Perfection is a Fiction: NYC and The Andy Warhol Exhibit
NYC Museums | Andy Warhol, The Whitney | Apollo Fields Wedding Photography
Most of my trips to modern art museums are filled with artful dances around statuesque ponderers and remembering to check the arch of my eyebrows as my eyes learn what’s in in fashion right now. With each brightly colored cube, broken television set, or inflatable animal made of metal, my mind is thrown into a metaphysical whirlwind at the hands and mercy of Dadaism and all of its absurdist descendants. Trying to make sense of art when conventional aesthetics is thrown out the window is like walking through a busy foreign marketplace – you know something is being said, you just have no idea what it is. It’s an uncomfortable feeling until you stumble across a piece that makes you stop and tilt your head at different angles as you try to understand a language you do not yet know.
The piece in the background at the top of this post was from my most recent trip to the Andy Warhol exhibit at The Whitney in New York titled Before and After. It’s been said that it’s Warhol’s self-criticism of his own plastic surgery, while others remark that the original magazine advertisement that Warhol borrowed from was inherently anti-Semitic and that that was his intent. It makes me think that perhaps the most beautiful (or tragic) thing about modern art is that we don’t have to understand the intent of the artist and that we can create an entirely new meaning of our own. As I wandered through Warhol’s life of work, I began to learn more and more about the man behind the Campbells can – and to my surprise, something about the lens through which I view the world as well.
When I saw Warhol’s Before and After it made me think of the world of appearances of social media. It made me think, “this is the way we all want to look” (the person on the right), but in reality most of us look like the person on the left. It made me think that perfection is a fiction we want so badly to be true that we curate our lives into Snaps and Instas. That with every filter and post we draw further from reality and the sanity that comes with embracing the hooked-nose image staring back at us in the mirror. Who knows what Warhol actually meant but that’s how it made me feel.
I realized that good art gives you a license to create. It makes you think, but above all it validates all of the crazy ideas that run through your head. If before the Campbells print became famous, Warhol were try to explain that idea to someone else, it would’ve sounded asinine. And perhaps it is. But because Warhol bypassed the potentially paralyzing explain-the-craziness-inside-your-head-to-someone-else-stage of creation, we have a piece of art that makes us, or at least me, sit and think for a second. It eventually spurred me to organize my thoughts and put them onto this paper.
I guess the lesson is that perfection is a fiction and I prefer to live in reality. When I stood like any of the other entitled museum-goers at Warhol’s Before and After I immediately liked the image on the right more. You can’t help the urge to like what is aesthetically more pleasing, but learning to accept and appreciate our imperfections confronts the real rather than filtering it out.
Happy Birthday, Heather!
Apollo Fields Photojournalism | Farm Wedding Photography | Wedding Writer | Adventure Wedding Photographer | Colorado Wedding Photographer | New York Wedding Photographer
Heather’s Birthday Post – November 15, 2018
Happy Birthday to the woman who has taken the best parts about me and brought them to the surface. Without her, I wouldn’t be a published author, small business owner, or husband—AKA everything that means something to me at this point in my life. I honestly have no idea where I would be without her—and I look forward to all of the places we will be together that we do not yet know.
Heather is the kind of person to triple book herself, crush each event, then ask for more. I’m the kind of person to bring her a bottle of whiskey and an empty tumbler. That’s how we differ yet that’s why we work. In a constant state of give-and-take, we spin through our days like ice in a mixing glass, swirling around our personalities like flavors, combining our contrasts into a well-balanced drink—smooth yet strong, and the lingering taste leaves you asking for more. It’s not perfect but it does keep us happy.
This time last year we were driving to an AirBnB tucked in the mountains, safe from the chill with a cozy wood-burning fireplace. This year we’re riding the LIRR to carouse about NYC and enjoy a different side of life. Seemingly always on the same page, Heather and I are writing our story together with a pen we share, speaking different voices onto the page with the same ink. Every year that passes every take stock of all of our experiences and each year exceeds the last. I’m just grateful to have a partner to explore so many worlds with.
