Hipsters can’t take typewriters from me.
I stake my ground.
I mean, they took owls. They took long necklaces with tiny pendants, 1950s dresses, 80s sun glasses, high waisted shorts, thin belts, loose blouses, high tops, coke-bottle glasses, moustaches, Paul Simon and ANNIE HALL- the list goes on but I can’t bare to. How to catalog everything the hipsters stole from me? I shudder to look at my 90s boom box, and won’t listen to my mix tapes anymore. My old Chucks now cost too much to replace. I’m still REELING from what popular culture did to the 5$ gardening clog at Walgreens!!!!!! Give me time to grieve before you take anything else from me popculture!
I love how popular informs the world we live in and reminds us of worlds past, I don’t mind cultural trends heavily influencing high fashion, I hate kids waking up one morning and deciding to dress like my parents did 20 years ago and then high-fiving the mirror for being Kool. Anyone who goes to such an EXTREME to look exactly like the current popular trend makes me nervous. Why? Because they are either a tween, obviously I don’t need to explain why tweens are terrifying- I’m lookin at you Biebs, or they are an ADULT with a TWEEN mentality. THATS RIGHT- they can operate vehicles, buy expensive bikes (to look Kool) and drink my PBR (rip it from my dead fingers) and potentially interact with YOU EVERY DAY. ADULT MINDED TWEENS CAN VOTE. Shudder. Its probably my old age, which I would embrace with a fluffy Mr. Rogers sweater if the HIPSTERS HADN’T TAKEN THAT TOO.
With todays post, I take a stand. I am fighting for the RIGHTS of young adults everywhere. The right to apply a trend lightly and not be maligned into the same category as a hipster. The right to ENJOY aspects of a trend, embrace them even, but not be a WANNA-BE hipster. Why? Because we’ve used typewriters all along and thought they were amazing before you ever bought it at Urban Outfitters ya dope.
So take in my type writer picture friends, drink it UP. You have every right to enjoy a type writer and think about how many fingers loved those keys before you ever touched them. Anytime I see a typewriter in a shop, I always type out a little message to myself that only the type writer knows. Just to add a piece of my own heart to the ribbon and spool and to hear my thoughts committed to the click and clack of the keys. I found those two beauties on a recent afternoon dalliance in the Mission in San Francisco. Those of you who have frequented the Mission now understand my hipster rant. Hipsters aside its an interesting place. Many cultures combine and produce great shops, great street food fair and so many things inbetween.
These pictures are from that excursion, they were shot on a Nikon D90 and edited in aperture. Enjoy!
(Photos © Mo Masterson 2011)
ripe and only 69cents, yes please!
impossible to just walk by
fruit and fish, I smell dinner
mission street
pretty old thing
look no further my large footed lovers of boots
I can't stop smiling when I see BBQ
if only tourists look up, I hope I'm forever a tourist.
so awesome to have this so accessible
this makes me think of my sister.
if I lived nearby they 'd have to roll me out the door.
it amazes me that people can do things like this- I can't even draw stick figures.
this ones for the birds. lucky birds.
laid back and pretty
excellent use of sextra, I'd buy these but really folks, they are old (used?) napkins.
thrift store metaphors, lincoln and light.
urban living sometimes means gardens on the inside.
should be a support your local schools picture.
the image was too much fun to only reference once.
knowing this will fade makes me feel like a kid who just figured out their sand castle is too close to the sea.
almost missed this! good thing I didn't.
my kinda corner.
Home is where the heart is.
My view as I stepped off the train coming home every day.
I moved this past December. I moved as far as I possibly could from my home-town zone of Boston without needing a passport to get there. California here we are! One huge suitcase and four carry-ons later we squeezed onto the plane with pleading looks in our eyes, scurrying past the kindly stewards and stewardesses who acted as guardian sphinxes to our West Coast adventure. “Yes we packed our bags, no we didn’t leave them unattended by anyone with large sacks of cocaine”. Our other wordly possessions arrived a few weeks later with the help of three burly men (two of whom were brothers and one very large polish foreman who road motorcycles through the streets of Warsaw before he ever road them up and down the lazy bends of route 1) and a huge truck. We were excited about this adventure, my honey and I, but we were nervous too. Wouldn’t everyone in California talk about feelings too much? Wouldn’t we need to do yoga and learn to surf in order to meet anyone? Would I have to go (back to) blonde? Would we have to say tubular? So many questions. Its all starting to shake out now. Five months flew by and here we are, we’re settled, we have a dog, we know how to get places and that a stop sign is NO JOKE, rolling stops NEED NOT APPLY. California you may use your turning signals but your motorcycles split lanes like they were made outta buttah.
