http://www.cloudybright.com/ cloudybright communications en-us Carmen Sisson (c) 2004-2012 Carmen Sisson 120 http://www.cloudybright.com/980.php

My beautiful boy, the love of my life — nearly four-years-old now. ]]> 980@http://www.cloudybright.com Wed, 01 Feb 2012 21:11:38 -0800 Carmen Sisson http://www.cloudybright.com/images/photoblog/0980cowboy3.jpg http://www.cloudybright.com/images/photoblog/thumbs/t_0980cowboy3.jpg Lovestruck http://www.cloudybright.com/979.php

]]> 979@http://www.cloudybright.com Wed, 04 Jan 2012 04:19:10 -0800 Carmen Sisson http://www.cloudybright.com/images/photoblog/0979houses.jpg http://www.cloudybright.com/images/photoblog/thumbs/t_0979houses.jpg Life on the Water http://www.cloudybright.com/978.php

]]> 978@http://www.cloudybright.com Mon, 02 Jan 2012 11:14:00 -0800 Carmen Sisson http://www.cloudybright.com/images/photoblog/0978shell.jpg http://www.cloudybright.com/images/photoblog/thumbs/t_0978shell.jpg Lost and Found http://www.cloudybright.com/977.php

]]> 977@http://www.cloudybright.com Mon, 26 Dec 2011 18:53:45 -0800 Carmen Sisson http://www.cloudybright.com/images/photoblog/0977ChristmasPrey.jpg http://www.cloudybright.com/images/photoblog/thumbs/t_0977ChristmasPrey.jpg Christmas Day, Bird of Prey http://www.cloudybright.com/976.php

My beach. My Gulf. Possibly my favorite place in the world. I had to travel the country to realize that. ]]> 976@http://www.cloudybright.com Fri, 23 Dec 2011 08:47:11 -0800 Carmen Sisson http://www.cloudybright.com/images/photoblog/0976dauphnislandwalker.jpg http://www.cloudybright.com/images/photoblog/thumbs/t_0976dauphnislandwalker.jpg Don't Look Back http://www.cloudybright.com/975.php

]]> 975@http://www.cloudybright.com Sun, 11 Dec 2011 17:55:03 -0800 Carmen Sisson http://www.cloudybright.com/images/photoblog/0975dauphinislandjetty2favorite.jpg http://www.cloudybright.com/images/photoblog/thumbs/t_0975dauphinislandjetty2favorite.jpg Trust http://www.cloudybright.com/974.php

]]> 974@http://www.cloudybright.com Sat, 29 Oct 2011 20:28:47 -0700 Carmen Sisson http://www.cloudybright.com/images/photoblog/0974pumpkins.jpg http://www.cloudybright.com/images/photoblog/thumbs/t_0974pumpkins.jpg Mississippi Harvest http://www.cloudybright.com/973.php

]]> 973@http://www.cloudybright.com Wed, 26 Oct 2011 18:14:02 -0700 Carmen Sisson http://www.cloudybright.com/images/photoblog/0973columbusautumn1.jpg http://www.cloudybright.com/images/photoblog/thumbs/t_0973columbusautumn1.jpg Southern Light http://www.cloudybright.com/972.php

A 3,0000-degree electric arc furnace prepares to receive a "charge" of scrap metal which will then be melted and converted into steel. ]]> 972@http://www.cloudybright.com Sun, 23 Oct 2011 08:17:21 -0700 Carmen Sisson http://www.cloudybright.com/images/photoblog/0972steel.jpg http://www.cloudybright.com/images/photoblog/thumbs/t_0972steel.jpg Melt Shop http://www.cloudybright.com/971.php

]]> 971@http://www.cloudybright.com Wed, 19 Oct 2011 22:08:24 -0700 Carmen Sisson http://www.cloudybright.com/images/photoblog/0971print.jpg http://www.cloudybright.com/images/photoblog/thumbs/t_0971print.jpg Print is not dead. http://www.cloudybright.com/970.php

