PHOTOGRAPHY OF SCOTT TOEPFER | ART & INSPIRING WORDS FOR THE UNDEAD

- - Some kind of life. “It was December, riding in the back seat of my own car… a 1969 Chevy Brookwood Wagon, when I think to myself, ‘How did I get here? How did I get a good looking couple to hang out in a seedy Hollywood motel while I took photos, and then […]

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Some kind of life.

“It was December, riding in the back seat of my own car… a 1969 Chevy Brookwood Wagon, when I think to myself, ‘How did I get here? How did I get a good looking couple to hang out in a seedy Hollywood motel while I took photos, and then get them to drive around the city in my beat up station wagon while I tried to capture the essence of this short moment in time?’

In my early/mid/whatever 20s I was sitting at a lab bench wearing a white lab coat analyzing saliva for flu virus. Not joking, I was analyzing spit for work. At some point almost two years in I realized I wasn’t dead yet, and decided to make art.

Take out a loan, move to the east coast, add in late nights of wandering and a lot of terrible photographs, and eventually I started to take everything in and see the big picture of what it took to be a professional artist. Another few years of hitting the pavement and living off of nothing, and I had photographs I was proud enough to show someone other than my wife.

I’ve always wanted to photograph the timeless, yet familiar. Subjects and situations that remind you of the good times you had that one time. Classic cars, American Graffiti, Easy Rider, beautiful women and handsome men, dirty denim and a good Old-Fashioned served with a hand cut cube. These are the things that make me tick…the word ‘inspiration’ is used too loosely, but it applies.

No matter where I am, or who I’m working for, it always seems as if the scaffolding that is my freelance career was assembled by toddlers. Nearly 30 with a young family and a career in art? The entire idea of security is just that…an idea.  No matter how lovely a portfolio I have, there is no guarantee of success. But as Skye hangs out of my car window in a fur coat with her hair blowing every direction along Hollywood Blvd, I know that ‘Goddamn this is so much better than staring at some other man’s spit for 30 years.’”

-Scott

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