Now that I have some distance, and the constant heart wrenching ache of missing my nearest and dearest has worked itself into a dull thumping in my chest, I am able to actually reflect on this coastal hop. The day my honey and I left we were tired from the night before’s goodbyes. We slept on our dear friend’s air mattress for many nights leading up to our parting, soaking in as much of her as we possible could, enough to last us when we missed her so much at the site of someone in a spandex suit with platforms or a pug in a tuxedo that we could hear her laughter with ours. We danced and created a not so sober hug circle decorated with flowers borrowed from others midnight gardens. I got all the advice I needed coupled with the most perfect hugs “when you meet new people in a new city, your not above any new friend. Ever. If someone has plans, invite yourself, your not above anyone’s plans”. Gentle understanding ears heard out all my worries with patience and positivity. Strong arms reminded me that this was a pick your own ending novel and that I could do it. We had our final dinner were we ate Boston Fair, and smiled a little sadly at what our new adventure would look like. Who would we laugh with? Dance with? Eat toasted brussel sprouts with? Change was afoot.
The morning we left was gray. How Boston. My Dad loaded our huge suitcase into the back of his cruck (half car, half truck all awesome) and my boo and I into the cab. As we drove our solitary way down route 2, its concrete floor and green walls our own somber fairtheewell parade. Light snow flakes dusted our wind screen. The gray sky fell lightly on us and partially blocked our vista of Boston as we approached, such that its beautiful and closely planted buildings happened upon us suddenly, enveloped us, and hugged us close before releasing us to the sky. The moment was too big to say anything big. My Dad hugged me at the curbside and told me I would do great. I wasn’t necessarily convinced in that hold-my-tears-back-I-need-to-blow-my-nose-moment but I appreciated his vote of confidence.
And here I find myself. Flipping through pictures. Missing those who I miss, but mostly laughing and remembering all of the shenanigans. I have all those typical Boston pictures. The cityscape over the harbor, the clock tower in the North End, the Charles river. Check Check Check. But you joker(s) don’t get to see that. Nope! Sorry! Just google Boston- you’ll see those. You get to see what I see when I think of Boston. If your lucky you’ll travel there one day and take your own pictures, and meet your own friends. If your VERY lucky, you’ll meet a few of mine. These were shot mostly on the Nikon D90, some on the iphone, and all edited in aperture. Enjoy!
(Photos © Mo Masterson 2011)
My building I used to work in and the views around it.
My friend used to work were that rainbow ends- wheres the gold?!
commonwealth ave, my walk to the gym.
Same view, different day.
I always try to catch the artists work before it becomes someone else's work to wash it off.
Lots of cities have these, just not this one.
sometimes shooting with a flash in the dark is this colorful and this fun!
the view behind some of those beautiful old brick apartment buildings.
People travel near and far to see what I saw out my window.
Luckily he came with.
Apples to Apples.
big ones small ones some as big as you head!
Occasionally, we intellectual New Englanders put down our books and well informed puritanically liberal judgments long enough to have a good time. And if its fall, you can guarendamntee yourself we’re picking apples, eating apples making apple pies and tarts, and if we are feeling really lazy and had too much hard cider, making apple crisp. Apple Crisp- its Apple pie with none of the crust and half the effort. You take offense? Well go eat some apple crisp and be quiet. I don’t have time to argue with you, to shake you out of your crisp induced stupor long enough to show you what the big boys are eating. But I’ll tell you, its not even on because its already over, apple pie showed up, slapped your apple crisp and sent it back to the kids table next to the cheese doodles. OOOO BURRRN!
