The photo narrative assignment was meant to purely use photography as the means of communicating a story. The story was based on the photographs, not visa versa, to make it ambiguous in some terms but to also avoid literally shooting the storyline of a prewritten story.

Artist statement:

I've never been able to agree with the idea that you are in control of where how your life progresses and takes shape. I want the audience to sense the lack of control over where ends meet and how they correlate to one another. As a kid I tried sports, art, participated in my third grade play, and even spent 3 months in the chess club. I wanted to try everything and every new hobbie or club I joined seemed like my new calling. I tried to decide what I wanted to do when I grew up, and it went from zoo keeper, to painter, to cook and almost anything that caught my eye. Now at seventeen years old I still really have no idea but I feel that I can't just choose in my head. The idea that somethings just click and everthing I see changes my mind and my personality is an idea I've come to believe more with age.

 

Taxi

"Head up just a little Jes. Find the light, come on. And get that sad, uncomfortable look out of your eyes. You're supposed to make me want to buy those jeans, not cry in them."

The sporadic flashes coincided with the jolting bight of the shutter. Only three more minutes. Nobody's going to buy these jeans anyways, no matter how much I try to suck in my stomach. I feel sick.

"What did we talk about huh?"

I could care less. I'm going to hear it regardless so I might as well go along with this. Everyone knows you don't do this for the love of photography, or money, and it's not like you're here for nothing. The darkened room was cluttered with racks with thousands, lit up mirrors and clicking stillettos.

"Here, beautiful. I have exactly what you need. You do look a little sad today, and you know I never like seeing my girls sad."

The fan behind me shut-off and a tall silhouette got up from behind the camera and walked towards me. Eyes that had been watching seemed to quietly stagger off. The familiar, uncomfortable hand moved the hair away from my hace. I feel too exposed. I should already be out of here. Nine-o-two. It's weird how quiet people can get. I mean this isn't just part of the business, but what's one more fix?

Everything fell in predictable sequence, like finding your way to yur room late at night; I could retrace and call every step with my eyes closed. It was kind of a performance on his part., HIs hand reached up from his pocket. Some seconds of hesitation always proceeded, haven't been here long enough I guess. And then a tense ran through my body after one disorienting action. The rest he merely wiped off his hand and off my cheek. The first day on the joob you play dumb, but eventually it went casually unnoticed.

Evertything went numb. The flashes and snapping shutters resumed in a perfect dark haze. I feel comfortable though, and I dont' think I feel the shaking anymore. I feel pretty. And the lights, they would eventually turn ff.

"Now wipe those tears and give me that cover shot Jessica."

***

The August sun ricocheted off the smog clouds blurring the city. It was hard to trace back in their memories to when Christina and Jessica were even comparable. They had come to the city together to follow Christina's dream, but somehow got stuck in its digestive track.

Her same black, caramel tinted hair was unrecognizable and the characteristic green eyes were sunburned and lacking. Her back ill-aligned itself as she pulled her head up and wiped the restless night's sleep from her face. Each vertebrate cracking and scratching. She had become part of the city more than of its population. It seemed like she had lost everything materialistic and never missed any indent of it. Heat emanated from the pavement through her sole-less shoes, and off of the glass sealed buildings. Maybe she'd see her today. They could meet somewhere in the middle, between penthouse and alleyway.

The five-year collection of 2000 summer Vogue and '-4 Glamour scavenged was the closest thing to a family portrait. Stacked by year, to month, to magazine. Like every other first Monday of the month, she walked to Eddie's Frank's stand on 27th street and like every other first Monday he snuck her the best meal she'd have for a while. But always throw away the bun; fat-filled carb's are now good.

***

It's true, christina had heard, what they say about twins and family. That telepathy thing. She guessed it didn't work for every situation though. Her run in with the industry had never felt right to her, but maybe Jes was different. She hoped so. Gave herself seventeen minutes to pray for her every night, exactly how many minutes God had put between them. The newspapers and magazines reminded her of feeling the same cold hand on her shoulder and the same disintegration chiseled in by the flashes. But she still slept in allie ways where she could see her sister raised above the city, sixty feet across, when she got that feeling. Jes had bet it all on her and now she had to trust she would see what Christina saw. When the lights did turn off, and she collapsed in her car, bottles and junk food wrappers engulfing the floor and torn seats. Even in her queen sized bed, she knew her sister always felt that crumble. She'd be fine. The seventeen minutes started.

Days turned into continuous periods of time. Life went on. Jes leaned against the titanium elevator wall, her arms folded and eyes closed as she smoothly fell floor to floor. She hadn't even asked herself where of how or what time. It was dark outside, not the foggy dark of a morning though, it must have been late. Her long brown hair blew from her face and her dress creased in the gust. Only silhouettes and empty figures walked by and then wheels of a cart stumbled down the sidewalk. But the sound more captivated her than droned in the background. It must have been late. From the humming of car wheels through puddles and footsteps panning from left to right something in the midst passed her and she felt eerily exposed but comfortable. A quiet figure was standing next to her flagging down a taxi. As the taxi pulled away, she saw it hesitate and then bland back in. It was dark and it had looked almost separate from everything else. It had no face yet she felt familiarity, and as the taxi drove, weaved itself from the sidewalk she couldn't look away from the window.