A photographic record,
kept in public.

I bought the Hasselblad two years ago after spending the better part of a decade with a 35mm rangefinder. The first month I barely made any photographs at all. The camera was heavier, slower, more deliberate — and that was, I think, the point.

There is a quality to a 50-megapixel medium format file that doesn't reproduce on screens, not really. You can crop in and find a face in a window, the texture of bark on a tree two hundred meters away, the weft of a wool coat. The detail is almost embarrassing. It feels less like recording a scene and more like preserving it.

What I didn't expect was how much it would change the way I see. When you can only afford to take fifteen frames in an afternoon, you stop hunting and start watching. You wait. The photograph that matters is almost never the first one you reach for.

Three rolls of 120 sitting on the desk to be developed, and two cards of digital. I keep telling myself I'll be more disciplined about ingestion but the work always wins.

Reading Sally Mann's Hold Still for the third time. Every time I come back to it I underline different sentences.