Lynn Goldsmith

Music can trigger something very private, something that we already know about ourselves, but may have forgotten. More often than not, it’s about our shared sense of loss, our inability to fit a preconceived mold, our restlessness. I felt very lonely as a child and it was music that connected me to love. Without Little Richard, the Heartbeats, the Cadillacs, the Shirelles, the Teddy Bears, Elvis, Aretha Franklin and American Bandstand, life would have been extremely empty. Growing up, my connection to love seemed tied to the stirrings I felt dancing in my bedroom with the closet doorknob or singing into the mirror. When I played my records or listened to the radio, I was no longer alone in the universe. Later, during my college years, musicians influenced the way I thought. We were soldiers out to challenge ideas about what to wear, where to war, and how to just ?be.? We were unified by the music. This is why musicians became the dominate subjects of my photography. Having the opportunity to be close to the makers of the music has provided an important part of my spiritual evolution. I’ve realized how the music that flows through a person has little to do with their conscious awareness of what they’re singing about or playing and - that it doesn’t matter. These are the bodies that carry the songs to us. These are the messengers, chosen by us to play out our passions. These are people like the rest of us. Some generous, some selfish. Some genuine, some false. Fame adds to or subtracts from their beauty, their usefulness as artists, and often from their own humanity. They mirror our self-projection. My work is that reflection. On outward appearances PhotoDiary appears to be a collection of rock celebrity photos, but it is in fact, my story.

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