Errant States

This year, I took my first out-of-state road trip since returning to Minnesota in 2021. I rode the Amtrak to Milwaukee for a few days, driven by a curiosity to explore other major Midwestern downtowns (zine in the works!). The trip marked a new direction for me, as I traveled with a clear purpose and a specific project in mind. That sense of intentionality had a profound impact, making the experience significantly more meaningful and engaging.

Over the last ten years, one of the most important lessons I’ve learned is that cultivating intentionality in both projects and daily life leads to richer, more fulfilling experiences. This practice, I suppose, is at the heart of mindfulness, though it hasn’t come naturally to me. It’s a skill I’ve developed gradually, shaped by countless hours of walking meditation and a dedicated creative practice. 

My trip to Milwaukee also felt like the right moment to close a travel project I’ve been working on since 2008. That year, I flew to New York City to meet several photographer friends I’d connected with on Flickr. After spending a few days there, I planned to take the Greyhound bus all the way back to Los Angeles.

However, the journey quickly devolved into a series of delays and frustrations, culminating in a late-night walk of three miles to find a hotel room in Richmond. Abandoning the bus, I rented a car for the remainder of the trip, making stops in Memphis, Oklahoma City, Dallas, and Santa Fe along the way.

I was photographing with a Mamiya 7, shooting exclusively on black-and-white film, with the idea of completing several road trips for the project. However, that plan didn’t materialize—I quickly realized that trip and vacation planning wasn’t my strength. I had no clear goals for the project and was so immersed in my work in New York City that I rarely felt the need to travel elsewhere. Instead, most of my explorations stayed local, as it was easy to escape the city by train.

In 2018, I finally decided it was time for another long road trip. For reasons I can’t entirely explain, I was drawn to Denver, so I flew there for a few days before renting a car to visit Arches National Park and the Grand Canyon. I’d driven through Utah twice during my moves to and from Los Angeles and was captivated by its landscapes, so I always wanted to return for an extended visit to Arches. 

Naturally, the Grand Canyon—an unmissable landmark for any enthusiast of the outdoors—was also on my list. I arrived at dusk, spent the night in a hotel, and then had one of the most memorable walks of my life, a day of days. At some point, I'll put together a smaller zine with more photos. 

Overall, the trip was a fascinating excursion from my busy life back in New York City. It also felt deeply connected to my 2008 road trip, both psychologically and aesthetically. I knew the project was evolving in a new way that I found compelling. 

After that epic trip out west, I made a few more spontaneous trips closer to New York City. On these trips, I took the Metro North and Long Island Rail Road to their final stops, which felt like a good way to experience the outer boundaries of where I could travel to by regional rail. Each of the three trips had their unique moments, and collectively they felt like the third and final chapter of the book.

When I sold my Mamiya a few years ago, I saw it as the conclusion of any sort of projects made on film. It was a rewarding era of my practice, but I’ve come to feel that my black-and-white days are firmly behind me. If I were to use film again, it'd probably be large format but that's a long way off right now. 

Over the past year, I focused on editing and sequencing the book, which gave me a chance to reflect on the nature of road trips and my version of a vacation. While these journeys sometimes felt absurd, they also taught me the value of novelty. 

From a photographic perspective, there’s something inspiring about visiting places I may never see again. Using photographs to refine and preserve memories has always been a cornerstone of my practice, and as I’ve grown older, this approach has proven its worth. Capturing landscapes and locations allows me to reflect on those experiences and how I feel about the impact our transportation networks have on the landscape. 

I've felt for a long time now that photography fundamentally serves as a learning tool for me. I photograph to better understand the world and why I'm attracted to public spaces and transportation networks. Through this process, I hope to visually communicate the ideas that emerge when I’m fully immersed in the flow of making photographs. 

While contemplating the title for the book, I envisioned an Excel sheet tracking the state I was in each month of my life since graduating college. Most entries would show a predictable pattern, consistent month after month, year after year. But scattered among them would be a handful of deviations—these would be the errant states in the ledger, and in my photography archive. 

The next era of my travel is unfolding with many plans such as probably happens for most of us entering middle age, and time starts slip for us. It's probably impossible to visit all the places I think would be interesting, so now is the time to be more mindful in my choices. 

I’m eager to approach it with a stronger sense of intentionality in my artistic work as well. These early road trips, though infrequent, taught me the value of novelty and the power of brief deviations from my creative routine. Even if they ultimately amount to a small ledger of perspectives on the American landscape, they hold lasting significance in how I understand the geographies I’ve crossed and the memories I’ve stored for future endeavors.