I called 9-1-1 this week. Tuesday, May 31, 2022, at 11:25 p.m. Hopefully a first time, last time situation. I was sitting on my couch playing Hollow Knight when my left side chest tightened and within moments my heart rate spiked, and I felt as though a 200 pound person was standing on my chest. A contradictory numbing yet tingling session worked its way down my left on. In a panic I called my mom.
Even though she was on her way to check on me—we live in the same neighborhood—my condition deteriorated. The pain and pressure increased, and I feared I was going to lose consciousness. As I did on March 17, 2022, in Epcot. Worried and frightened, thinking I was having a heart attack, I dialed 9-1-1.
Within a few minutes of interview style questioning, my mom showed up. Immediately followed by a police officer, and then followed by two ambulances and five paramedics. Fortunately by the time everyone was there the acute chest pressure had nearly subsided in full, and my heart rate was back in check. From there it was standard procedure: EKG, blood pressure, some standard issue question and answer. Upon first look there was nothing wrong but I still took the ambulance ride to the hospital. My second such ride in 10 weeks. It’s not what you want.
No one knows what went wrong. Why it went wrong. Or how it went wrong. I guess panic attacks can result in this kind of chest pain and pressure? The lack of answers is unsettling, and I have been dealing with heart issues for years now, which deepens my fears. Diagnosed with atrial fibrillation in 2016, followed by hypertension, followed by high cholesterol. Suffice it to say my ticker ain’t it, and it really bums me out. Now I sit here and can only describe my headspace as shaken.
Reflection Point — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
I made this photograph with my tripod set upon the swim platform of my parents’ pontoon boat. They have kept their boat at Cedar Run Dock Road since September 2015, yet it was not until July 2020 I began shooting on location. A definite miss on my part. Their slip affords a wide view of Cedar Run creek making an ideal spot for mirrored reflections in still water.
This watery mirror has me thinking on my own life. It also affords an opportunity to share some quick reflections about myself with you. So here goes—I:
am 37 years old, and I live alone in Manahawkin, NJ
have lived in New Jersey my entire life
grew up in East Brunswick until uprooting to Manahawkin in summer 1993
earned a B.S. in Business Administration at The College of New Jersey
began making photographs in 2012
work for Johnson & Johnson
have a younger brother and sister still living and rocking in their 20s
A New Year awaited as past lives spiraled inexorably down the drain. As unmovable as gravity, depression moves for no man, nor stops with force of will alone. Not even a calendar’s turn holds sway. It was 2012, and I was in trouble.
January 1, 2012, happenstance found me on a crisp sunny afternoon wandering listlessly about the beaches of Holgate—along the narrow shores of Long Beach Island’s southernmost tip. With me was a camera, an old DSLR I purchased from a friend’s brother in 2008, a device I had no business using. The camera had lain dormant for years, finding predictable disuse under the disregarded ownership of a man who bounced from one hobby to the next, dropping each like a bad habit. I was that man, and yet the camera was somehow with me.
Lost, I drifted the shore break. With winter sun on my face tottered along shifting from fits of inconsolable sadness to long periods without emotion. Occasionally pressing the shutter. As far as photographs went I had no clue what I was doing; no concept of aperture, shutter speed, focal length, or exposure. Sure, from my painting and drawing days I had a sense of composition, but any and all training stopped there. Making photographs was foreign to me. So, too, was happiness.
Spinning in this dance of pain and silence I brooded over the past. Afraid for the future I dwelled on what was, what might have been, and what certainly never would be. Entering my 30th year I was no stranger to dark turns. I had already experienced three long bouts of depression over the years but my latest malevolent spell was different. This felt even less controlled, less certain, and far more insidious.
Depression is less. It is less of everything. Less joy. Less worth. Less excitement. Less hope. Passions that once burned hot turned to ashes in my mouth leaving behind a charred taste of disgust—if only I could still taste as I once had.
Yet for some reason I kept pressing that damn shutter. Click. Click. Click. Eventually I ambled upon a clamshell. It was a large sort plucked up in the sand, buried barely enough to support its weight upright. This looks, uh, interesting, I thought. Ignorant to golden hour at that point, it was the rich yellow light casting the “interesting” glow upon the shell. Belly down and elbows up on the sand I pressed the autofocus and clicked. Click. Click. Click.
