These mixed-media (ambrotypes and ferrotypes) are free of digital enhancement. That's the raw beauty of collodion wet-plate photography shining through.
"The Flight" is inspired by a poem of the same name written by my niece, Carly. We're bringing this piece to life in a series of photographs, books and a gallery showing by the end of summer.
Who can say what makes the soul take flight? A breath of wind can change a spirit’s course. On wings we seek our dreams, our selves, That flesh and bone might take our truest form. There’s a child born every now and then. With a yearning that flutters and darts. And all of the trappings and lures of this world. Can’t capture her wildness of heart. She’d let her heart fly free and soar, If it grow a pair of wings. Though it would go, at least she’d know That it was free of earthbound dreams. She packs for a time she can’t sense yet, Taking little to nothing at all. Her love is her freedom, her hope — the horizon And to follow its sirens call. To trilling notes she’d dance and float Her feet as fleet as birds uncaged; Her dream-flight dress rehearsal For the somedays that she craved From deep within, the skysong called: It was Piper to her cage’d will. And though her feet were rooted deep, Her hopeful spirit rallied still. And so it happened, on a twilit ramble, Watching violets ink across the sky, The music of the heavens filled her being. She flexed her wings, and fluttered into life. Darting against the deepening sky, Pursuing-at last-the vanishing gold, The youngling winged with rapture And gloried in it hundredfold. With twigs, with string, with bric-a-brac We build a nest we’re bound to leave Errant feathers may be left behind, But brought along are the things unseen.