The perpetual backseat.

Meghan and Angela, Manchester, NH

Spring ahead.

Off of Laurel St., Manchester, NH

The process of thought.

The sun began to set somewhere in Connecticut, on a bus between Boston and New York. I'd left my camera in my side-bag, having thrown that into the overhead luggage section, with the idea of watching trees march past and bridges fly overhead in a sort of half-asleep, thoughtless state. This was during a phase where I found it hard to detach myself from my camera, often photographing too excitedly. It was near impossible to have moments where I clearly knew that I should be photographing or those when I definitely should be enjoying "personal time".

Inevitably, as the sun was just disappearing, I noticed a sort of glow within the bus illuminating everyone in a red-ish gold. I sat there for a good fifteen minutes trying to picture it as a photograph, more importantly wondering if in the grander scale it was worth it to stand up and dig for my camera. I couldn't decide if it was a reflex urge to take a picture simply because the light was beautiful or if it sincerely meant something to me. I imagined it in a contact sheet as an image I would never scan, then as something moving, not deciding between either.

I eventually stood up to get my camera, settling back in as the bus turned a corner, behind a hill with a sunless tree-line; the instant was over. Again, I sat mulling over the meaning of it at all, and as the sun would occasionally peek back through I would look through the view finder, incessantly thinking of the purpose. After a span of time that seemed like the end of the light, we turned a corner and one last brilliant, red beam shot through the aisle. The debate moved aside as that sort of higher, subconscious decision-making mechanism within reacted.

I've since resolved the argument over when I should or shouldn't be photographing, realizing to be an artist means never really separating these positions--as exhausting as that can be--though, I do at times appreciate a day without taking a picture, or thinking in photography, as much as a day full of fruitful inspiration.

Chinatown bus, somewhere in CT

Along for the ride.

    I feel as though I've spent much of my life sitting in the passenger seat, or stuffed in a bus/train. Especially over the last few years, most of the film I get back contains images of the back seat or out dirty windows. This one takes the cake, though.

I-95 through ME, near Portland.