Backing my index finger off the shutter I continued to lay, splayed out face down in the sand. Should I stay here? Maybe I’ll just cry here? What am I even doing here? To hell with this life I’m drawn through like a prisoner in chains. But what are my crimes? Is a malfunctioning brain all it takes to condemn a man? Covered in sand and self-loathing I rolled and I sat. It’s time for these manacles to drag me home.
Depression is less but it is also more. More loathing. More pain. More sadness. More discomfort. It’s a paradox impervious to logic. The firm ground of reason is but loose sand eroded by a surging tide of emotion. How long will the waters rage? Will the seas subside or has the sea itself risen to this new, turbulent normal? Will I even get my head back above water to know?
Hours later happenstance struck again. A friend reached out to let me know she and a few friends were planning a 365 photo project throughout 2012. She explained the rules—each day participants would upload a photograph to Google+ and tag it. We’d go around +1’ing each other and everyone would feel great, except me of course; “feeling” great wasn’t an option. But hey, I was out “taking” pictures that day. I would try this for what would inevitably be two weeks—max—before giving up and retreating to my dungeon of despair. Why not? I responded. Why not? I grew up scoffing at photography. Besides, I suck at taking pictures, and I loathe doing things I am not good at so this seemed an ideal irrational fit. This was the conversation lobbing salvos in my head. Illogically, I said yes.
Two weeks went by. Two weeks of terrible photos. Two weeks of terrible feelings. Somehow it wasn’t all bad, even if I couldn’t feel it at the time. I was interacting with new people online, and they offered supportive commentary on my photos such as they were. I was in no place to accept the feedback, but I at least understood the purpose of a compliment—if only in the abstract. And yet, I was still clicking. Click. Click. Click.
Depression is more but it is also unknown. Unknown future. Unknown depths. Unknown self. Where is this darkness taking me? Who will I be when I get there? Hell, what will I even be when I get there? Will I call out for help? Will I be too weak? Will I see what’s right in front of me?
Six months into 2012 and I was still clicking. Click. Click. Click. About 10,000 images into the photo project, into the unknown, and my photographs were… improving? Am I starting to enjoy this? Do I have a future here? The creative outlet I’ve long craved? Can this new habit continue? Can I make landscapes to show off the beauty I’ve always known but have somehow forgotten about? Can I visually communicate the underrated beauty of southeastern New Jersey? Can I show off its coastal ways, marshlands, and pine land forests for others to know and love? Can I feel again? Can I dream again? Can I hope again? Can I be a better me again?
Depression is unknown but it is also knows defeat. Click. Click. Click.
Author’s Note:Asked to write an article for the beta issue of Break Zine back in 2017, I am sharing my article here in honor of 2019 World Mental Health Day. I have made edits to grammar and style but the spirit remains the same. As it was when Dawn and Pete asked me to share in their creative endeavor, I felt it was important to share my own struggle with depression. I want to play at least a small part to break the stigma and help others step out from the dark. You do not have to suffer alone, and it is OK and brave and wonderful to reach out for help.
Reclaimed LLC 2016 Makers Festival Display — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/160
Your day breaks
It’s a Saturday morning in September and it’s early. Somewhere in a second floor bedroom a card carrying night owl wakes before his alarm. Bare feet meet carpet and nearsighted eyes blur a darkened window—the sun’s not even a thing yet. Replacing the usual reflexive denial of the it’s time to wake up reality, a slow burn of anxious excitement stokes in the pit of an unfed stomach that’s a touch too nervous to fill. To the showers! Fast forward a soapy cleansing and a final car load and an area man cruises eastbound on a quiet Route 72. As Route 9 approaches and the third person narrative begins to wane, my gaze moves left to eye a sea of tents just ashore of Manahawkin Lake Park. A sobering whoa.
Quickly off the Route 9 spur that feeds onto 9 North reality unmistakably sets in. It’s about 15 minutes to 8:00 a.m. and the park is jumping. There’s no turning back. Traffic is already slow and a morass of Makers are fabricating their shoppes in advance of what already seemed a day of great import. Almost immediately I spotted Jeff Ruemeli pulling along pottery equipment in a Radio Flyer wagon. Somehow the kids are gonna be all right.
