self

So for this New York Times photojournalism workshop I'm going to in January, the photo editor we're gonna be working with wants a self-portrait. I thought of doing something blown-out with studio lights but I would need some help with the lighting and studio is not really my thing and not what I want to do. Wasn't sure how I was gonna come up with a self-portrait and then I remembered this shot from the last day of a journalism conference in Vegas. I'm not sure if I'll go with it but it's the best option I have right now. We'll have to speak about our photo so I feel this would be relevant since it was from the first time I really applied as a photojournalist for something. I guess it was my first time with that title, instead of "reporter."


It was a sleep-less week filled with stress and coffee and, though I don't really even smoke, cheap Nevada-priced cigarettes. Instant friends, drama, journalism advice, slot machines, ridiculous amounts of alcohol, newspaper production.

This was the last morning. Almost everyone was gone. My friends from Minnesota had just taken off and my huge, upgraded hotel room felt empty. The sunlight filtering in through the window, which I had hardly had a chance to enjoy, highlighted the mess that remained. Business-card sized fliers for prostitutes, beer bottles and cigarette butts.

I had just had a final 8 a.m. meeting with the newspaper team in the same dress from the night before and a slight headache. So I sat across the window sill, lit a Camel and took it all in. The artificiality right outside with mountains in the distance. My own artificiality reflected in the window.

-CH