August 2011

What do you do when one of your best friends finds herself expecting? You get all excited at the possibility of some awesome pregnancy photos, which is exactly what happened in the case of me and my friend Emily. She’s a rocking lady who’s going to be an amazing mom to a little boy named Henrik, who’s due in October. I was more than happy to photograph such a lovely model as she grows a human being!

August 2011

August 2011

August 2011

August 2011

August 2011

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June 2011

AJ and Ron from Berkshire Guitars asked me to put together an ad for them to place  in the Augusta Chronicle. They pretty much gave me free reign and I’m extremely pleased with the result, as you can clearly see below.

Half page ad!

Me and some of the staff geeking out over the 2011 magazine

I got an amazing shipment today. The copies of the 2011 issue of Broken Ink arrived this morning! It’s been so awesome to work on this as Editor for the last couple years and I’m so proud of the staff and submitters for such an amazing magazine. As soon as we get the online edition up and running it will be linked, I promise.

www.dothepopcorn.com

It’s a sad day in Augusta, folks- Metro Spirit Suspends Publishing in Augusta

Let’s turn this thing around! Save the Metro Spirit!

Since the end of last semester the Pacer Times has been publishing on their newly designed masthead that I worked up. We’ve had color printing for about a semester now but haven’t taken full advantage of it. Now we have an eye-catching masthead that’s modern, uncluttered and I think is really dynamic. Read more for the before version.

Before:

My friend Jess, from this photo set (from which a photo appeared on Offbeatbride.com), got an email from a friend in the Czech Republic. She saw the photo on a forum and emailed it to Jess straight away! I wish I could read it, but I’m sure it’s talking about how beautiful she looks.

Among my many other activities at school, the Guild of Poetic Intent has been a great group to be a part of. This is a poster I just worked up for an event we’re putting on in February. Mike Dockins, author of Slouching in the Path of a Comet, will be reading from his book at the Aiken Center for the Arts. After reading his work, I was inspired to do something a little tongue-in-cheek that doesn’t take itself too seriously. All too often I find poetry groups leaning in the direction of the oh-so-serious, but the Guild has been a ton of fun and they all (including Dockins!) really liked the poster.  I also really like his poetry, so for the first time ever on this blog, I will feature a poem. From his Myspace:

LEAP DAY: 2/29/04

Mercury has leaped into the skulls of thermometers,

and the Earth leaps out of its orbit, keeps leaping

until the sun is directly overhead all afternoon,

springs forth a leaping flare upon a thrumming

string—a string like a strand of spiderweb strummed

by a leaping wasp—and the bleeping dials and radars

of Earth science leap off their scales. The thin blade

of the Moon slashes the atmosphere, and the whole sky

leaps into the lungs of children, who roll in a heap

on dazzling lawns, the grassblades strummed

by leaping spiders. The children leap-frog into old age,

safe from the curbside swerve of buses and Jeeps,

the beeping taxicabs leaping across the leaping asphalt.

In porch rockers, old folks are sleeping, eyes closed

against the sun, memories leaping beneath their lids,

their retinas leaping to slap volleyballs into a field

with little left to reap, despite the sexual eeping

in the muck of the frogpond. They dream their lives

are whistling kettles, the slow steeping of tea leaves.

Even quarks leap across quantum playgrounds,

infinitesimal sandboxes, leaping with atomic joy—

the most essential joy—setting cells and molecules

to an unseasonable leaping, with an unseasonable fuel.

And the poets deep in their sunless caves do nothing

but leap as a crack of late sunlight leaps under

the door and onto the page, which is now leaping

from a typewriter exhausted from a spell of leaping.

It and all the leaping leapers of the world begin

to settle back into the way things had been, and must

now be again: the sun slipping into the coin-slot

horizon, the Earth tilted into its anchored routine,

kinetic energy seeping from every cell and tiny particle,

every thing emptied of its leaping, a place where,

though the spider is tired, the wasp cannot escape.