Out of Gas— created on a large format – 4x5 film camera, this photo series explores what home means while living on the road.

What do you see when you look at me?

I wonder what people think when they see me sitting on the side of the road with a cardboard sign that reads “out of gas”. I bet they wouldn't guess that I grew up in a ‘normal’ family, and just a few months ago, I was graduating from one of the top universities in so-called Canada. I didn't wait around for the ceremony… an hour after my last class was over, I was already on the road. It’s not like I wanted to travel broke. I tried to make money. I went tree planting that summer after graduating, but then my van broke down, and I hated tree planting so I left early. By the time I planned to leave for the six-month road trip through the US, I had a total of $500 in my bank account. You could say I made a choice, but It didn't feel like it. I was exhausted physically, mentally and financially. 

I understand now what they mean when they say it was the best of times and the worst of times.

I made these photos during a period in my life that was beautifully insane. I was living in my van, travelling with friends. We planned a spectacular caravan adventure that would end in New Orleans for a Marti Gas grand finale but I didn't make it that far. 

We called ourselves Jester Jizz and the Mormon! We dressed like clowns, not just to perform, but 24/7. We never showered. We embraced—no, LOVED—chaos. We climbed the Hollywood sign at night. We performed shows in laundry mats. We camped at abandoned trading posts. Lived in Slab City. We ran with the dirty kids, and crust punks, train hoppers and rubber tramps.     

When I look back at those months, it's easy to remember all the good times. But it wasn't all sunshine and rainbows. In truth, most of the time, I was not ok. I struggled with addiction, substance abuse, self-harm and depression. I had no money. I ate cold fries and pizza out of garbage cans too many times to count. I watched my partner relapse and prayed each day not to find them overdosed. Everyone fought all the time. Most nights, we slept in Walmart parking lots. Jester Jizz broke up. I went home alone, and it felt like I had barely made it out alive. I haven't told many people about what really happened last year, I think that's because it's hard to believe it myself.