Throwing a calculated amount of caution to a light breeze, we invited Maddi to our first new shoot since February
Even if I shot once a week every week for the remainder of the year, this would still be the fewest photographs I’ve taken in over 35 years. We all know this year is crazy, though, and there’s no point in looking at it as anything other than an anomaly.
I first met Maddi back in February. We talked then about doing a shoot, but before we could get anything scheduled, everything shut down. Since her shoot was outdoors, though, I figured it would be easy enough to sufficiently social distance ourselves and still get some good pictures. I would use a long lens, she wouldn’t do anything that required her flying over me to get the shot. There was no air to grab. No pipes to ride. Nothing dangerous. Just a cautious amount of fun.
The surprise for the day was that Maddi brought along her best friend, Mr. Crowley! No, he doesn’t pull the board. If anything, he’s a bit frightened of it. But he’s quite photogenic and posed nicely while watching Maddi skate.
That’s it. No shocking surprises. No one naked (this time). Just a fun but cautious trip to Major Taylor Velodrome. Hopefully, this is a start for getting back into the groove a bit. We’ll see.
In case you’ve forgotten, click on any of the thumbnails below to see the image full screen.
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In A Room Where No One Sees
Dreams give us the ability to experience what we know may never come true.
Late at night, after the kids are tucked in bed and fast asleep, after the laundry is done, after the dishes are washed, and the bills are paid, she wanders into her bedroom and sets her phone on the dresser. She removes from the back of a drawer something she’d bought once, years ago when her dreams might have had a chance, when there were opportunities on the horizon, before reality dragged her to a place she never imagined.
She puts on the costume of something she never was then reaches over, plays her favorite song, starts the video recorder, and begins to dance for someone she’s never known. Giving a brief yield to her latent desire, she dances for someone who cares, someone she can trust, someone who values who she is, a person who won’t beat her into submission, a friend who won’t betray her, the one who says, “I love you,” without reservation.
She imagines the lights. She feels the smoke. For a moment, she is not in the dingy, cramped 8×8 bedroom. She pours what little energy she has left into the voluptuous ballet she imagines, the private choreography intended only for the eyes of that one soul, the one person who has never let her down. She feels free. For three minutes and 47 seconds, she slowly turns and dances, and dreams of seducing someone who she has never known.
Then, as the final strains of Eden’s “Dirty Blonde” fade into the quiet night, she turns off the video and deletes it from her phone. She puts on a faded t-shirt and the closest pair of sweatpants she can find. Turning off the light, she goes to bed dreaming of a different life; one where she is loved.
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