In the last month we moved cross country, made all the food for our wedding, got married, took a honeymoon to Jamaica, and settled into our interim home in Long Island. Just writing that made me tired, yet at no point during it did I feel fatigued. We approached each day as a team, working towards a shared goal in each of our imperfect ways. By sharing our individual energies, we rejuvenate each other along the way with jokes, side dishes, and healthy dollops of silliness. It’s like when you work with someone behind the bar long enough that you know where they put the Maraschino cherries, only when you get there the jar is empty and you look up at them to see them making a ridiculous face. Everyday of our lives is like that and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Somehow on her birthday I started talking about the great things about us and strangely enough, I don’t know a better compliment for a person. Heather is a facilitator, a happy haggler, an absolutely messy chef, and will be an even better mother. When I think about the journey of life and how each year represents so much yet so little, I remember the infinitude of infantile moments we’ve laughed through and the major milestones we’ve high-fived to. It’s entirely too easy to get lost as we move through different stages of my life, but this day has me grateful for Heather’s face, happily illuminated over her birthday candle to help guide my way.
Jamaica Honeymoon - Day 5
Apollo Fields Photojournalism | Wedding Writer | Destination Wedding Photographer | Jamaica Honeymoon | Farm Wedding Photographer
Jamaica Honeymoon – Day 5 ~9:40 am, local time
Day five of the honeymoon felt like the first step back towards the Montego Bay airport and our beloved animals that wait for us back in New Jersey. As the trip comes to a close, I sink just a little deeper into my lounge chair, holding onto the sunshine and the view of the sea for just a little longer. Six days is a healthy length for a trip where lounging is the default, any longer and you might get a little too used to it.
We’ve taken a dip off the cliffs every morning we’ve been here, partly because it’s available, but mostly because it takes the edge off the heat. You kind of form this relationship with the water in tropical climates, using it as a sort of reset button for your body to reach a more comfortable operating temperature for the next few hours. The residual salt in your hair clings to your follicles like a natural hair product, maintaining its shape while the wind blows through it bringing salt crystals back to the sea from whence it came.
One of our hosts, Tom, recommended a local lobster joint, Sips n Dips, for the freshest catch in town for lunch. We strolled up around opening time and were greeted by an elderly man who’d informed us it’d be about 40 minutes. He spoke with the familiar island intonation, carrying a nonchalance as relaxed as the wind and waves. In Jamaica, you either embrace the speed or hurriedly wait, because the beach doesn’t differentiate between footprints in the sand. Heather and I welcomed the idle time, knowing the service industry well and the importance of proper food preparation. When our cook/server came by with our tray of fresh lobster, we started by prying the tails out with our forks, eventually resorting to our fingertips to finish the job. At one point I looked down at my hands and wondered how people keep this operation clean in white tablecloth restaurants and thought that beneath the shade of a tree is the better place to be.
Climbing back onto the Vespa and pulling out onto the main road, we coincidentally caught Pam, Rick, and Steve cruising by. We decided to take a ride up the coast a bit to see some more of the island but it didn’t last long as every hundred feet past the last Americanized resort the road turned into a minefield of potholes. Driving a Vespa with Heather on the back was like having a computer update you with every potential danger in the area: “You’re going too fast, but don’t hit that pothole, wait, watch out for that sand patch!” All the while the wind moves past us keeping us cool and comfortable.
We stopped at Rick’s Café on the way back, the tourist trap of tourist traps in Negril. Large, fake stone patios, a big stage, one of those rectangular picture frames that you can stand in and more overweight white people than a Red Lobster in Texas. Institutions like these undermine the culture in which they operate when people travel hundreds of miles to have a chicken club on the cliffs of Negril.
Of course it’s a choice and risking your hunger on unfamiliar cuisine creates a risk for a rumbling stomach, but I can’t help but think when I visit these places that this is what’s wrong with our culture. Heather and I have already made the mistake twice: once in the Dominican Republic shooting a wedding and the other time in Cancun, where you experience such an Americanized version of a country that it’s offensive to even say that you visited it. I guess places like Rick’s are inevitable in highly trafficked vacation spots, but it does both of our cultures a disservice with their sheer existence.
Everyday of my life I want to make a connection. Whether its person-to-person or person-to-culture, connections are bridges of understanding that can conquer ignorance one experience at a time. A relationship with the water and the wind will sweep us into a more united future much quicker than any resort or tourist trap ever could.
