Nite Moves

I need a change. I think we all do. This site is going back to what best defines me. I’m a photographer. Can’t change it. I’m trapped. I’m fucked. It’s frustrating to me and everyone around me. Stop trying to reinvent yourself. Succumb. A last straw..

“They finally did it. They fucking killed my car.”

I’ll never be able to explain why somethings, sometimes, get etched into my brain. You can pay me a lot of money to apply my visual interpretation of life and stick a celebrity in the middle of it and present that to the world, but this is not going to be that. Yeah yeah yeah. This is everything else.

I was in the back of a cab in Chicago with my brother a decade ago and somewhere off Randolph we saw it: Nite Moves. Scrawled in Zodiac Killer font in white paint on a decaying blue awning. The building was abandoned. We’ll never know what it was and we don’t really care to find out. It’ll always be our own personal daydream of a dive bar. I’m going to name this that.

Nite Moves always conjures up Bob Seger, but some really dark, Bukowski side-character Bob Seger. Bad karaoke Bob Seger. Just the worst guy you’ve ever met. Thrice divorced. Hasn’t seen his kids in 4 years. Call them, Bob.

The best I can explain what’s about to come is curiosity. There’s no inherent value in these images other than my curiosity. I’m so stuck being a photographer. These are the pictures I take that will never pay the bills.

Everything now, increasingly so, seems to exist in stark dichotomy. What we keep and what we toss. Manicured flower beds surrounded by barbed wire. Open and closed. Warm steel. I can already tell my girlfriend is going to hate the pacing of this intro. That’ll make her smile for a second when she reads this later, and that’s worth this whole aside. Make someone smile whenever you can. People need it. Even if it throws everything off course for a few seconds. Make the time. Take a breath.

Anyway. Welcome to Nite Moves.