Roar

My brother, Matt, put up his first art show tonight. He gathered a series of breathtaking photographs from his African honeymoon and put them up at his wife's art studio. I was among the first of a crowd of people who came to admire his work.

First off, I must compliment the photographs. They were delightful. Most of them were extremely close up (the back of an elephant's ear, the weathering skull of a water buffalo, the direct gaze of a lion) so the textures, shadows, and gradations in color of each image spilled out from the frame. His work transported me to faraway places my skin has never touched.Secondly, I want to admire Matt's willingness to share his work. Even the seasoned photographers I know speak with a visible discomfort of having one's work displayed. I've heard the experience feels like nakedness.

There was something brave about all of us when we were younger; an adventurous spirit that embraced new things. We spoke openly about our latest learning curve. Many of us loose that bravery as we grow older. We make choices, we focus in certain areas. We become more of certain things, cast off other ideas. Outside of the natural focus of our lives everything becomes a little fuzzier. If we speak of our passions at all, we put a sideways slant to them. Polite qualifiers start any sentence that might hint we are more complicated than our resume. I'm a closet musician. I'm an armchair astronomer. I moonlight as a photographer. I putter around with entomology. We think we have to be perfect at something before we would consider putting it face forward to the world.

I admire the stunning work of photography Matt displayed tonight. I am honored he would share his work with, not just me but, anyone in the Burkholder Project. I applaud his willingness to step out of his own mold, to put up his latest great adventure without qualifying it. The center of him that conjures such strength leaves me inspired.