Jamaica Honeymoon - Day 4
Jamaican Honeymoon in Negril | Travel Couple | Adventurous Honeymooning | Apollo Fields Wedding Photography
Jamaica – Day 4 ~ 8:00 am, local time
We woke again at sunrise, as the dark turned to light. The breeze from the fans and the sea swirled all around us, stirring us awake. We’ve adapted to a different sleeping schedule here, one that is dictated by the rising and setting of the sun rather than binge watching and rolling over in bed. You get more out of the day living this way.
We started the morning with breakfast at a local restaurant called Sips n’ Bites. It was one of the many colorful open places that lined West End Road with a chalkboard out front that listed their offerings. As Heather and I looked over the menu, a woman came outside to tell us that they only had a couple of the items. It was refreshing to know that they wouldn’t just serve us any old stuff laying around. I stayed within the familiar, ordering curried chicken while Heather tried to order something vegetarian. When our plates came they were heavy with Jamaican staples: festival, their version of a zeppoli; an unripe banana; sautéed greens reminiscent of kale; fried plantains; and rice and beans drizzled with coconut oil. My curried chicken was authentic and succulent while Heather was served something that looked like scrambled eggs. Tougher in consistency, we asked the waitress what it was and she responded that it was either cod, cat, or conk fish and it left our palates puzzled. We later found out it was ackee and salted fish, an acquired taste that we had not yet acquired. It was no problem as we washed it down with the freshest squeezed orange juice that I’ve ever tasted.
We saddled back onto the Vespa and headed towards Pam, Rick, and Steve to do some snorkeling. Right before we boarded the yellow and black boat, a storm passed through, throwing rain sideways beneath all the thatched roofs. After the sky cleared and the sun poked back through the clouds, we were well on our way to the coral reefs with our local guides. Gently coasting on the Caribbean, we peered through the six fiberglass windows on the bottom of the boat, watching sea urchins and starfish live beneath the sea. Once we dropped into the water, I rotated my head to the left and right like a security camera, trying to spot the exotic fish in their natural habitat. I’d been snorkeling in the Caribbean before and didn’t really see anything I haven’t seen before, when a sort of omniscient peace washed over me. It wasn’t about spotting the Moby Dick of the Caribbean anymore, it was just about swimming along, undisturbed, watching life as it unfolded whether I was there or not. I could’ve stayed there all day.
Instead, we coasted back to Rick, Pam, and Steve’s resort, the treehouse, before we made our way to Rick’s Café. Heather and I stopped at another local jerk chicken joint and I had my first favorite food item - jerk sauce - its sweet at the front like mole but packs a much bigger punch after a few seconds. When I’m at a new restaurant, I always sample the sauces on the table before the food arrives. We ordered a light pineapple cole slaw that made the ¼ pound containers from delis back home feel like a heavy glob of old cabbage and mayonnaise. The service was slow but warm-hearted, and I will take a delicious slow meal over a fast fake one anytime. By the time we got to Rick’s the sun had set and the cliff jumping suspended for the day. I wasn’t going to jump anyway, as I had far too many red stripes and pulls from joints to desire to plunge into the water from a fifty foot cliff.
We ended the night at a patio bar called LTC with a bartender called Jason, AKA Big Red AKA Porn Star. He’d gotten that last nickname working at another resort where he’d dance and eventually take his clothes off. He said it was just in his nature, then cackled to himself as if he was a schoolgirl revealing an embarrassing secret. In the comfort of a warm bartender, the company of family, and the cool of a Jamaican night, our minds had no other choice but to enjoy ourselves. It truly is the Jamaican way.
Jamaica Honeymoon - Day 2
Jamaican Honeymoon | Negril, Jamaica | Apollo Fields Destination Wedding Photographers
Jamaica – Day 2
8:00 am, local time
Another welcoming morning on the Caribbean Sea. The birds fluttering overhead, searching for scraps and seeds while Heather sits up in bed scratching at her mosquito bites. The waves crashing with a regular familiarity that’s impossible to forget, kind of like your mother calling you home for dinner from the front porch. Who knows what the world has in store for us today, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
The first two nights Heather and I cooked and stayed in after dark. A combination of the mysterious foreign streets and a travel-induced fatigue, we drew a bath and enjoyed each other’s company in a tub of lukewarm water. There is a definite fear of the unknown, of sitting on a wooden stool in a straw shack on any of the thousands of dark streets in Jamaica. Horror stories from the United States embedded in me creating a hesitance like that of a lost child. I am ashamed for it. It makes me think of the role that caution plays when a person finds themselves in a different culture and how trust is linked to the environments that we know.