Sept. 11, 2001. I was 28 then, an editor living in a quaint arts community so very far from New York. I had never flown, never taken Amtrak, never been to Philly or D.C. or Boston, never experienced anything beyond Alabama. I remember walking into the office and seeing something I'd never seen — my young staff stumbling in a daze, members of the community wandering around the usually sacrosanct newsroom. It was as if all the barriers that separated us from one another, all the barriers that separated the South from the nation, the nation from the world, had been exposed by that gaping black hole in the sky. I walked into my office and closed the door, because I didn't want my staff to see me cry. I stared at the front page we had planned, watched the insertion point blink on my Quark template, and slowly hit "delete." Everything we had written, indeed everything we believed and everything we were, no longer mattered. For the first time ever, our intensely local weekly would carry national news on the front page. It was as if the entire universe had been turned inside out, the dark soil of the Black Belt — so constant beneath our feet — replaced by a starless sky. I remember staring out the window, asking God what I could say as a very young editor at a very small paper in a very small town so very far away. In the end, I don't remember what I wrote. I only remember the silence of the newsroom, the clatter of fingers to keys, the eerie beeping of firefighters' alarms on CNN, the endless shuffle of readers who sat in our office and waited, patiently, for someone to somehow make sense of the senseless. ]]> 970@http://www.cloudybright.com Sat, 10 Sep 2011 07:21:37 -0700 Carmen Sisson http://www.cloudybright.com/images/photoblog/0970reveille1.jpg http://www.cloudybright.com/images/photoblog/thumbs/t_0970reveille1.jpg Morning Reveille http://www.cloudybright.com/969.php

I know, I promised I would write more. I don't feel like writing. Sorry. Another day maybe. ]]> 969@http://www.cloudybright.com Sun, 21 Aug 2011 18:54:49 -0700 Carmen Sisson http://www.cloudybright.com/images/photoblog/0969TToken.jpg http://www.cloudybright.com/images/photoblog/thumbs/t_0969TToken.jpg Hey (St.) Jude http://www.cloudybright.com/968.php

The grave of beloved Southern writer William Faulkner. Because I cannot write like the master, I will leave you with his words upon receiving the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1949: I feel that this award was not made to me as a man, but to my work — a life's work in the agony and sweat of the human spirit, not for glory and least of all for profit, but to create out of the materials of the human spirit something which did not exist before... ...the young man or woman writing today has forgotten the problems of the human heart in conflict with itself which alone can make good writing because only that is worth writing about, worth the agony and the sweat. He must learn them again. He must teach himself that the basest of all things is to be afraid; and, teaching himself that, forget it forever, leaving no room in his workshop for anything but the old verities and truths of the heart, the old universal truths lacking which any story is ephemeral and doomed — love and honor and pity and pride and compassion and sacrifice. Until he does so, he labors under a curse. He writes not of love but of lust, of defeats in which nobody loses anything of value, of victories without hope and, worst of all, without pity or compassion. His griefs grieve on no universal bones... — Faulkner, 1949 ]]> 968@http://www.cloudybright.com Sun, 07 Aug 2011 19:12:45 -0700 Carmen Sisson http://www.cloudybright.com/images/photoblog/0968Oxford17.jpg http://www.cloudybright.com/images/photoblog/thumbs/t_0968Oxford17.jpg Faulkner's Grave I http://www.cloudybright.com/967.php

William Faulkner said if you want to understand the world, you must first understand a place like Mississippi. Kafka said a writer who is not writing is a monster courting insanity. Every writer who has ever lived will tell you writing is hard, and if it's not hard you should keep pushing until it becomes so. Every time you sit down to write, you're willingly walking into an impenetrable forest, knowing you might be eaten by the creatures of the dark, hoping you will stumble upon a fantastical beast which may — with enough sweat, blood, and determination — allow you to cast a noose over its fire-breathing snout and drag it back for the world's delight. There is the writing you do for money and the writing you do for yourself. Confusing the two is a recipe for misery. But refusing to enter the forest at all, lurking on the periphery and selling tickets to the masses, is a travesty from which a writer cannot — and should not — recover. You want to write? Then write. Write what's in front of you, and when you're finished, go in search of the dark deep. At the end of the day, the legacy you leave is your own. Make it worth the life you trade. ]]> 967@http://www.cloudybright.com Sat, 06 Aug 2011 07:50:12 -0700 Carmen Sisson http://www.cloudybright.com/images/photoblog/0967tenntomswamp.jpg http://www.cloudybright.com/images/photoblog/thumbs/t_0967tenntomswamp.jpg The woods are lovely dark and deep... http://www.cloudybright.com/966.php

