Week 16 - Top 5 Voting Round
Pick the ONE photo you are voting for.
Do not vote for your own.
Remember to click for full color.
Voting will end Thursday, May13th @ 11:59pm, est
TOPIC: Photojournalism - please remember to read the authors words that follows their photo.
A good portion of what I know now has come from a simple question asked over and over again: “Hey Dad, what’re you reading?” From his well worn post on the brightly lit side of the couch he would gladly put down the New Yorker, Harper’s, Malcolm Gladwell, Steven Hawking, nonfiction and fiction alike to answer his precocious prattling son. What those writers had to say was a mere irrelevance to me but what my Dad had to tell meant the world.
I always wanted was to know what was going on inside that distinguished balding head of his. Something about his happy contemplative eyes hidden behind the double-thick panes of his glasses let me know that the thoughts he had were worth much more than a penny. It was my childhood mission to pull every piece of available information out of him, so that I might, one day, share his erudition and maybe even beat him at a round of Jeopardy. He never got bothered by or bored with my questions or impatient with his explanations, even if it did take three hours for his 12 year old to understand the latest theories on the genesis of human civilization. While I should’ve been watching TV or chatting online with my friends I would sit on the arm of the couch posing query after query until my mind was full.
Now that I’m 3,000 miles away I can still imagine him sitting under the lamp on the left side of the couch reading while the rest of the world watches television and shuffles around the internet. I call him weekly, like picking up a trusted and spine-cracked encyclopedia, and I’m never disappointed to find that his entries keep accumulating. He’s smarter than me. I would never want it any other way.
Writing On The Wall
Ever since i was a little kid i have though of my attic as a place of mystery. Is there treasure hidden under the floorboards? Are there monsters hiding in the shadows? Do the ghosts of former owners still roam across the dusty floors? Who wrote the messages on the now cobweb covered walls? I looked around the dusty old papers my parents have from when they bought the house, but could find no way of contacting the previous owners. Its a shame that i have only gotten to see it as a place of storage for out of season items. While i still cant help trying to see through the Christmas ornaments and boxes of old winter coats, and think about what it would have looked like in its glory days. It seems to me that my investigation just added to the mystery of the attic. Although i was hungry for answers, i cant say i would want it any other way.
What do you Believe? I'm not religious, but I believe there is more to life than meets the eye. I believe people can perform terrible acts of cruelty, and amazing acts of kindness. I beleive music can cure sickness. I believe there is more than one right way. I believe that children are not only our future, but our teachers. I belive that if I tried to recreate this picture I never could. This picture taken at 110km/hr from a moving car makes me believe that nature is more powerful than anything humans can build and I believe I am happy knowing that. What do you believe?
In the midst of the chaos arising from Ben Roethlisberger's alleged rape, let me express how refreshing it was to encounter Steeler punter Daniel Sepulveda last Thursday night. I was asked to photograph a "Spread the Word to end the Word" event for the Best Buddies Chapter of Duquesne University in an effort to end the use of the word "retard" in all context. In a night filled with a Penguin playoff game and the first round draft for his own team, the Steeler made sure to fulfill a promise to his friend Corey he made almost a year ago. Just to sit and chat bout football and sports. Whether or not I adamantly feel one way or another about this cause, it was eye-opening to see a group of people, so different, yet so alike, fighting for the same thing.
How can you live knowing that the best downhill trail within 30 miles is highly illegal and highly patrolled? You can't. You can try, you can ride other trails, but you can't restrain the urge- you've heard stories of how legendary the only trail in town you've never ridden is. You've scoped it out- you know where it is, you know where it goes, and you know where it ends- on a university campus. And you know that the police drive past the trail's runout regularly, and even if you dodge them, it'll be tough explaining a V10 mysteriously appearing on campus.
So you go at night.