Women and Freedom

The following photographs were part of a semester-long project I completed in the spring for my photography class. Using friends as my "models," we went out into the fields and dirt roads behind our school, right on the edge where the town ends and the hills and farms begin. We discovered an antique car lot, filled with forgotten vehicles from days long gone.

What you cannot see in these photographs are the rich yellow of the mustard flower scattering the meadows, the rusty green of the car fender, or even the rich folds of red and blue within the American flag.

But the flag does not require color; it's an iconic symbol of our country, recognizable even without hue. And the black and white tones of each frame--coupled with my stylistic choice to crop out subjects' eyes--hint towards a bit of mystery. I wanted to leave the young women ambiguous. They are every-women in todays world, with strengths, opinions, desires, and even boyfriends in the military overseas. What the flag means, and moreover, what "freedom" means to each of them will be entirely idiosyncratic.

This rings true for all of us: we each perceive the flag in distinctive ways--anger, indifference,or complete pride and reverence. Freedom, at its root, is an individual concept that has a powerful potential to bond us together.

To see more photographs, click "READ MORE"...

Playing with light

Though photography is often a very dark, mysterious practice, the presence of light in photography is essential. Without it, we would only stare at blank frames of artwork. A subject needs light to illuminate its features. Film needs light to expose the silver halide coated on its surface. Photo paper, though sensitive to light, needs portions of it to capture an image on the page. 

The various means of utilizing natural or manufactured light, however, is what turns the truly scientific and mechanical process of creating a photograph into ART.

Light bounces, shines, streaks, seeps through, highlights, reflects, spreads, burns, halos, flashes, glares, gleams and glimmers its way into our lives and our photographs. It can be playful, eerie, or highly particular and unexpected.

Below, are some of my digital photographs that illuminate (ha ha) the world of light.

Neon lights of San Francisco:

Light in nature:

California heaven

Nelson, South Island, New Zealand

Vintage Photography

My little camera and some film

        Last summer, I picked up a vintage Spartus "35" Camera (circa 1947-1956) from a local antique shop. I've always been fascinated with old cameras and the wonderful aesthetic of photographs they can capture. After doing some research, I discovered this model is somewhat rare. With only a single shutter speed and four aperture settings for "bright", "hazy", "cloudy" or "dull", it's a very basic tool.
        Still, the photographs it produces are complex and wonderfully flawed; blurred edges and areas that are out of focus offer a retro vibe. I experimented in color, yet found myself reverting back to black and white--the film it was meant to use--for old times sake. Wearing its brown leather carrying case makes me feel like a wartime explorer or adventurer out in the field. When I had the film developed, it recalled a more imperfect, spontaneous era before the age of digital. 

Summer photographs using the Spartus 35 camera and Kodak black and white 35mm film

Published!

My first freelance article in a magazine was published today in TNT: Travel Down Under magazine in Australia. 

Read all about the "Rough Seas" my friend Lindsay and I encountered on the New Zealand ferry under the "Traveler's Tales" section by clicking HERE!

The Next Endangered Species: Redheads?

(originally published Sept. 5, 2009 in the Sonoma State STAR)

As a natural redhead, I am now an endangered species. Like pandas or polar bears whose time on earth is sadly limited, my genes also rest in the mercy of time's hands.

As if nicknames like "Carrot-top," "Ginger," "Matchstick," or-my favorite high school tease-just plain "Red" weren't enough for us to contend with our entire lives, now we redheads must face the pressure of looming extinction.

When my aunt sent me a copy of an article in Smithsonian Magazine about the possible imminent disappearance of redheads from our planet, I became concerned and somewhat puzzled. Why are we vanishing? And does anyone seem to care?

Many scientists, philosophers and authors have made predictions for our world's future, but the tragic fate of redheads is rarely discussed. Certainly much more disconcerting situations are taking place in the world right now that deserve our greater attention, but I still find it shocking that new studies predict redheads will be obsolete by the end of this century. All I can picture is some sad archaeologist a thousand years from now uncovering artifacts of Raggedy-Ann dolls and pondering their unthinkable hair color.

Check out the entire article at The Sonona State STAR!

How did "The Tori Story" start?