"With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world." ~ Max Ehrmann, Desiderata ]]> 966@http://www.cloudybright.com Sun, 10 Jul 2011 10:59:09 -0700 Carmen Sisson http://www.cloudybright.com/images/photoblog/0966zinnias1.jpg http://www.cloudybright.com/images/photoblog/thumbs/t_0966zinnias1.jpg Upside Down Thinking http://www.cloudybright.com/965.php

April 2009. A paper I love prints its last issue. July 2009. A man I love packs his things and walks away. February 2010. I lay two house keys on the kitchen counter, and I leave the city I've called home for 19 years. For lack of anything better to do, I head to New Orleans. March 2010. It's cold and the rain never seems to stop falling. I move back to Mobile. March 2010. Oh, that's why I lost everything I loved. I understand now, I think to myself. May 2010. Somewhere in West Virginia, I realize I was wrong. January 2011. I gain a client. April 10, 2011. I lay one house key on the counter, and I leave Mobile. April 11, 2011. I get a job in a new state. I move to a new apartment. I lose a client. April 27, 2011. An F-5 tornado destroys most of Tuscaloosa. May 2011. I gain a few friends. I lose a few friends. I buy a few things. I write. June 2011. My mama calls me. I'm late for work, stressed and harried as I walk Cowboy. I think she's calling to remind me to pay my speeding ticket. She tells me my grandpa is dead. My world goes black. "It's understandable," my ex says. "You've been through a lot of changes in the past two years." A song on the radio makes me cry: You must think I'm strong to give me what I'm going through. Well forgive me, forgive me if I'm wrong, but this looks like more than I can do on my own... Yeah, I think. Yeah. I should write something profound. My grandfather deserves that much. But I find myself mute. Another song that plays on the same radio station comes to mind: I lift mine eyes unto the hills. Where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the maker of Heaven and Earth... Music — and Cowboy — are where I find comfort. I write, but there is no heart in my writing. I shoot, but there is no soul in my images. I thought I would make a slideshow. Write down the flood of memories that my tears won't seem to wash away. But no. Not yet. Maybe never. It gets easier, people say. I want to ask when, but instead I say nothing. I have no words. ]]> 965@http://www.cloudybright.com Wed, 15 Jun 2011 22:05:20 -0700 Carmen Sisson http://www.cloudybright.com/images/photoblog/0965tuscaloosatornado1.jpg http://www.cloudybright.com/images/photoblog/thumbs/t_0965tuscaloosatornado1.jpg All That Remains http://www.cloudybright.com/964.php

From the Pennsylvania coalmines to the Oklahoma cattle pastures to the Texas oil refineries to the Louisiana wetlands, these boots have carried me. I wore them the night I covered my first hurricane alone. Prowling Gulfport Beach, awaiting the arrival of Hurricane Gustav for TIME, I knew that come hell or high water, my feet would be dry. I wore them the day I stood in Pearlington, Mississippi for Christian Science Monitor. With my keys locked in my trunk, staring two water moccasins in the eyes, I was glad I’d listened to my editor and traded the tennis shoes for something more substantial. I gleefully stomped them across a dawn-streaked wharf in Pensacola, hours before witnessing the scuttling of the U.S.S. Oriskany — and subsequently throwing up from the deck of my chartered boat as a pair of French journalists held my head up and laughed at me. I covered Hurricane Katrina in these boots. Ivan, Gustav, Ike, and a half-dozen lesser storms. I stood knee-deep in BP oil and mud on Biloxi Beach and cried, knowing the Gulf Coast was forever changed. I wore them to Logan International, Philly International, Detroit, Charlotte, and a half-dozen airports in between. I got blood on my boots in Baton Rouge. Catfish guts in Grand Isle. Motorcycle grease in Irving, Texas. Manure in Stockyards City, Oklahoma. Flood waters in Nashville. Mud in Memphis. Snow in Kentucky. Tequila in Tulsa (followed by vomit in Tulsa.) I painted my house in these boots, and every fine splatter is a happy testament to a time in my life when the world seemed mine, conquerable with nothing more than a pen, a paintbrush, a camera, and a pair of Timberland boots. Two weeks ago, I laced up my boots and went to Smithville, Mississippi to cover an EF5 tornado. The devastation was like nothing I had ever seen. The heartbreak was overwhelming. I walked on broken glass, children’s toys, pieces of roofs, cars, sheet metal, and things so mangled I couldn’t identify them. I didn’t notice my boots, because this is the beauty of a good pair. They keep your feet dry, protect you, and quietly do their job. When I got home that night, I realized that my trusty companions were shredded. But they kept my feet safe so I could concentrate on my images. A normal person would buy a new pair of boots, and maybe I will. But for now, these are held together with duct tape and memories. ]]> 964@http://www.cloudybright.com Sun, 15 May 2011 11:00:28 -0700 Carmen Sisson http://www.cloudybright.com/images/photoblog/0964PJboots.jpg http://www.cloudybright.com/images/photoblog/thumbs/t_0964PJboots.jpg A Photojournalist's Boots http://www.cloudybright.com/963.php

