project 52 / week 46 / back to the start
featuring Shadow Lake
@shadowlake.mn

Back to the Start (The Long Version)

Once upon a time, in another state, in another town, I lived in the coolest apartment in the world. It was on the edge of downtown and it overlooked a railroad crossing. In this third floor apartment, I could see down the main drag and to my little red Chevy Colorado in the parking lot.

I loved everything about that place, from the old, dark brown wooden door, to the speckled tile floors. To Lion cat, who lived somewhere in the building and would roam the halls. He was a normal cat…until his owner had him groomed to look like a full on lion.

The kitchen, as my mother would say, was quaint. I couldn’t reach any of the top cupboards but each one had little white trim with glass panes to hold my five plates and two cups. It was narrow and cozy. From the kitchen, it snaked into the living room, which was one massive space. When I was moving in, on the fifth trip up, I brought up my skateboard and realized the true purpose of that massive space. I skated back and forth for hours. It was that big and I had little to no furniture apart from a table, a mattress, and my grandmother’s old chair.

The bedroom had no doors, so being true to my artist identity, I hung up beads. Every time the train rolled by, they rattled. My mattress sat on the floor and I had barely a foot on either side of it where the wall and closet existed. The bathroom was a few steps away and it was a calming light green, full of intricate little square tiles, with slight variations in hue. The mirror was so tall I could only see from my neck up when I looked in it. And the tub… It had those feet — you know the ones. The ones all the women swoon over.

It was my pad. I loved it from the minute I rented it. I hated leaving it, when I moved out (and even tried to get it back 12 months later, unsuccessfully). It was above a law office by day, and by night, it was above a little DIY venue. The kind where the walls are brick, the ceiling so low, you feel like you’re at a house party and the band is playing in the basement. On nights I didn’t go to the show, I could still hear it, the bass, twisting up from below, through the walls to where I sat in my grandmother’s chair.

The chair was a creamy white, textured fabric with a mauve trim, I placed it in front of the big picture windows in the living room. I’d sit there at night and gaze out at the sky. The clouds would pass, constellations disappeared and reemerged, and the moonlight poured in, so I didn’t need a light. The window open, the sounds of the patrons on their way to the bar, the train rumbling by, the wind whispering, and the bass thumping from the venue…I would sit there and wonder what my life would be like. I would plan out all these scenarios. I can see it so clearly, in my memory, sitting in that spot, in the dark. I have fond memories of it, but sad ones too. It wasn’t only a spot to dream, but to mourn. Because just as I had thought I’d figured everything out, it crumbled. Such is the way of life.

On nights I did go to the show, I took my camera. At first, I stood against the wall on the side. Plastered to it, not sure of the space I could take up. But slowly, I learned to trust it. Myself, the bands, the crowd, the sound. All of it. And it felt like this safe little spot where you could be anyone, do anything, and either no one would care, or they’d have your back. Maybe time has made it seem so much better than it was but either way, it’s where I started.

I photographed so many little bands, some passing through on tour, some regulars, and my friends. It was dark and small and you felt like you belonged. I’d crouch in the front row and try to not get in people’s way. I don’t even remember when I got brave enough to move off the wall and into those spots, but I did. And my camera felt like a secret weapon, this tool that could get me into any door, into any space, into any place I wanted to be. So I dreamed, and I dreamed big. And I really thought it was going to go that way. And not to be a broken record, but we know this, that’s not how life works.

So flash forward to Saturday, November 22nd, 2025 and there I am again. In a venue, this one about ten times the size of my old little DIY spot. The bands were the same, I mean, of course, not the same bands. But the same feel, ya know? The people, of course, were different too, but also they felt like similar souls, similar hearts to those that stood beside me way back when. Ten years ago, in that venue, I slowly realized I knew everyone in that little “basement” room. This night, though, I didn’t really know anyone. But it doesn’t really matter at shows like that. There’s an unspoken rule. If you’re in the room, you’re a part of the thing. So even though most were mere strangers, we talked, we bobbed our heads, tapped our feet, even danced (hardcore or no), we screamed the lyrics back, and I photographed it. It has been over 10 years since I had a camera in a venue, and it was like coming home. My brain was on autopilot. I didn’t think at all, it was all muscle memory. I moved as the set did, and followed the breakdowns, the bridge, the chorus, and all too fast it was done.

A couple weeks ago, I said we’d see where the wind takes me. And I guess it took me back to the start. Back to a really old dream that I put on a shelf. I don’t know if it’s still my dream, to be a concert photographer. What I do know, is that getting the shot, in that scene, never fails to make me feel on top of the world. So with a little déjà vu, here’s this week’s photographs.