From there it was a whirlwind. A 90 minute set up. A 15 minute pep talk. A group photo and bang, 10:00 a.m. and time for the show. What came next was eight incredible hours of kind folk, beautiful creations, and an amazing tapestry for creatives to show off their wares. The weather—a warm 80 degrees with partly cloudy skies—could not have been better, and the crowd could not have been more engaged. My only regret was not having a spare moment to slip away from my tent to spend some proper time taking in the totality of the event. The attention to detail, the thought, the effort; the end result of all the blood, sweat, and tears was a sight to behold—even if I only caught glimpses through a bustling periphery. I would have loved nothing more than to visit all the Makers to see their fine works firsthand. Everything—and I mean everything—was first rate. The MakeShift Union crushed it.
Greg Molyneux Photography 2016 Makers Festival Display — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/160
I have people to thank
I have been fortunate to participate in several events since picking up the camera back in 2012. First breaking the ice with the Summer Art Opener in June of 2014; next displaying my work at the Little Egg Harbor public library in October 2015; and for most of 2016 showing my work in some capacity or another on the walls of Long Beach Island Foundation of the Arts and Sciences. Humble and grateful for the opportunities afforded to me, my cup overflowed when I was welcomed into the Makers’ fold and granted juried access to the second annual Makers Festival at Manahawkin Lake Park. It all went down Saturday, September 17, and everything about the day was perfect.
I imagine I’m not alone in the mad dash of preparation in the weeks leading up to Saturday’s big day. Without a doubt my fellow Makers were torching all kinds of midnight flammable goods striving toward the attention to detail that only a perfectionist’s compulsive mind can mandate. While the hours were long and the eyes were weary, I would have absolutely been nowhere without the outstanding work of Ben Wurst of Reclaimed LLC and my good friend and fellow booth designer, Jennifer Carr. Ben worked dutifully on my behalf. Sacrificing his own Makers Fest prep time to not only craft a killer bifold display fashioned with reclaimed mahogany laid in a chevron pattern and repurposed from a Princeton home, but also to fashion a sign for greg molyneux photography. Dude actually took the time to superimpose the font of my website header by way of a projector onto a piece of wood so as to get the typography just right. Ben was also kind enough to build a crate for my 12″ x 18″ matted prints, while donating an old drawer for my 8″ x 12″ matted prints. Oh, and some old green crates to support them on. He also made one hell of an event neighbor. Thanks Ben!
As Ben was toiling away tending to my many woodworking needs—which were massive considering going into this I had no display whatsoever—Jennifer Carr was tireless in helping me mat and wrap 67 prints. 67 prints! From 17 different source photographs I ordered 34 smaller 8″ x 12″ prints to be set in a 2″ mat to go along with 34 other 12″ x 18″ prints which we set in a 3″ mat. One print was sacrificed in our quest to settle on a workflow, but after that progress was good albeit slow. Powered by 90s playlists two long nights were spent toiling deep into the small hours of the morning measuring gluing, matting, signing, bagging, and tagging. However, Jen’s work didn’t stop there: Through it all she offered one great idea after another, helped lay out my booth, painted a box for my 4″ x 6″ postcards, later hung them with care, wrote up some chalkboard signage, and expertly peddled my wares to event-goers all day long at the Festival. Oh, and she was pretty great at wrapping items, too. If you saw those improvised hemp bag handles you know what I’m talking about. I cannot say it enough: without Ben and Jen none of this would have happened.
Next I want to thank each and every one of you who came by my tent. Whether to look from afar, to chat, to peruse, and of course, those who were generous enough to buy. You are all appreciated, and your feedback and kind words are invaluable. Anecdotally I definitely need some more metal prints as Ruinous Splendor printed on mounted aluminum was the real talk of the day. This kind of real life market research is invaluable, you guys. Thank you.
My fellow Makers—you’re next. Even though I nary had a moment to network and give your work the proper attention it deserves, without the quality and passion for your craft our event would not have had the unbelievable public reception it received. Your talent and dedication to the arts, our community, and the betterment of our society is an inspiration. I am blessed to be among your ranks. Thank you.