A few observations about photographing tomato sandwiches on a hot, nearly-summer day in the middle of Mississippi: 1). Wonder Bread may make a fine sandwich, but it makes an even better SPONGE. 2). Wonder Bread retains the consistency of bread for approximately 2.5 seconds. 3). Tomato sandwiches make lovely eating, but they sure do look like slop on a plate. 4). Photographers should not eat three tomato sandwiches after crawling around in 90 degree temperatures for two hours. 5). Photographing a tomato sandwich really shouldn't take two hours. 6). When you spend two hours of your life photographing a sandwich, you really have to wonder. 7). Food stylists are worth every penny you pay them. I should find one. And pay them. 8). Air Force cadets like tomato sandwiches. 9). Air Force cadets like girls crawling around on the ground photographing tomato sandwiches even better. 10). Air Force cadets are laughing at you, not with you. (Or they want your sandwich.) ]]> 963@http://www.cloudybright.com Fri, 13 May 2011 00:44:31 -0700 Carmen Sisson http://www.cloudybright.com/images/photoblog/0963tomatosandwich.jpg http://www.cloudybright.com/images/photoblog/thumbs/t_0963tomatosandwich.jpg Playing with Food http://www.cloudybright.com/962.php

Back when I took this photograph in 2007, I stood on Main Street in downtown Columbus, Mississippi and wondered what it would be like to live there, to work at The Commercial Dispatch, to return to my roots as a small town community journalist. It was a fleeting idea; I didn't know anyone at the paper and didn't figure they would talk to me if I walked in the door. But it stayed in the back of my mind, always whispering, "This could be it. You would love this. This could be home." And now, it is. Yes, I'm crazy busy. But by some strange stroke of luck, I landed exactly where my spirit has always wanted to be. Life is funny sometimes. I wandered the country and saw so many things, but what I really wanted was to take root and find home. Some days, I look at the word "Mississippi," stare at the intricate scroll of the letters, smile at the childhood spelling mnemonic (M-I-Crooked Letter-Crooked Letter-I-Crooked Letter-Crooked Letter-I-Hump Back-Hump Back-I), and think, what a beautiful, beautiful name. What a beautiful, beautiful place to work — and live. ]]> 962@http://www.cloudybright.com Mon, 09 May 2011 21:35:30 -0700 Carmen Sisson http://www.cloudybright.com/images/photoblog/0962commercialdispatch2.jpg http://www.cloudybright.com/images/photoblog/thumbs/t_0962commercialdispatch2.jpg Taking Root http://www.cloudybright.com/961.php

A wooden cross stands in front of the ruins of Smithville Baptist Church May 1, 2011 in Smithville, Miss. Fifteen people died when an EF5 tornado struck the town on April 27, 2011. (Photo by Carmen K. Sisson/Cloudybright) For the story which appeared in TIME Magazine, please click here. To purchase a print or see the full photo gallery, please click here. ]]> 961@http://www.cloudybright.com Sat, 07 May 2011 00:05:27 -0700 Carmen Sisson http://www.cloudybright.com/images/photoblog/0961smithville1.jpg http://www.cloudybright.com/images/photoblog/thumbs/t_0961smithville1.jpg Untouched Faith