Summers Full of Porch Bull
Languidly as slowly growing sugar cane, summers pass in South Louisiana where I was raised. Rocker grooves on Mamma Tís front porch mark the tick-tock of time, a metronome for conversations about cooking, romance, the good ole days, oilfields and cane fields. A Cacophony of different accents blends together to create the rhythms of bayou life. Iíve coined the phrase Porch Bull to describe these peeled-back moments. My photographs hold on to the sacred ťlan between events lived and words spoken.