an adventure at the kodak company: maybe knowing isn't the point

 

 

 

 

So we showed up at this destroyed broken-glass, spray paint, cracked pavement and charcoal building with with our shopping bags and beautiful Tibi dress. The whole time, I was like, 'Alright, I hope the squatters are nice.' Even though we tried to shoot fast, she got mild frostbite and I got a cold. Yes, it was worth it though. I'm learning more and more that letting go and having faith can lead to fantastic surprises.

Ish - this is perfect, isn't it?:
Choke by Chuck Palhniuk:
We can spend our lives letting the world tell us who we are.
Sane or insane.Saints or sex addicts.Heros or victims.
Letting history tell us how good or bad we are.
Or we can decide for ourselves.
And maybe its our job to invent something better.
It's creepy,but here we are,the crackpots of our time, trying to
establish our own alternate reality.To build a world out of rocks and chaos.
What it's going to be, I don't know.
Even after all that rushing around,where we've ended up is the middle of
nowhere in the middle of the night.
And maybe knowing isn't the point.
Where we're standing right now,in the ruins in the dark,
What we build could be anything.

We do not steer the courses of the heart.
In spite of what the self-sure stoics say,
the passions answer to a deeper art.

Words impose, aver, but slide apart -
on deep privations, dictums hold no sway.
We do not steer the courses of the heart.

The logic of the cold physician’s chart
will never sort their mysteries away,
for passions answer to a deeper art.

Ascetics to their impulses impart
a crude mortification - even they
could never steer the courses of the heart.

What subtle origins give them their start
our partial, apish memories mislay,
and so they answer to a deeper art.

By slow revision, they play their part;
not them to us, but we to them obey.
We do not steer the courses of the heart.
Our passions answer to a deeper art.

We do not steer the courses of the heart.
In spite of what the self-sure stoics say,
the passions answer to a deeper art.

Words impose, aver, but slide apart -
on deep privations, dictums hold no sway.
We do not steer the courses of the heart.

The logic of the cold physician’s chart
will never sort their mysteries away,
for passions answer to a deeper art.

Ascetics to their impulses impart
a crude mortification - even they
could never steer the courses of the heart.

What subtle origins give them their start
our partial, apish memories mislay,
and so they answer to a deeper art.

By slow revision, they play their part;
not them to us, but we to them obey.
We do not steer the courses of the heart.
Our passions answer to a deeper art.

Credits:
Ish: Model, makeup
Jen: Photographer, stylist, props maker
Dress: Rent Frock Repeat (founded by two awesome ladies in Toronto)
An adventure at the old Kodak Factory at Eglinton and Keele