Heather’s uncle, Rick. is a great example of this. Conservative through-and-through, he comes down to Jamaica to shake hands and bask in the safety of nostalgia, eating dishes that he knows in bar stools that he’s warmed. Surrounding himself with other light-skinned tourists, there isn’t much difference than home, other than everything that exists outside of the Treehouse’s gated walls. When does caution or comfortability take too much control of one’s assimilation into another’s culture?
As of this morning, I’m as stifled as Rick. I want to stop at an authentic Jamaican restaurant tucked onto the side of the road like a beach shanty, but because I’ve seen none of them populated by tourists, deep down I consider them unsafe. It feels like a hard-wiring that pulls back on the reigns as I ride through a culture I do not know. Today, I will make a better effort at launching myself into the Jamaican culture and trusting those that I my ignorant instincts tell me not to trust. It’s funny how trusting people is usually my strongest attribute, yet when put to the real-world test, I’m as cautious as anyone.
Yet yesterday I jumped from cliffs at heights I’ve never leaped from before and snorkeled in rough waters close to dangerously sharp rocks. There’s an adventurous spirit in me that needs to be nudged into action, but once the opportunity arises, I tend to bypass the safety valve and dive head first. Even riding a scooter for the first time on the opposite side of the road was pretty daunting. In these moments, it’s either you do what you are afraid to do, or you live with your cowardice. The many times in life my that I’ve approached this dilemma, I’ve found that great relief lies just beyond the other side of fear, hiding behind the louder voices in your head, waiting to see if you will do it. Today I will silence those voices and immerse myself in a culture I do not know.
Jamaica Honeymoon - Day 1
Westmoreland, Jamaica | Sundown Villa | Honeymooning | Apollo Fields Photojournalism | Blog
Jamaica, Day 1
Friday, November 2nd , ~ 8:09am, local time
I woke up several times to the luminescent glow in the sky of a Jamaican sunrise, stirring to the sounds of life’s reawakening to the smell of fresh fires and morning birds. Looking out onto the rigid horizon, my view was divided in two — the sky and the sea — one blue, darker and in constant motion, while the other floated in its own lightness. The semi-frequent car horn blared from the street, bringing me back to the march of civilization that we thought we left in New York.
Hungry, I waited as Heather ruminated on her back in a lounge chair. She stared at the same dialectic view, but I know her eyes told her a different story. She saw the way the light struck the different crests of the ocean, the way it played with the rocks, creating shadows and depth as geckos crawled between the dark and the light. She heard the birds and the cars but she reached another plane of mind by sheer will, wrestling her otherwise purposeful mind into a peaceful submission. It took a bit of effort, but she got there, perhaps reaching an even more placid mental state than my own.
Most things are competitions for us and why would relaxation be any different. I told her while I was reading Shantaram that it seemed a task for her to sit still, that she should go start breakfast because 1) I was hungry, and 2) I thought that it would provide her productive mind with something to do. She disagreed, saying that it wasn’t difficult, that she found no trouble or resistance in the open space of an unoccupied mind, but I could see the struggle. The struggle of a relentless spirit meeting no opponent, of a force pushing forward to find no resistance, where effort was not rewarded but yielded to. What does a warrior make of passivity on the battlefield where victory reveals nothingness? Where there is no one to fight and nowhere to go but inside one’s heart? I imagine the war is explosive and silent. I’m just happy to see her relax.
I don’t know what to expect from our time in Jamaica, safely tucked into our Airbnb on the cliffs at Sundown Villa, somewhat immersed in the culture while staying at an arms length. Before we arrived, dad and others preached caution, forewarning danger, but our host, Nadine, exudes nothing but the warmth Americans have come to expect from Rasta and Jamaican culture. Clouded in the smoke of ganja, I hope to brush shoulders with locals and eat from their authentic tradition, whether from the street or between the walls of celebrated staples. I hope to return to the States revitalized and hungry, rejuvenated yet ready to begin the search for our new home.
Farewell Colorado (For Now)
Farewell Colorado (For Now) | Apollo Fields Heads Eastward | NYC Wedding Photographers
Both of our going away parties began on picnic blankets in parks, surrounded by fresh fruit, local beer, and our closest friends. There were games and laughs, children, and sunshine. But as the days wore on, Heather and I grew closer to the reality of leaving with each farewell embrace. Lucky for me, this time around, I managed to avoid the emotional minefield of “this is the last time I will [insert memorable experience ‘x’] in [insert city ‘y’],” recognizing it as a self-imposed trap set on disturbing the logic of ambition and transition. Despite my valiant effort, both parties ended with me in tears.
