woods, or, how I find myself sometimes

("mud puddle, or, mirror on the ground")

("canoe fleets, or, just around the river bend")

("the pit, or where I met Jesus")

("the drying tents, or, our coccoon")

("wood pile, or, by our hands")

I never fully, truly, deeply and physically understood the term "starving artist" until I became obsessed and addicted to film photography. It doesn't make any sense, but, 9 out of 10 times I would still rather develop a roll of film that may or may not have turned out than buy, say, food or a space heater or do my laundry.

It doesn't make sense.

But I can't do anything about it, nor, do I wish to. Photos like these just make me way too appreciative of the unpredictable way film has of capturing a moment.

I took these in June up at HoneyRock camp in the northwoods of Wisconsin. This place carries 9 summers of memory that seem to come about in the wind, or, the snap of twigs, or, song of the loon on the lake in the morning.

I think the film is Fuji, I took them with a Holga.