In college, I spent a semester as a staff writer and a semester as Features Editor of Sonoma State's campus newspaper, The STAR. Following in line with a tradition of Features editors who titled their columns with puns on their first or last names, my own column was appropriately called "The Tori Story"....


Check out some of my articles and columns at the Sonoma State Star!

A Creation Story

Once upon a time, there was no world at all; there were just boxes and boxes of people under the sky, waiting to be opened. None of them knew each other. None of them really cared. One day they felt a great trembling in the air, so they crawled out of each box and went their separate ways. Some went east and some went west. Some went south and some went north. Some began to cry or laugh for no reason at all. Many fought with each other—over land, over food, over women. A few found love and prospered. Still, some missed their simple life inside the boxes, so they spent the rest of their breathing moments searching for their long, lost homes. When they realized their boxes would never be found, all they could do was curl up and die. And this is the way the world has been ever since.

Those who left their boxes became the wanderers and inherited the In-Between, piling road maps into vans and motor homes, guiding their lives across rest stops and road signs. Their children learned about the world by looking out windows and watching tree tops and birds and telephone poles fly by—blurry, but somehow perfect. They questioned the mysteries of the universe as they peered into the night sky. A telescope gave clarity, but no answers. They watched the solar eclipse for the first time, with its black round hole lit behind by glorious rays and concluded it looks somewhat like a dark, watchful eye.

Eventually some wanderers settled down, gathering in pews or around dinner tables. Their lives were written in windowsill words, thousands of pages written in silence. To the wandering settlers, writing words from the windowsill came just as naturally as bottling up shadows, and this is what many of them did. Some of them broke away and manufactured love, over and over again until it became mechanical pulp, robotic kisses on top of the dog’s head. They wrote the dark poetry, the wrenching back-alley murders. They dug deep within their souls and pulled out balls of grime and wadded hair, dreamed of killing, of avenging blood and tears. They rode the streets on rotting bicycles, crashing into the corners of the world, dreaming of an escape. Dreaming once again of the boxes their ancestors spoke of—the comforting encapsulation. Their pain was channeled into working, so they built more sky-scratchers and spread their wealth into rivers of concrete, glistening with glitter that once came from stars.

Exploring Los Angeles

Hollywood walk of fame

For decades, Los Angeles has been the hub of America’s entertainment industry, known metaphorically as a land of milk and honey where celebrities roam the streets and film directors mingle at glamorous hotspots over glasses of wine.

Yet L.A. emits more than just stardust and smog into the atmosphere over southern California. As the most populated city in the western United States, its 3.8 million residents make up an eclectic composition of cultures and neighborhoods, backdropped by the iconic Hollywood sign glowing in a hazy distance. Among the constant buzz of music, movies and television, Los Angeles lays claim to international cuisine, high-end boutiques and a plethora of diverse art galleries. Year-round sunshine and long stretches of playful beaches make it a visitor’s paradise.

In short, L.A. is equal parts reality as it is fantasy. Coined the creative capital of the world, it is ever-changing, exceeding expectations and begging to be explored.

Attractions: Seeing stars

Writer Erica Jong once said, “Every country gets the circus it deserves…America gets Hollywood.” No visit to Los Angeles is complete without a glimpse of “Tinsel Town,” where tourists meander all day through the Walk of Fame, posing for pictures along sidewalks that sport over 2,000 shimmering stars to commemorate Hollywood’s most prominent figures. Find more star power at Grauman’s Chinese Theatre, where movie buffs can match timeless celebrity hand and footprints to their own.

Keep an eye out for famous actors and actresses in living form as you take a stroll down Rodeo Drive, known for its high-end fashion shops, where Julia Roberts shopped in the film Pretty Woman.

Those still dreaming of seeing their name in lights spend their time across town along the Sunset Strip. Here, a hip counter-culture of struggling musicians and artists enjoy the nightlife at numerous music venues and nightclubs, like the Viper Room, once owned by Johnny Depp and still frequently visited by Hollywood’s A-list.  

