A beautiful reflection:
For a photographer, the struggle for light is literal and unironic. We are Einstein’s proverbial light monkeys, simultaneously chasing exposure and inspiration – the light that is seen and the light that is unseen, both vital, both consuming.
I wouldn’t describe myself as depressed any longer. But depression still has its roots in my head and in my heart. They’re not as deep as they once were, or as strong. I like to think I’m killing them with endorphins. It seems right that I would shrivel them with love and laughter and sea air and sand in the crevices of my heels. It is fitting that I rip them out, one by one, over and over if need be, with hands made strong from holding a camera, with fingernails stained by ink, with teeth worn sharp from talking, talking, talking – all the talking I never did before, but so desperately needed.
Read the whole thing.