I’m a long way from being ashamed of crying in public and even further from trying to hide it. I mean, what’s wrong with coming toe-to-toe with your emotions and ceding to their validity when they creep up behind your eyes? I actually find a problem in trying to suppress them. Because if we try to hide our feelings from our closest friends, then who can we be vulnerable with? In times of happiness and sadness alike, it is in our best interest to try to understand why we feel the way we feel.
In Colorado, my tears finally came when I hugged my friend, Brandon. Although only a friendship of a couple of years, the density and depth of our interactions has stretched our connection over what seems like many more. There is a candor in our exchanges that reflects contemplation and curiosity, the bedrock of understanding. If there’s anything I’ve learned from him, it’s that homemade bread will always be better than store bought. Making goods by hand is more than artistry, it is a source of value beyond our taste buds and aesthetic eyes. Thank you for teaching me this and for your friendship, Brandon.
To all of the others who came to see us off, I’ll never forget those last couple of weeks in Colorado. The Great American Beer Festival, Lake Street Dive at Red Rocks, the Rockies game, and finding a home for all of our beloved furniture. Carya and Thomas, Andy and Elaina, and Shane and Lexi, you all showed up when we needed you most and we barely had to ask. Large events like moving or weddings always bring people together and we aren’t just lucky or #blessed, we are #inyourdebt. Not like the bad kind of debt like student loans but the good kind of debt like owing your neighbor a cup of sugar or carton of eggs. The kind of debt that includes open door policies, late night pickups, and sending you home with a Tupperware of leftovers despite a bevy of polite refusals. I hope to be in debt to you all for a long time to come.
Finally, thank you to Frances & Bryce for sending us on the road with delicious food in our bellies. Whenever I think of Denver I will think of the mountains we climbed and the friends we climbed them with. Here’s to the friendships in our lives that make the Rockies look like molehills.
We're Making Big Moves!
To our dinner guests, climbers, fellow hikers, and craft beer drinkers,
...consider this our farewell, our “see you later” and the remorseful announcement of our departure from Arvada, Colorado.
To those of you in the front range of the Rockies, expect an invite to our going away party on Sunday, September 23rd, 2018, location and time TBD. Our official push off date will be September 28, 2018.
Huge transitions like these always make me feel dramatic, like it will be the last time I have this beer or hike this trail or do any of the other quintessential-and-eventually nostalgic activities of Denver that I will long for once I’m gone. Anytime my life changes this drastically my body fills with nerves, like I’m tiptoeing towards the edge of the high dive at the public pool all over again. The fear is real and paralyzing, “you should just turn back,” it says, but part of growing up is hearing that voice and diving head first into the deep end anyway.
Of course I will miss the breweries, the tubing trips, the dinner parties, and the lifelong friends we’ve met out here, but when a logical opportunity brings growth, family, and financial viability to the forefront, it’s hard to turn it down. I’ll think on these last two years in Colorado as the time where Heather and I mastered our ability to work together, both professionally and personally, while laughing up the roads into the mountains and floating down the rivers in between. I will think of the friends who we’ve hosted and the friends who’ve hosted us, especially the ones who took care of our canine and equine counterparts when we were away and kept them safe (the chickens were a different story…we still love you!!) Perhaps most of all I will miss having the silhouette of the Rockies as an everyday backdrop, always there to gaze upon while I let out an “it-gon’-be-alright” sigh as I listen to Kendrick on I-70.
And I know everything is going to be all right because it always is. Any of you who’ve spent any amount of time with me know that my optimism is as incessant as it is annoying because my positivity has all the love and no fucks to give. Heather and I will road trip across the country, get married in October, and then move to Long Island for a pit stop as we property hunt for a farm with a stone house and a fireplace. The idea of creating a wedding venue to celebrate love in all its forms while being surrounded by our animals and family is as close to a storybook as I think our lives can get. We aren’t just going to be all right, we’re going to continue being happy.
