TRULY SPECTACULAR

The day of my surgery I wake up gasping and crying, in a full body shock from the anesthesia, saying out loud, “I’m ok, I’m ok, I’m ok, I’m ok!!” And I am. But something feels incomplete. Three weeks later as I lay in bed recovering, I have this strange sense that something is looming. Even in the stillness and the waiting that the healing process requires, I feel the sense that my body is still in motion. I am falling, maybe even tumbling, through a kind of outer space.

I'm surprised that you've never been told before, that you're priceless. Yeah, you’re holy—even when you are not new. —Semisonic, F.N.T On the eve of my 34th birthday, approximately one hour before getting my quarterly haircut, I am writing in my corner spot at the coffee shop around the block from my place. I wear my favorite yellow jacket, my neck adorned with a silver star necklace—once carved from beeswax by a friend, then carefully cast in metal.

Dear Reader, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I am going to New York City. I’ll be there October 10th-11th and am longing to connect with anyone who has a desire (or is maybe afraid but wants to try) to allow themselves to be seen. I’m offering $100 off my usual session rate. Enter the portal here and please spread the word to your friends who live in the city. p.s. this letter is on the longer side because of photographs I’ve included.

No one has ever begged me to stay on Instagram. And still, I remained for 13 years out of my own volition, my own questionable judgment, and eventually, a fully fabricated internal myth that said: You will not be okay if you leave. Before I go any further, I want to be clear: this is not an essay about how you should leave Instagram (I haven’t and I won’t—yet). I’m not here to deliver a TED Talk on the virtues of digital detoxing or the horrors of Meta.

Confession: I want to feel beautiful. I want to feel GOOD. And I want to see an image of myself and feel both of these things—deeply, in my body, without a doubt. I want this truth for myself, for the people I love, and for the people I’m privileged to photograph. More than anything, I want beautiful and GOOD to be malleable. I want them to shift and change as often as we do. I want beautiful and good to be things I can still see no matter how old I get, how soft I become, or how slow I start to move.

Because it was fun once, and it can be fun again Because it could change someone’s life Because it doesn’t need to change anyone’s life Because it pays the bills Because it is a way to stay embodied Because it helps your heart metabolize what feels unbearable Because that one time, someone told you it was the reason they decided to make something too To feel connected To make them proud For poetic revenge Because it is your way of praying It is a good excuse to leave the house It is a good...

Dear Reader, Several months ago, I wrote to Guidance in a coffee shop—and then had a gut instinct to publish our conversation. It’s probably the closest you’ll ever get to reading my diary. Who am I kidding? It is my diary!! Just in a different format. I’m really curious about the part of me that showed up this time to speak with Guidance. They were so impatient toward the end, they actually started to infiltrate both sides of the conversation.

I don’t want to live in a world where art is only for people who can afford it. And I don’t want to make art in a way that burns me out or leaves me depleted. Somewhere between those two truths is the path I keep walking—the desire to offer what I have in a way I’m able to give it, while also somehow, some way, staying resourced enough to keep doing it. TRULY SPECTACULAR is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts consider becoming a subscriber.

I like my body when I’m in the woods and I forget my body. I forget that arms, that legs, that nose. I forget that waist, that nerve, that skin. And I aspen. I mountain. I river. I stone. I leaf. I path. I flower. I like when I evergreen, current and berry. I like when I mushroom, avalanche, cliff. And everything is yes then, and everything new: wild iris, duff, waterfall, dew. -ROSEMARY WAHTOLA 02.26.25 - I found this poem a few weeks ago while doing a deep dive on Rosemary.

In my heart of hearts, I like to believe that every person I meet, every human I have the privilege of photographing, every picture I make—alters me in some small way. Every time I step into the portal with someone new, I never truly know what to expect, other than the certainty that when I step back out, something within me will have shifted, and I will not be the same. I can’t say the shift is always seismic, but I do feel the plates slipping and sliding. Little ridges form around my heart.