Where was I? Yes, APPLE PICKING! Apple picking is the BEST, and if you haven’t done it, book your ticket now for late fall (thats mid to late October nerds) and get thee to an Apple Farm! Cross any farm that doesn’t make home made apple cider donuts right off your list. Its called donut profiling, it happens, just admit you do it to and move on. Pack very attractive and hilarious best buds and hop in your car and get ready for an amazing experience. Nothing beats the smell of morning dew being warmed off of fresh green leaves and the feeling of a never been touched apple in the palm of your hand. Its a little dusty from the dried earth that gets swirled around it when the wind picks up, but its fresh and its crisp and its fall. Be kind, and go for the apples that are a bit higher up then the kids can reach. Go on a hay ride if you brought kids, and if you didn’t, count your lucky stars you don’t have to go on a hay ride. Do hay rides even COUNT if the wagon isn’t being pulled by a tired, even tempered mule? The sound of the engine KILLS my Laura Angles Wilder moment that I like to have on hay rides. Check on the near by pumpkin patches (and there will be some) to see which pumpkins look best for Halloween. And of course- eat too many apples, ya heard?
These photos were taken on a Nikon D90 at Red Apple Farm and edited in aperture.
(Photos © Mo Masterson 2011)
Now you understand why we donut profile.
Apples are heavy!
Apples are delicious!
Don't pick these, they need to ripen longer.
only be friends with beautiful people- they make photographs look good no matter what!
sometimes you have to reach.
I totally get why Eve took a bite, I mean really- look at that thing.
not an apple, still pretty though.
as I said, only be friends with beautiful people- they make it easy!
Enter beautiful ladies!
Its not always easy getting the perfect apple.
but sometimes its important to make it look easy
friends are always the best accessory.
abandoned wagon say you? stage say I!
wagon + friends = love it
hey look its me! my honey grabbed the camera here.
These look almost ready for Halloween!
Good looking group, check out the mid air freeze toss with the apple!
At least its not a baby.
I told you he was freaking adorable.
My partner and I got engaged a few months back. Thank you in advance for your well wishing and congratulations it was and continues to be a very special and exciting time. Being a private couple it was a bit strange to start telling people we got engaged. We spent most of the time in our 6 plus years together accomplishing things, going through big transitions and growth spurts as a couple without telling a single soul- truly, not a one, and then all of a sudden we took this huge leap as a team and got high fives all around. It was strange calling up Aunts and Uncles and the likes and saying hey- there is this intimate thing we did LETS TALK ABOUT IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! But it was wonderful and the incredible people that make up our community or home-team as I like to call it, were supportive and happy so we’re adjusting to sharing news. In fact, we’re growing to like the positive affirmation and support our amazing home-team has always been so wonderful to provide. So now maybe I’ll post every time we successfully articulate to conclusion whose turn it is to do dishes and who has to change when we accidentally wear the same out fit to work. Yah that happens people- it happens to the best of us. But that is hardly the point of meandering post.
The point dear reader(s) is to say the next few photos I am publishing are of my new family. Not a family that discounts the family that can’t be quit of me. No, my birth family (who is forced to love me and recognize my achievements every time I do something remotely awesome because of shared blood or mutual, timely, upbringing) but this new unit. This team of three that we have created. We are scrappy, we are hustlers, we work hard and we play hard. We take long showers and sometimes forget the oven is on but mostly are a responsible and upstanding home team. You wouldn’t have cause to worry if we moved next door, our taste in hip-hop, jungle, D&B, electronica, classical, country, honky-tonk, Mo-town and blue grass is impeccable. We water plants with enough regularity that we aren’t the ugliest house on the block. Most people hear family of three and assume two parents and one baby. You wouldn’t be wrong, unless you assumed the baby was human. Not our baby number one. Our baby number one is straight-up canine with a side of awesome sauce. He’s a mutt of the first degree, we’ve been told wolfhound lab mix but who really knows. We don’t want to box him into an identity he can be a mountain lion or a centaur too if thats what he feels he is. We love him, he’s perfect, just the way he is.
