bethofalltrades

Today is Halloween, and that's important, but it is also kylecassidy's birthday.

It figures that someone as delightfully twisted as Kyle Freakin' Cassidy would have been born on Halloween. Ghouls and goblins walked the earth, punks egged the houses of old people, and Kyle Freakin' Cassidy emerged from the womb, Leica in hand. He surveyed the delivery room and said, "Sweet barking cheese! These overheads are almost as bad as hot lights! Can someone hand me the fill flash from my bag?"

Kyle Cassidy is an artist. Full stop. Anyone who thinks photography is about being in the right place at the right time with a camera should be forced to watch Kyle orchestrate a shoot. The sheer attention to detail, the moving that flash a little bit this way and that flash a little bit that way and adjusting the subject's stance by a milimeter to make THE SHOT. It's intense.

I am, in some ways, terribly jealous of Kyle. He is a huge natural talent, a master of the craft AND when someone says "Kyle Freakin' Cassidy," everyone else goes "PHOTOGRAPHER." For someone with my multiple crisis of identity and ART, it can be intimidating to have someone around who so clearly has it figured out.

Then I remind myself that Kyle is a few years older than me and perhaps when he was twenty-six, his life and artistic identity were as much of a fuckshow as mine are.

Then I remind myself that Kyle doesn't swear, so I amend that to "freakshow," which I like better anyway.

And I count myself incredible lucky that Kyle Freakin' Cassidy is in my life and willing to share his wisdom AND his tequila with me. And one day soon he will share his MOMCAT with me and life will be complete. Although I suspect with deep regret that he will never share his beautiful trillianstars.

Love,
Beth