No. 91


I recently realized that I’d completed a project, one that I began and maintained practically by accident and without ever fully realizing its scope.

I’ve been photographing my friend Katrina since we moved to New York together in 2008. She was one of the first people I really practiced taking portraits of and now, over six years later, I can practically lay out her twenties through a series of my photographs.

It’s been difficult for me to accept that a photographer-muse relationship doesn’t last forever. People change and grow and I think it’s nearly impossible for two people to keep inspiring one another in the same way throughout so much change. In much the same way that this project began with an accidental snapshot as Katrina crossed Flatbush Ave in Brooklyn, it ended quietly last fall over iced tea, the LA sun pouring in through the windows.

It’s strange the way the creative energy can sense these things–I recognized the shift immediately, intuitively, as soon as I took that last picture. And it took me months to be able to look at that particular photograph without feeling a wave of sadness. Now, nearly ten months later, I’m able to see the full spectrum of this time in both Katrina’s life and our friendship that I was able to document and preserve–years of being roommates and single girls and frustrated writers. Years of hating New York and buying cheap vintage dresses and going out for brunch even though we couldn’t afford it and talking about everything we were going to do once we got out of our stupid day jobs. I can see now that what I was photographing was that confusing, frustrating, magical experience of becoming.

I feel quite proud to look back on it all and can hardly believe how lucky I was to have such an intuitive, patient muse for all those years.


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