Much like getting engaged, getting a dog was this private agreement that gets made public. Primarily because they are hard to hide when people visit, but also because who CAN’T share photos and stories about a new puppy? Riddle me that interwebs- riddle me that. Sure all you pet haters out there (they are smelly…they are expensive…there are better things to spend your money on…your all right, but STFD this is my blog) are thinking jeez, what a dumb idea, and my non-pet hating family would agree with you. The large response to our favorite new addition was first- ‘why are you doing that?!’ and second – as if in reaction to their own negativity they affirm their positive nature by ending with ”hey, at least their not pregnant”. Really party people? Thats the bright side to a cute and cuddly and at times fierce protector? He’s not a bigger responsibility who can one day blog about you? Perhaps the larger world thinks we would be inept parents. At this point in our lives, no argument here.
All that said, below you find my new family unit/addition. These two handsome fellows are my first pick for a new addition to my family tree. They are the absolute best, they’re handsome, brave, smart and hilarious, they are my favorite subjects to photograph and will be popping up a fair amount on this blog. These photos were shot on a Nikon D90 and edited in aperture.
Enjoy!
(Photos © Mo Masterson 2011)
Who doesn't want to play on the beach!
I have to show a few shots, these two fellows are the best.
Very clear blue sky that day!
crash!
Nothing like salt in your hair and sand between your toes.
don't go chasing water falls...because they are run offs from the road. Gross.
I could stare at the ocean all day. I think I have.
I know its alot of nature. But seriously folks- look at this, this is normal for people in California!
Personal space not required for sea lions.
No words- I'm this lucky.
And so it begins.
Ahhh the world wide web! Its coming to get me! After years of taking pictures and making film, I have finally gotten on that band wagon, you know, the one that left the station in the early 90s? Yah thats right kids, I’m talking about the internet. Its my time to add to the all the pretty pictures and short films I troll through while sipping my coffee in the morning! I’d like to say it took me awhile to come up with a theme for my first post, and I’d also like to say I run marathons and only shop local, but neither of those things would be true.
Quickly, like trigger fingers over an online sale at Jcrew, I came to realize that my first post must be about family . Shouldn’t all of our first posts? All those fundamental childhood experiences that shape us- getting ants in your underwear and taking a baking soda bath, trying on your Nana’s lipstick or finding your neighbors marijuana plants in the woods behind your house- these are the experiences that give us our unique-ness, the confidence and stickupourownassedness to say to our perceived to be brilliant selves “You know what the world needs? One more voice on line!”. So bursting forth with pithy comments and heart felt observations we come- to the internet and beyooooooooond!!!
Family. Mine is perfect. Whats that you say? Perfect- no sir no how! Shouldn’t I be stretched out on a therapists coach somewhere crying about how mumsey and pop pop just didn’t understand? Sure I should sure we all should, as it’s the myriad of complicated, dare I even say HARD, moments in life that shape us…but these experiences (the ones my generation of “I statement” “it makes me feel” 20 somethings seem to fixate on) come part and parcel with billions of happy, light filled, fly away- sun kissed hair and muddy boot experiences of family. Or whatever your good memories looked like, sounded like, smelled like. Many of us have some of those, and if we whisper them to each other they’ll never lose their power. So I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.
My Mother is an incredible, beautiful, ridiculously smart woman. Smart is an understatement. I have to temper what I say here and protect her anonymity but I can shout from the online dusty rafters she is a role model for women everywhere, she blazed trails where none existed and she loves my sister and I, and loves us hard. My father is a brilliant, strong, constant man. He has spent a life time advocating and fighting for education. A life time protecting his daughters and gently nudging them forward, with lovingly strong fingers, to go forth and conquer, but to be mindful of the means for they NEVER justify the ends. Then comes my sister. She remains the perfect, holy combination of my two parents, beautiful, witty, strong, out going, adventurous, laughter filled and reflective in the early hours of the morning, or on evenings when light fades into cicada song.
Sure my parents and sister tortured me, but they had to, it was in their job descriptions-what with the economy and all no one is above fulfilling their job requirements.
So recently a bit late, and in a disorganized fashion, my family descended upon Iowa. America’s Heart Land! Why, because my sister was there, and she is all heart. Thus my first blog post was born, recent snapshots of my family. These photos were shot on a lomographic camera and edited in aperture. I love photo shop but won’t be photoshopping any photos on my blog. Why? Because its my damn blog and I do what I want.