If you weren’t lucky enough to spot any celebrities while cruising through the city, star-gaze instead at the Griffith Observatory, a popular tourist attraction for its impressive display of science and space exhibits. Settled on a hillside within sprawling Griffith Park, L.A.’s own larger version of Central Park, the observatory’s unique planetarium and family-friendly atmosphere make it a worthwhile stop.

Outdoors: Like, hit the beach, dude

Visit any of L.A.’s many beaches and you’ll understand why Angelenos have inherited a “work hard, play harder” mentality. Whether you’re chilling in the sun or catching a wave, this section of the California coast is the ultimate destination for relaxation and some world class people-watching.

Rent a bicycle and cruise down the South Bay Bicycle Trail that runs for 22 miles (35 km) along the sparkling sand, beginning at one of the city’s hidden treasures, Paradise Cove in Malibu and ending south of Torrance. Along the way, check out Santa Monica, famous for its carnival-esque pier, complete with ferris wheel, street performers and caricaturists. Join a chess game at the tiny International Chess Park or play on the nearby over-sized swing set.

Head south to L.A.’s quirkiest: Venice Beach, where an eccentric cast of characters, including tanned body-builders, snake-handlers and grungy skateboarders coexist. Lively volleyball courts and lifeguard shacks give the area a timeless feel.

On the “wrong” side of the road: driving New Zealand by rental car

From rugged coastlines, to city streets lined with cafés, to breath-taking views of snow-capped volcanoes, New Zealand has it all. More and more visitors that flock—pardon the sheep reference—to this tiny country in the South Pacific are discovering the rewards and surprising ease of renting a car or camper van to mosey their way through its attraction-packed North and South Islands.

Sharing the road with a truck is a common occurence through New Zealand's countryside

New Zealand, though grand in scenery and adventure, is a relatively small country. In fact, the entire landmass of New Zealand could fit inside the U.S. state of California. And with only 160 kilometers (100 miles) of multilane divided motorways, most of the country is comprised of two lane roads. Even for drivers who fear city streets, tackling major cities like Wellington are a cinch compared to enduring rush-hour traffic in LA or parallel parking in San Francisco.

Without any experience driving in Commonwealth nations, my two friends and I left California for a four-week tour of New Zealand this past June and took on the challenge of mastering the other side of the road. About 2,400 kilometers (1,490 miles) of winding roads, a couple hundred roundabouts (oh, and one tow truck) later, we conquered our behind-the-wheel fears.

The following is a list of “do’s” and “don’ts” for traversing New Zealand like any proper Kiwi.

• DO take advantage of a rental car

Renting a car was a terrific way to set our own pace while traveling. We hired two separate rental cars during our trip—one for the North Island and one for the South Island. Transporting a vehicle across the Wellington-Picton ferry is much more expensive. Located in airports, ferry terminals, and throughout most large towns, rental car companies are easy to find and eager to do business with tourists.

In order to rent a car in New Zealand, one must be 21 and hold a valid driver’s license from one’s home country. Yet, my friend Lindsay was just under the mark and they still gave her the keys. Rules were more relaxed than we were accustomed to at home, and the process at the counter was, for the most part, quick and hassle-free.

Many websites negotiate deals through rental car companies like Avis, Budget, Europcar, Hertz or Thrifty and allow car seekers to search by car, dates needed, or city for pick-up and drop-off. Try www.vroomvroomvroom.co.nz or www.nzrentacar.co.nz.

• DON’T skip out on the insurance. 

Better safe than sorry is a good motto here. Our first night with the rental car quickly turned into disaster when a sharp left turn put our tiny lipstick red rental on top of a large pile of rocks in a hostel driveway in Taupo (I won’t mention who was driving).

However, because we spent the extra money on rental car insurance, we avoided monstrous fees and only had to pay off the friendly tow truck guy who came to our rescue, shaking his head at us silly American travelers.

San Francisco's Chinatown: A Photojournal

A Case study of Old World vs. New World

Old man with cane in Ross Alley

San Francisco is steeped in various subcultures, living in nearly isolated modules within the city’s frame. One such subculture can be found in Chinatown, the largest of its kind in the world outside of Asia. Here, Chinese residents have lived for over one hundred and fifty years. Past the tall steel buildings, marble store fronts and glass bank doors of Market Street, and wedged between the refined shopping corners of Union Square, and the rows of colorful homes in Nob Hill, lies Chinatown.