Lastly—The MakeShift Union—the unbelievably dedicated and tireless women behind it all. Our masters behind the curtain pulling all the right strings to execute such a specific, well articulated vision, and to bring it to life while working through well over a hundred disparate Makers. Think of the logistics required for this, folks. This is organizational mastery and I am beyond impressed by your leadership and purpose. You’ve given us all an unbelievable platform that needs adjectives my vocabulary certainly lacks. Dani, Erin, and Jeannine—you are incredible. Thank you.
I cannot wait for next year, and you can’t either!
Hair Points West — 35mm | f/1.4 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/100
Sometimes a fleeting thought rises up through the dusty burned out barnyard that is my brain and implores me to do more portrait work. Then I quickly remember my own fears and the notion fades faster than a military barber buzzing out a high and tight. It is something I’d like to work on, but it’s going to take some real effort and some real discomfort. Not to mention some subjects willing to work through what’s sure to be lots of awkward everything—and lots of bad photos.
Thinking back to my Art Class Days when I cut my teeth doing pencil work, portraiture was the last world I entered. I wasn’t good at it. I didn’t want to be good at it. Eventually I broke down and gave it a go. My high school senior year concentration project wound up being drawn portraits of The Beatles. It was surely a challenge with plenty of pain points, but it wound up being a great period of personal and technical development. Were the pictures great? No. But they wound up being the best things I’ve ever drawn. (I’ve since abandoned drawing altogether. Essentially right after this project. Let’s hope this does not a pattern make.)
A decade and a half later, into photos now, I am thinking it is getting close to time I bring this broadening of horizons to my lens work. As with this shot, I imagine I’ll dabble more with myself as a subject. Admittedly this is hard in its own right because I am holding a camera to my face and hoping for the best compositionally. Spray and pray shutter action. It would be much better behind the lens with an actual subject. But hey, baby steps. Not only am I going to have to get comfortable with a new kind of subject—a human—I will also have to learn how to use artificial lighting. Being a landscape only guy this is completely foreign to me. But I won’t get nuts with flashes, strobes, etc. until I at least become serviceable in the craft and decide if it’s worth pursuing further.
So any friends want some new profile pics? No guarantees on quality.
I, Phragmites — 35mm | f/1.4 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/4000
Phragmites are an invasive species robbing valuable real estate from indigenous plant life due to the dense stands that’ll readily form and quickly grow. Efficiently conquering pristine lands like an imperialist in heat. To the uninitiated conquistador like me, they seemingly fit right in to the natural surroundings—adding almost picturesque sight lines that appear to fit right in to any naturally occurring coastal Mid-Atlantic landscape. It was only recently I learned they weren’t supposed to be here. But many of us aren’t supposed to be here, are we?
On just about any day that ends in ‘Y’ I certainly feel like a phragmites. A central Jersey transplant to Manahawkin, New Jersey, in the summer of ’93 I’ve always felt something of an outsider to the region. My insecure sense of being as coastal imposter only magnifies when I venture over to the nearby barrier island that is Long Beach Island. Here I’m twice removed; not just a Mainlander but a suburban sprawl transplant as well. You see no matter how hard I try, I’ll never climb the podium to gain acceptance as a True Local™. Sure I can wear flip-flops year round, pretend I’m clued into the the scene, all while living a few short miles from the beach, but I’ll never be one of The People. If only in my own mind.
But this is all our struggle, isn’t it? Just where to fit in?
Does this count as self portraiture? I’m not certain but this may count for salvaging a sunset shoot. How salvaged? Only you can be the judge of that. Sunset sits the saddle of boom or bust. For a moment yesterday seemed headed for boom town, but instead just kinda petered out into grey-blue darkness. But that’s all good.
Eager to make something out of nothing I thought why not hop into my own picture for a change? Could be cool, right? Simply set the timer to 10-seconds and find a spot that seems to be on one of the outer thirds of the frame. Hard to go wrong with the rule of thirds. Once in position I remained as still as possible knowing I was popping off 7 brackets. Total excess I’m sure, but hip-hip-hooray for digital storage.