When Heather and I created The Immeasurable Cookbook we learned that the storytelling and photography was just as important as the recipes. It gave us the idea to combine her photography with my writing to launch Apollo Fields, our holistic approach to documenting weddings. As we now begin the search for our venue, Apollo Fields will evolve from capturing weddings to hosting them: planning everything from logistics to the shot list and all the unforgettable moments in between. Just like The Immeasurable Cookbook, the storytelling and photography at Apollo Fields will be just as important as the recipe, only this time we’re looking for the right couples rather than the right ingredients.
We invite you all to celebrate the things in life that make you happy even if this decision puts some geography between us. We invite you to follow us on our journey as we celebrate artistry, communication, love, and hard work in ours. Finally, we invite you to embark on your own trek into the unknown where nothing is familiar and everything is exciting.
To our next adventure,
Terrence, Heather, Rumor, Riddle, & Limbo
P.S. We've already booked weddings under Apollo Fields in Colorado next year. We will be back! If you are one of those couples, DO NOT WORRY, we're not tacking on travel fees or forgetting about you guys :)
P.P.S. We love traveling! Destination weddings are our jam. We are happy to work with your budget, so don't let our home-base keep you from reaching out! It doesn't matter if your wedding is in NYC, Denver, San Fran, The Italian Countryside, or The South Of France (a girl can dream, right) hit us up. We have some sweet connects in a lot of places that allow us to work as locals, which saves everyone money.
P.P.P.S. If anyone wants to buy our chicken coop, let us know. We put a lot of hard work into that bad boy and would love to see it go to a good home. Not joking...
Photo cred / magic goes to the unbeatable Sam Hines
Processing Pain: The Legacy of Anthony Bourdain
Anthony Bourdain’s Death | Parts Unknown | Eric Ripert | Apollo Fields Photojournalism
Watching Anthony Bourdain’s Parts Unknown with Eric Ripert offers insight into the turmoil behind Bourdain’s infamous irreverence. Around every corner of conversation Bourdain’s slinging some cryptic or grotesque piece of humor, landing upon Ripert’s matter-of-fact ears like juvenile jabs from a close friend. It is entertaining albeit haunting, to hear the words “death” and “I want to die” come from Bourdain’s mouth. Perhaps the saddest part though, is that the callous, cynical persona that we all fell in love with was slowly consuming the host of Parts Unknown right in front of our laughing eyes.
Hindsight is 20-20 of course, and now watching the show is an exercise of recognizing his blunt, unforgiving humor as the red flags of a man publicly processing his inner demons. Bourdain’s trip to Buenos Aires in one episode is particularly poignant as it cuts in and out of a therapy session where he explores and laments his character. Bourdain says that he wanted nothing more than to look out the window and think, “life is good,” but couldn’t see past what he considered an unfixable, untreatable “character trait.” The reality is that he was processing his pain the way he was accustomed to—using lewd jokes as bridges for cross-cultural conversations—it’s just a shame that we didn’t see these devices as explorations of his mental “parts unknown,” rather than hilarious quips.
Yet that’s exactly what our mental machinations are to each other: “parts unknown.” Bourdain knew he would find no sympathizers with his woes because, let’s face it, he had a job we all could only dream of. But I’m beginning to believe that our feelings, the things us millennial are infamous for, are perhaps the only knowable truths in our lives. Yes they are subjective, but no set of objective circumstances can make them invalid. Bourdain felt suicidal despite the objective reality of a world full of open doors. He told us his truth in his way and we loved him for it. His opinion on life is valid. If his unfortunate demise is to teach us anything it is to further explore and explain our own mental “parts unknown.”
I see a problem today is that avoiding our introspection is easier than ever. We dive into any form of social media and relate to each other or fictional characters with similar problems but never really engage with our “parts unknown.” We recognize social media as a problem in the same breath that we launch an hour long conversation about Stranger Things or Black Mirror. I do believe that we all want to be stronger, but few us of have the will power to shut down our apps and sit in uncomfortable silence. Just the other day, when I was asking a friend what he thought about a current painful event in my life he recommended watching The Good Place and American Vandal on Hulu and Netflix respectively. I called him out and couldn’t help but think that we are treating our “parts unknown” with a healthy dose of social media. But I don’t want to distract the pain away, I want to engage it.
