat. We became aware that given the time, we weren’t going to get any surfing in on the first day." -Sasha Barkans.
An excerpt from Water In The Fuel.
Featured on Desillusion with support from Sitka.
Korduroy.TV is doing their weekly round up and I made the list!
New work up on Korduory.tv
New work up on Korduroy
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La Push, Washington.
I pulled out my medium format camera for the first time in a year, and was showing a friend how to load it, but failed to realize there was a roll already in it. So I opened the back of the camera and exposed half the roll from a previous shoot. Then I did a shoot of Taylor and Jordan, where Jordan’s walking around topless in the background and Taylor’s chopping down a tree with muthafucking chainsaw. Right then I pulled another kook move and shot all over an overexposed roll.
Sorry no boobs this time.