(Photos © Mo Masterson 2011)
I can do anything with a beverage in my hand.
A bright red jacket on a brown day.
If the camera doesn't have a flash, its fair game to take driver pictures.
Let me talk you through her yoga routine. She's doing the plane take off one, the runners stretch leaning over and yoga version of jazz hands.
Man. Myth. Legend.
Unintentionally in height order.
A beautiful lady.
Ames, Iowa- come as you are.
picnic with the fishes!
If you didn't play with my little ponies when you were little you'll never understand.
Glad that books was written before movies...I'm not sure they should be kept in a fire house.
Out and about filming today!
treehugs
I’m off to a film shoot today! I am so excited to film the two subjects I’m working with today. I get to ask my favorite questions to ask any friend, new or old, what made you fall in love with your love?
Its going to be a very beautiful and special afternoon. So no new post today kids, you’ll have to get your pretty picture kick elsewhere! May I suggest www.snippetandink.com? For more online respites from work, please check out the blogs on my side bar! xo
(Above picture was shot on a Nikon D90 and edited in aperture. Photo © Mo Masterson 2011)
Needs: 1 human sized mason jar with breathing holes.
Brattleboro, VT
Did you ever chase fire flies when you were young? Did you hear the screen door slam behind you and feel the old wooden steps beneath your feet turn into soft grass whose tufts and mounds you could barely make out in the fading evening light? Did you bring a jar or a clear bucket with a make shift lid and scan the darkening darkness for tiny little neon yellowy green flashes of light? Did you? I did. I loved catching fire flies. Those fairy lights made just for summer evenings remind us of our universal wonder at nature and thus our shared humanity. I loved snagging them quickly and gently out of the air to cringe at their bugginess in my hand and quickly put them in a jar. Waiting in anticipation of their phosphorescent wonder to glow again.
As an adult I don’t catch fire flies as often, or ever. I have passingly wondered if there are fewer around or if I simply don’t sit still long enough that they sense an audience to twinkle for. I am guessing its the latter. I have though, realized that catching fire flies when I was little trained me to see and be quick enough to capture certain people. This time not with my hands but using my honed quickness, my eyes trained to see bright flashes of light. Those people whose starburst of neon glow that surrounds their person and precedes it, for whom poems are written and epitaphs of love are passionately sprayed in graffitti under bridges and on over passes. These people have that spark where you instantly feel like a bare foot kid again. They pull your humanity out of you and make you feel like your toes are rooted in the earth. Where you smell summer evenings in their presence and have all the courage and wonder that it takes in this big crazy world to penetrate the darkness, knowing that when you are afraid they will give off enough glow so you can find your away again.
And one of my fireflies, who I wish I could keep next to me in an appropriately sized mason jar (without forgetting breathing holes this time) is who I’m posting about today.
I met her for the first time under a tent at college, it was pouring rain and we both were under the tent looking at a crew boat and feeling weird. Which is the only feeling one can feel in nice clothes, with rain pouring down all around you, suddenly alone with a new person staring at a crew boat under a tent. Like a disgruntled lover I’ll say here that she SWEARS she doesn’t remember this meeting, but I do, and I owe it to our future families to site it on the internet for reference. This firefly grew up on a small island in Maine, she is beautiful, smart, strong and a constant source of light in the world. She has a certain magic about her, a calm, loving, sneaky way of gently holding onto your heart when you think that its too heavy to hold alone. My friend has been a constant in my life for seven years now, she’s seen me through everything, my highs and my shame and shudder inducing lows. I’m so happy that she acquiesced to being in a film project of mine my freshman year in college because I ended up getting a snap shot of her when I first knew her.
These types of films, short quick introductions to a movement, or a task are some the best to make. They are artistic even if created by a rookie camera woman (I was just out of highschool give me a break) and they capture something we see every day and force us to examine it and dare I saw be moved by it. The photos were shot on the iphone and edited aperture, and the video was shot on a soon to be retro panasonic Hi-8. REM’s song Nightswimming is playing (obvi).
See video here.
