It’s April 12th, 2021, and I’m floating through the twists and turns of the high road between Taos and Santa Fe, in New Mexico, looking out the backseat window of a car. I lost cell service miles ago, and I lean my forehead against the glass of the window, half-listening to the conversation coming from the front seats. In the front passenger seat is my friend, flown out to visit me for the week, and the driver is a friend of his, a local musician we spent the day filming. My friend shoulders most of the work, lugging around a bulky black backpack packed with equipment and cords. I’m given (read: he invents) small tasks for me to do through the day: listening to the audio to ensure nothing goes haywire, helping carry loose equipment, fetching capos and cowboy hats, holding a camera stationary. During one shoot I’m ultimately replaced by a tripod. I try not to let my ego smart.
the mountains don't care
the mountains don't care
the mountains don't care
It’s April 12th, 2021, and I’m floating through the twists and turns of the high road between Taos and Santa Fe, in New Mexico, looking out the backseat window of a car. I lost cell service miles ago, and I lean my forehead against the glass of the window, half-listening to the conversation coming from the front seats. In the front passenger seat is my friend, flown out to visit me for the week, and the driver is a friend of his, a local musician we spent the day filming. My friend shoulders most of the work, lugging around a bulky black backpack packed with equipment and cords. I’m given (read: he invents) small tasks for me to do through the day: listening to the audio to ensure nothing goes haywire, helping carry loose equipment, fetching capos and cowboy hats, holding a camera stationary. During one shoot I’m ultimately replaced by a tripod. I try not to let my ego smart.