The last bit of the workflow brought some cross processing in post production. A final effort to complete a different look that seemed fitting for what was a different kind of shoot. It seemed fitting to layer over a washed out veil of mood. With a new year fast approaching it only makes sense to look ahead to the future with equal parts trepidation and wonder. I’m trying to collect my own thoughts to figure out where my photography should head in 2016. Do I try something completely new? Like portraiture? Revisit some kind of photo project like the one that got all this started in 2012? Identify an area of weakness for focus and improvement? Or maybe try deeper forays into shameless self-promotion? Of course I could follow the Greg Molyneux as water M.O. and seek out the path of least resistance to keep doing what I’m doing? Or some kind of mash-up combination? That said there are two things I do know: 1) I want to do more black and white, and 2) in the very near term I need to get cracking on my best of 2015 post so it’s ready to go come Christmas Eve.
Heads up, New Jersey. Event incoming. Sure it’s some 9 months away, but I’m beyond pleased to share with you that I’ll be a small part of a great big event at Manahawkin Lake on September 17, 2016. The 2nd annual Makers Festival will be unleashed upon the world, and I’ll be there peddling my wares. If you managed to attend last year’s event you know firsthand the fantastic production that is Makers Fest. But if you’re looking for more insight, you should absolutely check out their website, Facebook page, and Instagram account. Their follow comes with the highest recommendation.
As part of their highly organized and ardently purposeful marketing efforts all 2016 vendors were asked to provide answers to some or all of the following interview questions. Considering I’ve got this here website I thought why not blog out my answers here? So here goes:
Makers Fest Asks:
What is one thing you would like the public to know about your business?
I’m very new to the whole business aspect of this venture, so really I’d just want the people to know that I’ve recently launched my online SmugMug shop. It’s currently a work in progress, and I still plan on servicing requests for custom framed pieces, but the online shop is the place to go for quick and easy ordering, printing, and shipping of my work.
Where do you see yourself and your craft 5 years from now?
Obviously I want to continue to learn, grow, and improve in as many aspects of photography as possible; continually honing my workflow, strengthening my portfolio, and better representing the underrepresented beauty of New Jersey—with a particular focus on coastal and southern areas. Beyond that, I’d love to experiment with shooting film, creating video and time lapse productions, and becoming an evangelist of sorts for all this wonderful nature surrounding my home town of Manahawkin and the broader LBI region. In a perfect world I could merge my skill of public speaking with my passion for photography in a union that would bring knowledge, connection, and learning to any audience willing to listen.
Is your business a hobby, full-time work, or both?
Considering I’m now selling work it’s going to be tough to make my case as this being just a hobby, though that’s still how I parse it out in my own head. I work full time in a fulfilling career that is wholly separate from my photography. I think of my time behind the lens as a detachment from the day-to-day world that can even in the best of professions mire us all. While I’d love to someday have the good problem of making photographs as a singular profession, I don’t want this hobby to ever feel like work. I’d regret any attempt to monetize if the joy was stripped away at the hands of aggressive, business-type demands that can erode the creative process. But that wouldn’t exactly be a #FirstWorldProblem I’d cry too much about.
What would your advice be to others looking to start something similar?
Shoot. Shoot. And shoot some more. Did I forget to say go shoot? Oh, and don’t worry too much about your gear. Starting out as a complete neophyte photographer in 2012 with zero expectations and little to no camera experience, I participated in a photo a day project that saw me end the year with over 25,000 photographs taken on a used, first generation Canon Digital Rebel—they didn’t even have model numbers back then. Throughout the process I had heard all about how you need to get through your first 10,000 pictures. That these would be your worst, and that this kind of spray and pray method to photography was essential for gaining the skill for making good photographs. In my case, it was true. By the middle of 2012, things started to click, and here are there I began creating images that actually looked like they were made by someone who almost had a clue. It was a good, albeit unexpected development and I haven’t looked back.
So get out there. Do it every day. Photograph everything. Experiment with the different manual settings to see how these choices affect your final image. Celebrate your victories, learn from your losses, and reward yourself for hitting your goals—even if it’s committing to take a picture a day for a month. Most important: have fun. As soon as it feels like a chore it’s over. Oh, and if you think you want to be a landscape photographer do invest in a sturdy tripod—that’s one bit of gear you should prioritize.
What is your favorite part about working in the creative field?