And I think that’s exactly what Bourdain was doing. Let me be clear, the irony of me opining about social media consumption while learning a life lesson from social media is not lost on me—it is a reflection on a particularly honest man. Bourdain’s death is a representation of what can happen when we conflate our mental machinations, our feelings, our “parts unknown” with consumable pieces of entertainment. If we don’t learn to resist the urge to hide our feelings in our favorite characters and friend’s Instagram stories, I fear that we all increase our likelihood of realizing the same fate. In a nod to Mr. Bourdain and to all of the pain in the world, be strong and speak on it. Not just on social media, but to your friends and family, and more importantly, to yourself.
Photo credit: The Hollywood Reporter
New Jersey Family Photographer
Nikki & Leila | Family Photography | Fun and Sassy Toddler Session
We hate to play favorites, but sometimes we just can't help ourselves. Nikki has been a close friend for the past four years and we have been lucky enough to photograph her journey with motherhood, from her maternity session, to Leila's newborn session, and pretty much once or twice a year since this sweet and sassy wild child was born!
It's been so fun watching her grow up, both in person and from behind the camera. She is absolutely full of life and it makes it so easy to photograph her big personality. She is a little chatterbox, full of opinions and curiosities. Running all over the place and hardly stopping to catch her breath, she just fills any space with her huge persona.
Even though we specialize in weddings and don't see that changing any time soon, we do love finding the time to help our friends document the most important parts of parenthood and other special milestones.
The Importance of Capturing Your Family in Professional Photos
Kids grow up SO FAST. Almost faster than we can fathom. It's so important, especially in the first few years, to freeze these precious moments. We encourage you to photograph it all-- the messes, the tantrums, the baths, the playtime, and the snuggles. Looking back on those photos will bring you back to the memories, and is the absolute best way to honor your family.
Venue: Secor Farms | Mahwah, NJ
Turning 30 - "Am I Where I Expected Myself to Be?"
30 is one of those milestone ages that makes us question every decision we’ve made in our lives. Trapped inside our own heads we look at our regrets under a microscope, taking stock of the growth and decay of our insecurities. 30 forces us to be honest with ourselves because between all the excuses we’ve made over the years, the time has kept on ticking. We finally ask ourselves: Am I where I expected myself to be at 30?
I think most of us would say, “hell no! I expected to have a stable job, a significant other, and maybe even a house that would soon become a home.” Turning 30 feels like a slap in the face to our youth and the mistakes we’ve made but in reality it’s a valuable signpost for the measure of our progress. We need reality checks like 30 because otherwise we could go on making excuses while nobody listens.
I personally stopped making excuses early, probably around 19 when I was academically suspended from my first university, SUNY Cortland. Ironically enough, I still consider this mistake one of the best things that happened to me because it gave me a reality check that I very much needed. For the next couple years, I proceeded to take time off from school, eventually enrolling back in a community college while taking on various jobs to identify my strengths and weaknesses. I would later get accepted into an Ivy League institution only to turn them down and finish my undergraduate studies at the top of my class at CUNY Hunter in New York City. The whole arc of those 11 years began with a reality check and now I’m taking stock of my choices.
The only promise I made to myself by 30 was to become an internationally known poet. Well, in November 2017, with the help of my fiancé, Heather, that became a reality when we published The Immeasurable Cookbook and sent copies to readers in Austria, Paraguay, and Portugal. It was a high bar to set but I cleared it because I chose a good partner in Heather and always used writing as a platform to express my thoughts and channel my creativity.
Despite this achievement, the thing I’m most proud of at the age of 30 is my peace of mind. Through my study of philosophy and my ten years of experience in hospitality I have recognized that mental health is our crown achievement given the complexity and perplexity of the human mind. I’ve made most of my decisions from a rational disposition, but I’ve always consulted my conscience as a valuable litmus test for my happiness. I believe that without our conscience, rationality can lead to cold, steely, logical conclusions; yet without our rationality, our emotions can steer us towards the volatile polarities in life. My peace of mind comes from a drive to strike a balance, harkening to the doctrine of the mean from Aristotle and remembering that a happy life depends on a steady ship in rough waters.
By 30 I have lived all around the United States, experienced love and heartbreak, success and failure, and the boring stuff in between. I’m getting married in October 2018 to a partner who helps me stay focused on long term goals while I keep the ship steady. With our eyes on the horizon we’re charting a course ready for a storm, yet carrying the reflection of the sunset in our eyes. A reality check doesn’t have to be a bad thing as long as you realize you have to adjust your sails.