Good Things Come in Pairs: Part 2

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Last week I started a series called “Good Things Come in Pairs” by featuring Nicholas Pritchett and Laura Pritchett. As I mentioned in that post, my thought was to draw attention to some couples I follow on Instagram. Because good things come in pairs. How many couples? I’m still not sure, but I have a few in mind and I enjoy each of these photographers as individuals, so I thought it would be interesting to present them as couples while looking at some of their photos side by side.

Once again, I’ve never met either half of the couple I’m featuring today (this will probably be a common theme), but I really like following their adventures (both apart and together), their family, and their view of the world. I’d like to cross paths with these two some day as well and, being that they’re east coasters just like last week’s pair, there might be a combo trip somewhere in my future: Matt Novak (@mattjnovak) and Anna Novak (@annanovak).

While they each have their own view of the world, Matt and Anna share an endless love for their children, a passion for summer’s warmth, and a knack for capturing beautiful moments in time. Matt makes ramen an art form (in the colder months) and Anna always seems to be baking things that make me want to lick my phone screen. And when their photos happen to fall side by side in my feed, it’s a beautiful thing. I enjoy the way they live life while loving every minute of it and below are just a few examples of how there photos mingle, sometimes on the same day, sometimes months apart.

There are many excellent examples on their feeds and, though you can certainly follow one or the other, I highly recommend adding both of them to your daily dose of Instagram. And did I mention their expertise in the world of ice cream?

Good Things Come in Pairs: Part 1

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I’ve been on Instagram for a while. I was one of the early ones who tested the waters, decided it wasn’t for me, then realized maybe it was. I was one of the users that survived the apocalyptic Facebook buyout and the (I hope you’re sitting) addition of video, all with little snark. And I haven’t looked back.

I don’t have a massive following, but I know what a great community Instagram can be. I enjoy the talent that fills my feed and I’ve had the pleasure of meeting a few (excellent) users in real life. While there are dozens of others that I’d like to meet over coffee or a beer or even a brief conversation in passing near a distressed brick building, the few meetings I’ve had have made me pay a bit more attention to each photo I see. With that in mind, I wanted to draw attention to some couples I follow on Instagram. Because good things come in pairs. How many couples? I’m not sure yet, but I have a few in mind and I enjoy each of these photographers as individuals, so I thought it would be interesting to present them as couples while looking at some of their photos side by side.

I’ve never met either half of the couple I’m featuring today, but that hasn’t stopped me from loving the way they see the world. And, for the record, I’d like to someday cross paths with them as they’ve both been nothing by amazing on all forms of social media: Nicholas Pritchett (@nicholasjared) and Laura Pritchett (@bythebrush).

These two have an amazing talent for photography, an eye for the everyday (and the not so everyday), and a very genuine approach to what they do on Instagram. I wanted to feature both of them because, while they both have their own way with a camera (be it on Instragram or elsewhere), one of the things I’ve enjoyed most is seeing the parallels that pop up from time to time, with the occasional portraits they take of one another being major highlights. The similarities in their photos are great and the differences are no less enjoyable. Take a look at these few comparisons and head over to Instagram to see all of the amazing photos from these two talented people (who make one talented couple!).

Urban Coos

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Several months ago I wrote a series of haiku. I had no real goal in mind, but they all fell loosely around a common theme. I’m not one for poetry, but I liked these and, deciding that sometimes doing what you aren’t comfortable with can be a good thing, I thought I’d share them.

Urban Coos

Rows of yellow cars,
Horns pronounce an angry red,
High score in Tetris.

The construction site,
Forgotten and left to loot,
Deconstruction sight.

Red bird on Saint Street.
“Much is lost with nothing seen,”
speaks the Cardinal.

In Your Windows

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I will look in your windows at night when the yellow iridescence of the street lamps meets the warm glow from you home over a dark patch somewhere between the sidewalk and your walls. I won’t stop in front of your house or apartment or townhome. I won’t linger or stare or invade the space that you’ve created. But I will look into your windows and into your life, into the shadow-box formed by the unique light of your house against the night. I will look and I will make guesses and assumptions as I walk, bundles against the cold, past your home bundled.

I’ll compare the light to the paint color. I’ll wonder if that color is crimson or terra cotta or some more exuberant shade such as “roasted macintosh” or “brick in sunlight.” I’ll guess at the temperature in the room from this one clue, with a certain fondness for deep reds and browns and rich yellows. A fondness that never extends to my own home. I’ll wonder at the art on the walls, squinting to see the positioning, and I’ll wonder just the same at the lack of art if that should be the case. I’ll tell myself a story about the portraits and the landscapes and the frames, dark heavy wood or faux gilt or cold metal, that hold each piece.

I will look into your windows and into your life, into the shadow-box formed by the unique light of your house against the night

I’ll catch a glimpse of a tight-backed sofa or a loved armchair or a floral no longer considered in style, but loved none the less. I’ll see furniture used and loved or pampered and protected. I’ll see table lamps with cloth shades resting on tables that remain hidden beneath the sill. I’ll guess at which seat is most comfortable, most inviting, most often offered to guests. I’ll see flickering screens as big as the window with watchers lost in the programming. I’ll see dinners is progress, phones pressed to ears, the isolating glow of electronics, laughter, exhaustion, and laziness after a long day.

I’ll see these things through drawn shades or parted curtains. Through each of three panels on a bay window or the various compartments of a latticed frame. I’ll see what I see without invitation or invasion as I pass by with only a few moments to glance and wonder and enjoy. I’ll see what only I can see from my spot on the sidewalk, outside and alone in the cold.