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Originally published at Living. Please leave any comments there.
A year is a long time, and in the space of that year I feel like I’ve really grown as a photographer. Oddly enough, this meant not only bettering my skills behind the camera, but facing fears. I was afraid to explore, because I didn’t want to go to jail. In actual fact, the Cincinnati Police Department seems to have a lot better things to do with their time. I was uneasy around people. Viewing the world through the viewfinder, the “real” world seems to fall away, and with it the anxiety. All that’s left is the image, the concentrated essence of the moment, and off we go…
Nota Bene: you can click these and see the full resolution versions on My Flickr, or view a Slideshow of all 37 photos.
You, You’re Awesome at the Southgate House
You, You’re Awesome at Northside Tavern
Abandoned Loch #5, Bowling Green, KY
Arsclan Jesus Respawns 9 Mug Shots
Sunset over Louisville,KY Rail Bridge
Unammed Boy, Sedamsville, Cincinnati, OH
Impromptu Portraits
Abandoned Hudepohl Brewery
Life in Downtown Cincinnati
Urban Decay in South Fairmont
Life as we know it:
And that’s just the beginning, trust me. I’ve come this far in a year, and the next year will be even more of the same. More shots, more exploring, more photowalks with those near and dear in Goettaville, Cincinnati, OH. I look forward to getting into my visual groove, feeling the world fall away, and creating wonderful pictures.
Much Love,
–Matt
Originally published at Living. Please leave any comments there.
November 18th, 2008. 16:50 hours GMT-5. Some of his military friends will appreciate and probably remember Dad’s fascination with time and time keeping pieces. I think he’d appreciate me knowing the precise time of his death. This is going to be a long, long post. I promise if you read it all the way through will be glad you did. You will not want whatever minutes you spent reading this back. At this point I’m not sure I can finish writing everything I want to write in one setting, but I’m determined to do so. Oh 7 hours later… I’m done.
My father died holding my and my mother’s hands. At first he squeezed, or it felt like he squeezed; it was probably autonomic. I cannot think of a better way to go, than to have the two people who matter most to you holding your hands. I was in #arsclan (the “family room” for Arsclan) on my laptop, and my mother just said “Matthew!” in a rather urgent fashion; i dropped my laptop. My father held his hands up, and I held his right hand, and my mother had been holding his left for a long, long time. It was okay for him to go, and he should stop being such a tough, incredible, amazing man and just let go. He took one last deep breath, my mother said “There might be a another one of these”, but I knew this was it. I can’t put it into words yet, but I knew this gasp was the end. I wasn’t confident in it to say anything out loud or to my mom, but that was probably my mind fighting the fact my father was taking his last step; his foot hadn’t landed on the ground for the end of the step, but neither foot would leave the ground after this. I apologize for the very metaphorical explanation but, but that’s the only way I’ve got to explain that moment. The doctor (Dr. Nesbitt, we’ll come back to him & the hospice) knelt down and place his stethoscope on Dad’s chest and said “his heart his taking its last few beats.” I was glad I hadn’t said anything out loud, though my gut feeling had been 100% on this entire time. I held his hand. I think I said I love you, or maybe I just said it in my head. And that was it. I asked one of the nurses, with some sort of quick, awkward explanation to take a picture of his hands in ours. I sat back on the couch, sent a twitter (which didn’t get fucking delivered, GIANT FAIL WHALE) and dropped 3 lines into IRC; I forget exactly what I said, but it was along the lines of “my father has died.” I closed my laptop.
Some of you have my address. Don’t send flowers. I would rather the money go to the Gatehouse Hospice as a donation in the name of Dr. William H. Sprinsky. Without them I would have been even more of a mess. They were amazing, and Dr. Nesbitt should be commended repeatedly on what his hard work produced.
( Read the rest of this entry » )Originally published at Living. Please leave any comments there.
Yesterday I said I’d try to write something everyday, and the funny thing is now writing is the only thing keeping me from losing my shit in its entirety.
I’m writing this sitting in the recliner at the surprisingly comfortable Gatehouse Hospice. To my right is Dr. William Harold Sprinsky, Born 6/26/1939. Externally he is placid. Inside, I don’t know. I’m probably right in guessing he’s anxious for it to all be over with. My gut tells me I am right.
He’s laying in the hospital bed next to me, breathing is almost metronome like, 3 seconds from in to out. I was going to go home. I was going to curl up and cry around my fat fuzzy dog who barks too much. I fetched Wegmans subs for dinner (OmNomNom!!!) and used the soporific effects of Ommegang’s Three Philosophers on my mother and myself. This place is amazingly warm and comforting, I can’t imagine being in a typical sterile hospital environment. It’s much easier to be peaceful and gain some perspective here.
Originally published at Living. Please leave any comments there.
I’m not entirely sure why I’m writing this out, let alone posting it on the internet. There’s something about putting the thoughts inside my head into a more permanent form, and perhaps all this sharing will be therapeutic in some form or another. I’m not going to pull any punches, and I have a funny feeling that reading this may upset some of my friends… as for complete strangers, who cares?
It is a very good thing indeed that my mother is here doing pretty much all the care giving for my father. The hospice nurse is here once a day, but their ministrations are largely too short, at least to give my mother some relief. But that’s why I’m here. My mother asked me today “You’ve changed diaper on a baby, right?” — no, I have not. What this made me realize is that I am utterly unprepared to take care of my father. I am very glad my mother is the tough, positive woman that she is, and it’s amazing that she’s done this much for my father already.
( Read the rest of this entry » )Originally published at Living. Please leave any comments there.
For those of you who didn’t know, my father was diagnosed with stage 4 pancreatic cancer back in May this year. I came home for a long weekend after I found the news, courtesy of a very understanding boss. It wasn’t long enough, and it was all so new that nothing was really different. His mind was still sharp as he hadn’t started chemo, and he as still doing things around the house himself. Move forward till now, he’s quiet, his logic is questionable (and my father is a very, very intelligent man) and his one concern is fighting it and staying alive. Now I’m home for two weeks, and spending lots of time with dad. The sad part is that he doesn’t want to go do anything, but he didn’t before he got sick. He lives all inside his own head, and it’s been that way for a long time. I can tell he’s only angry and scared not for the future but because of the loss of control he has over his own life, and the loss of energy.
Tuesday of this week, I accompanied him and my mother to Geisinger hospital in Danville, PA. These pictures are of a man with the stubbornness of 1000 mules and who does not know how to fail at anything. I am his son, these are my pictures.
View the entire set on Flickr.
Originally published at Living. Please leave any comments there.
My first 8 months at this job have been a roller coaster of seemingly intractable technical problems, breakthroughs, and finally being appreciated for what I am truly capable of. It’s been enjoyable and infuriating, and I’ve come to a number of conclusions. I’ve likened it to Ender’s Game, where ender is constantly tested and pushed past the breaking points, but continues to succeed because he is incapable of failure. Sometimes my perfectionist side does get the best of me, and in turn completely destroys any semblance of balance in my life… But I’m constantly learning new things that (surprisingly) I’m pretty good at, and getting to know myself and what I want better than ever before.
( Read the rest of this entry » )Originally published at Living. Please leave any comments there.
News has been rattling around the web about the governor of New York, Eliot Spitzer being “linked to a prostitution ring.” And that’s putting it lightly - the executive summary version of his offense reads like the note your principal sent home with you when you got caught smoking in the boys bathroom.
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