"we never know how much time we have"

Mount Pleasant as a general rule is sheltered from the kinds of tragedy it saw this week; I was standing in as photo editor at Central Michigan Life and covered the backlash of not one, but two, murders this week. Below are a slideshow and single image from one such occurrence. It is unreal to experience this side of life as a photographer. I struggled with the balance of empathy verses detachment, and the bleakness of understanding that making photos of people in the grips of horrible loss is part of the job.


I shot a candlelight vigil on Wednesday for "Kemp" Luchie, the young guy killed Tuesday night at The Cabin. People there were raw, fragile. They were drawn together of a kind of unity I think may only come from loss like this. Friends of Kemp and even people that didn't know him spoke about the necessity of caring for others, about making sure you appreciate them. The phrase "we don't know how much time we have," resounds still; it is not an unpopular phrase, but it's true.

I was overwhelmed. Didn't know which pictures to make or how to start with so many people in so much hurt. It was dark. Everyone was vulnerable. I wanted to reach out to everyone there, but was terrified of being presumptuous. I did my best, but came away feeling conflicted; understanding I cannot change the world with my pictures, but knowing I was there for a reason, that these things have to be documented. My best needs to be better than it is now. And I hope someday it will be - that my best will be enough to shed light, to stir compassion.


Daniel Goodar, 22, of Illinois, lays his head in his hands following a candlelight vigil in remembrance of Kim "Kemp" Luchie Wednesday night at The Cabin. Goodar knew Kemp through his brother, Nate Goodar, and has known Kemp for almost three years. "He never hurt nobody," Goodar said, "He was a good guy; got his head on straight. I just hope his family and his girl can stay strong through this."