Though it is surrounded by different realms that leave it intact, Chinatown is crowded in a cluster of culture and sound and smell that is unlike any other in the city. To live in this pluralistic society, the youth of Chinatown have adopted the material and technological fads from the modern world, yet many still attend Chinese high school, speak mainly Chinese, and live with their parents and grandparents who rarely step outside the boundaries of Grant and Stockton streets.

On my first visit to Chinatown, I spotted three young girls sporting Abercrombie sweatshirts, boarding the city bus. A young couple, their arms around one another, teased by their gaggle of peers who came up behind them outside a storefront, taking pictures on their iPhone. A group of teen boys, eating fried wontons as they swaggered along in their loose jeans, wearing Giants jerseys. Two girls I passed heading back from Union Square in the tunnel, thin and brimming with arms full of shopping bags from Forever 21 and GAP. Clearly, the modern world and its ensuing trends have influenced nearly every nook and cranny of today’s America. This applies even to Chinatown, where teens speak Mandarin into their iPhones.

Two cell phones and a frappachino

I set out at the beginning of summer 2009 to study San Francisco’s Chinatown through photojournalism. Through my observations, I wanted to reach a better understanding of the area’s old and new worlds and discover if a rift exists between them. I set out to photograph both, to study intently the chasm between them—however wide or small it might be. Over the many hours I spent on the streets of Chinatown, I came to discover that the social parameters of each generation are comparably similar to any other neighborhood within America today. However, in Chinatown this comparison is swollen by language and culture so entrapped within the larger city.

Driven by Henri Cartierre Brasson’s “the decisive moment” approach to photojournalism, I soon discovered that taking photographs of people on the street was one of the more difficult things I’ve ever done. All too often I would fumble with the focus on my camera, missing that decisive moment—seeing it in my  mind as a subject walked by—then losing it as quickly as it came. This work was frustrating at times. How could I capture what I wanted my audience to see?

Generation Why, Why, Why?

Why finding a job as a twenty-something college graduate is more difficult than ever...


No one gets excited about jury duty. But there I was, clutching the summons in my hand like it was a ticket for the Polar Express. Last time I received the notice in the mail, I gladly sent back my excuse: I am a full-time college student not living in my hometown. But now I have no excuses. Pitifully, shamefully, I felt relieved to get out of the house and resurged with a new sense of purpose as a citizen.

My dad laughed and said, “you are now the perfect jury candidate: twenty-something, unemployed, and living at home.”

He forgot to mention frustrated.

Indeed, I am twenty-two years old, trying to jumpstart my career in the horrific traffic jam of a broken-down economy. I graduated from college in May, did some traveling abroad and then enthusiastically entered the cyclone of job hunting along with my peers. Nearly three months later, my enthusiasm has turned to resentment.

So far, I’ve done everything correctly in my life, following that certain yellow-brick path of “success” that the world told me I should follow: work hard, stop to sing and dance, avoid the flying monkeys, and at the end of your journey you’ll find an Emerald City, glowing green with your well-earned riches. I took advanced placement classes in high school, filled my plate with extra-curricular activities, worked fulltime during the summers, and graduated magna cum laude in Journalism with a minor in photography from a California State University.

I am passionate, experienced, and geared up to go. But none of this seems to matter.

And I know I’m not alone—a thought that is more frightening than comforting. A friend of mine recently graduated with her degree in Liberal Studies and a Multiple Subject Teaching Credential. Everything about her persona and background screams “teacher” and she has applied to elementary school positions throughout California. Yet no one is hiring. In fact, out of about 20 graduates from the program, only two have landed full time teaching jobs.

The go-getters, the over-achievers, the type A personalities are all drowning in a sea of rejection letters. Something is just not right with this picture.

Countless young hopefuls like yours truly, who have settled back into our parents' houses, are living in rooms still plastered with childhood memorabilia while a pile of “stuff” from our college apartments sits in the garage. To bide our time, we are taking on part-time jobs unrelated to the career field for which we prepared. Many of us shuddered at the job market and chose to continue our education with grad school. But what about those who can’t afford more bills?