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NORTH CAROLINA WATERPARK NO. 1 (BODY / SOL COLLECTOR PRINT)

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DSCF0612-2.jpg

NORTH CAROLINA WATERPARK NO. 1 (BODY / SOL COLLECTOR PRINT)

750.00

Size: 8in x 12in silver gelatin print on 12in x 18in Ilford Galerie fiber paper.

Also included with each picture is a unique typed and signed short essay that I will author. Documentary? Fiction? A mix, maybe. Or opinion? Yes, for each purchased picture, I will write and include one different, new short essay.

Several weeks are required for printing, writing, and mailing!

All income from this purchase will be dedicated to funding my upcoming works.

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Yes, this is No. 1. Which means there is a No. 2. A unique opportunity to collect the first of two companion, complementary photographs from this “waterpark” in coastal North Carolina. With this original offering, you can purchase a black and white photograph (No. 1), as well as a color one (No. 2).

While planning a road trip to attend a Summer 2017 workshop at David Alan Harvey’s home in North Carolina's Outer Banks, and researching online for places of potential photographic interest, I came across this remarkable coastal location, about halfway between Greenville and Morehead City; I knew I had to pay it a visit. Authenticity, a reality, uniqueness, all in one. A gathering ground for the local kids. “Billy, C’MON!” a mother will yell, Billy’s younger brother’s outstretched arm constricting the shorts around the middle of her thigh, forcing the fabric into the time line of the weeks before, “C’MONs” that, if added up, would total at least one minute of one hour of one day that might as well have been one whole week, the line creating two skin tones, his bare foot, an impatient foot, reaching down toward the water and everything that might be in the water. “Y’all not goin’ to that movie tonight, huh. That’s what I thought.” First girlfriends and first boyfriends. A couple of buddies on afternoon leave from Air Station Cherry Point. “Hey, gimme that rope there. Watch this!” cries Doc, not quite pronouncing each word, as he had decided that he, the trained medic, understood that inhaling one more puff of his cigarette is just as important as the confident vocal announcement. Doc passes his cigarette to a nearby hand, its butt glowing an orange as orange as the circular, larger, rounder one below the clouds and pushing onward, ever onward, in an almost decisive, determined direction, to Billy’s younger brother, reflecting his body’s shadow, from the naked ankle protruding down to the rippled mirror, down from the blue pant leg all rolled up, up, up, up to his pinstriped, sleeveless shirt, and up further still to his mother’s own shoulders covered in even thinner sleeves. Doc jumps. A boombox turns on again. A burger with all the condiments is chewed and mixed with a swig of beer. A pink alligator folds in half. And I . . . I press a button on my camera, and feel the most at home I’ve felt in a long time.