Brea

8.5.08

I have this addiction to paper and pen, sign language and darkrooms. I like watching my hand and a pen form one letter at a time. I like old school type writers. I’m learning to type on a keyboard and like it, but it will never be as interesting to watch.

I rented Manufactured landscapes. A film that every photographer should watch. It began in a factory. Fingers and screwdrivers putting together small electronics. A ship being built in China by under-paid factory workers and taken apart in Bangladesh by barefoot teenagers.

Thirteen Cities relocated and paid to tear down their houses brick by brick. Would you rather set your house on fire or watch someone else do it?

7.28.08

I got a call from a stranger today and he said he was here. “No!” I said, “I would feel it.” He said, ” I was there the day the rain sang like a toy piano and you counted to seven on each hand.” I said, “No. It happened but you don’t know that, your eyes have always been closed and I know it.” He said “You’re right, I wasn’t there, but your voice told me. I could hear it.” I said, “I won’t speak – you won’t hear a voice. I’ll speak with hands and glass and batteries and you won’t understand and I know it.”

-Bre

7.25.08

7.25.08

James and Gregg are doing a great job of documenting our trip so I will document thought…

For those of you who know me well, you have found that I am some what obsessed with Natural Disaster. I am working on a series of sketches on the process of a storm, mans action and reaction to Natural Disaster.

I did some researching to find that at -80 degrees, when a man is walking his breath will make a hissing sound before freezing in mid-air and lingering there for 30-40 minutes. Below is my half finished thought:

-Voice frozen with breath in mist, lingering, more faithful than footsteps to follow-so close to the ground and who dare disturb the Heavens.-

Sketches to come…

Brea