In the middle of every story, after the first act, the stage has to go dark. The audience is usually left with a dilemma or problem of some sort, and this interstitial moment between the first and second acts gives them time to speculate on how, or if, it might be solved. They may walk away for refreshment wondering if they even want to know. However, if the story, and the problem, are enough of a compulsion, the audience finds their seats after the intermission to soak in the rest of the story and be rewarded with a resolution.

The story, the problem, and the audience. Circular. If one stops, they all dissolve. No story, and you have no need for an audience. No problem, and you have no story (all the best stories have a problem to solve). No audience, and the story cannot be told and the problem remains unsolved. 

This was one of the last scenes of act one. Stagnation. A visceral, springing acceleration. In the process of becoming. 

Almost!... but not quite. Not for you. Not yet.

After making this image, I told creativity, and specifically photography, to officially go to hell. It had seemingly little commercial value, especially (and this is the dangerous part) compared to the other cameras out there. My relationship to my work became so restrictive and disconnected that, one by one, I shut the stage lights off until the darkness was nearly complete, and only the light of an exit sign could be seen. Turns out, I needed that darkness. And that exit sign. I needed to walk out the door and breathe different air and forget the too-small story and look for some refreshment. But I couldn't resist the seduction of "what-if..." 

So begins act two, with the conviction of a better story and the possibility this next act will indeed reward with a resolution to the problem of disconnection.

How it was done: 

The mountains and the crow in this image are from Mt Rainier and Seattle, respectively. The horse is my Baylee, and the 'me's were done in my living room with a 16x24 soft box and a remote trigger. Some of the clouds are real, and some are digital brushes.