on leaving los angeles // california travel + adventure photographer

 

I moved to LA in February of 2008. I was in a hotel room in Tennessee when Heath Ledger died, I drove through a hail storm in Arkansas with my shoulders tensed at my ears, I marveled at the wind turbines as we cruised west on the 10, through the desert, inching towards the sea.

The last seven years have been so full. I have lived a few lives here in LA, I've changed jobs and apartments and somehow grown into this woman that my fifteen year old self would recognize, be proud to know. The in-betweens, less so.

In 2012 I started spending time in Northern California - helping two friends plan their wedding - and I fell in love. First with the air, then the trees and the beaches, then with the roads and the stones and the cities on the Bay. I dreamed of moving, I visited often, I built a business with my eventual life up there in mind. If you've ever wondered why I've been offering free travel throughout California since 2013, this is it. 

In the winter of 2014, I decided it was time. Then I met Charlie. In LA. And I knew that I could love him well, and I thought that he might love me well, if we gave ourselves the time. Oh, and work was piling up here. And so I stayed.

If you don't know Charlie: he's very nice and he used to roast coffee. Blue Bottle bought the company he roasted for a few months after we started dating, and he became a full-time coffee buyer. We loved "commuting" to Oakland together - I'd drive up to shoot a wedding and he'd tag along and spend time at HQ. We'd visit with my friends, and his family, and we grew into each other and into our little double-citied life. 

We moved into a lovely little apartment on the beach in Venice together. We surf and drink coffee and make dinners and listen to the sounds of a never-quiet street as we fall asleep at night. It's really lovely. A dream. But work is piling up in Oakland. A couple months ago, we decided it was time to head north.

So this is an end for me, and a beginning. On August 30th I'll pack up my belongings and I'll try out a brand new city in a part of California that has always felt like home.

And in the meantime, I'll take in as much as I can, and I'll share it with you here. So keep coming back for more tiny, visual love letters to LA. 

Below: the morning of July 9, Venice Beach Pier with my favorite Elli P. 



 

field trip 2015 // a creative retreat in el capitan canyon

 

A little over a year ago, I saw my longtime creative/entrepreneurial crush Whitney Chamberlin speak at an intense wedding photography conference in Las Vegas. I spent the whole week sitting in classes hearing extremely talented, seasoned, successful photographers explain their path and impart advice. Some of it was good - great even - and I still keep meaning to make that email list so I can send out fun newsletters and stay in better touch with clients (I used to run an AOL 'zine, after all, so that should come pretty naturally to me). But a lot of what I heard just didn't vibe with the kind of creative professional I see myself as. I am not a shark, I'm just someone who really enjoys immersing myself in other peoples' worlds for a little while, to document the moments - the powerful promises, the quiet smiles, the dancing.

Anyway. I've been following Our Labor Of Love since 2008 - I'm pretty sure seeing their work was my first glimpse into a wedding world full of courage and creativity, and fun. And I've watched Whitney's projects grow and I've watched him become an industry Leader with a capital L. And sitting in an audience of fifty in a weird ass conference room in Las Vegas, hearing him talk about his work and his life; past, present and future, unapologetically honestly, made it clear to me: he's still in it because of love. He loves his people, he loves watching them grow, he loves lighting a match, he loves giving as much as he can. And that? That resonated with me.

So when Whitney's Field Trip came around this year, I decided it was worth spending the money for a long weekend away with a bunch of other creatives, in the safety of nature, with a couple of friends. I thought for sure I was going to go in one thing and come out another, supported by my brigade of brand new, uber-talented, immensely strange friends. 

But that didn't happen. Instead, I found myself reveling in my own solitude. I delivered a wedding. I walked. I caught up on sleep. I did a little dancing, of course, but I also ate cookies in bed with one of my favorite people in the world. We listened to music from our safari tent across the path, fell asleep to the pulse of the baseline. 

I met a beautiful new friend from Germany and talked with her about life and love over cereal. I attended some profound classes and had some meaningful chats over breakfast. I watched one of my favorite artists pour his soul on stage from fifteen feet away. I played with a pixel stick! I shared the premise for my personal project out loud in front of 60 people, which means I also admitted something about my brain that I haven't shared with most of my closest friends. I was afraid, and then I wasn't. 

Field Trip didn't change me. It didn't shift my work or my worldview, it didn't blow my heart open any wider than it already is, and I didn't return to LA with a thick tribe of new photographer friends.

But it did give me a space to rest; then to remember how important that is. To the creative process, to my relationships, to my soul.

And oh! I watched the sun set against the ocean every night. That, alone, was enough.