Stress relief and bringing joy to others. It’s equal parts humbling and empowering to watch someone react positively to something you had a hand in creating. It makes all the ups and downs, all the effort, all the focus, and all those times you just want to throw in the towel worth it. It’s a gift to open up to others such that they too can share an experience.
What do you think the most common misconception is about your craft?
The belief that gear is everything. Now I’m not saying equipment doesn’t matter, or won’t bring some improvement to your photographs, but it’s not the panacea for great pictures, either. The greatest camera and lens combo in the world will not magically conjure great lighting conditions, or manifest interesting foreground to compose your frames for you. And considering these powerhouse devices we’ve got kicking around in our pockets, a great photograph is only a click away from your mobile device. I’m continually impressed with the photographs I can make right on my iPhone. So do yourself a favor: don’t let costly gear be a barrier to entry. The drain on your wallet can always come later.
What inspires your work?
A combination of wanting to show off our area for all its worth, and a competitive drive to be the very best I can be. When I see the magnificent work of others and the hair on the back of my neck stands up, I think to myself, that’s how I hope people respond to my work someday. That’s what drives me.
Why did you choose to participate in The Makers Festival?
First of all I love every single thing your organization is doing. Every. Single. Thing. Highlighting the undercurrent of local talent that has largely flown under the radar in a region that’s not exactly known for a happening art scene. It’s better yet that this is an organization run by women. I’m all about doing stuff outside the norm that breaks free of the tropes, perils, and frankly boredom of patriarchal paradigms. I can’t say enough how great it is to be part of something new and different. I’m honored and surprised to be selected among such a talented crew of artists, creators, and makers. You’re creating opportunity where there was none, and working to put the LBI region on the map for more than just its sunny beaches and seasonal watering holes.
What motivates you in the face of adversity?
I’d like to sit here and mash out words to suggest this is an area of strength and experience. Truthfully adversity and I have a mixed record, but I’m working hard to appreciate the necessary relationship with adversity, failure, and struggle recognizing they are key ingredients to any learning process. The most important takeaway? Sometimes the stress and discomfort will open new doors that were otherwise unseen. My own relationship with photography was born of such struggle.
If you could choose any superpower, what would it be and why?
Time travel. As a lover of history I’d be endlessly educated if I could travel to key places and points of time. If only to simply observe what actually happened. I wouldn’t want to change things and create some kind of paradox in the spacetime continuum, I’d just want to sit and observe first hand as a time traveling fly on the wall, able to better assess events as they actually happened such that I could measure them against narratives that have become for better or for worse ingrained in conventional wisdom.
Good evening everyone, welcome to December. A bit of housekeeping: despite being up and running for almost a year now I’m officially announcing my online SmugMug shop. Finally. Having had the opportunity to sell a few prints, get comfortable with the platform, and see the end result with my own eyes I think I’m ready to go public—fingers crossed—just in time for the holidays. So if you’re looking for gift ideas and you’re keen to share some artistic work with friends and family, please take a look. You’ll quickly notice I haven’t populated the shop with all my shots—some 226 photographs a the time of this post—so if there’s something you’d like to have printed and shipped drop me an e-mail at greg [dot] molyneux [at] gmail [dot] com, and I’ll have it added to the store page at my earliest convenience.
At launch (that’s today) my store features about a couple dozen of my photographs available in an array of sizes and price points. You’ll find product options for Paper Prints with glossy, lustre, and metallic finishes. Or you can really step up the archival quality with Giclée watercolor paper. Additionally there’s an option under Wall Art for actual metal prints where you can have most of my photographs printed, mounted, and ready to hang directly onto a sheet of aluminum. This is the way to go if you’re looking for something a little less traditional and a little more modern where vibrant colors really pop. This is a great option for a bathroom where it will keep any kind of shower steam from wrinkling a more traditional, albeit vulnerable paper print. With its weatherproofed and scratch resistant surface it makes a great option for outdoor hanging as well.
The Coupon
Don’t miss out on this limited time launch offer. To help break the ice and ease the pain on the wallets and purses during the where did all my money go? part of the calendar, I’m offering a 20% off coupon valid through the end of the year—31 December 2015. Be sure to enter in coupon code: TheLaunch when prompted and 20% will be lifted like magic from your bill at check out—note the price break doesn’t go in effect until the very last step.
