I So Belong in Journalism
I suggested that I write a story about the Mitchell Elementary School Science Fair. This was also so I could lock the time into my schedule and be a judge, because on my list of “Dreams I’ve had since I was twelve” being a science fair judge was still not checked off.
So yesterday I went and did the judging. I grinned the whole way home. A grin the size of Jersey.
All I had to do was write the story.
Now, I started this blog, and continue this blog to help me develop a better writing style, something more, “Me”. And I think it’s helping in that goal. I think I also need to write more story style bits now.
Around 9pm or so I get started. I stall, I procasitnate, I watch a Star Trek Voyager, I watch Star Trek Deep Space Nine, I decide not to watch a movie, because that would be gratitious, I wander around the house looking at the photos on my walls instead having imagenary conversations, check Facebook about 30 times. About 3am I decide I need to sleep. I’ve transcribed some quotes from my tape recorder by this point, and written two sentences. The piece needs to be out around 8 or 9am. Set my alarm clock for 5:30am. In my world 2 hours of sleep is perfectly acceptable, and depressingly normal.
Get up at 6am. Check Facebook, you know, for all the stuff my 10 friends might have done between 3 and 6am. Read the newspaper, online of course. Check Facebook again, for all the things my 10 friends might have done between 6 and 7am. I’ve worked on writing the article at this point, a little here, a little there, but I can’t find the flow, the groove. Somewhere around 7:30, maybe 7:45am, I find the groove, write the whole thing in about 30 minutes. Edit the photos, and done. It’s not great, but not horrible, and hopefully my editor will bring it up to good.
Come on Tim, I’m counting on you.
Massive procrastination is really required to work in journalism. It always gets done, just barely.
Observations from an Evening
Just a couple of quick shots from an evening out. I’m all for public displays of affection, just be warned, they’re public, and people like me have cameras. They didn’t seem to care any which way.
Otherwise, these are just because….
As a side note, from earlier in the evening. I photographed the instructor of a course on unlearning Indian stereotypes (his terminology, not mine) and developing a respect for Indian culture (which he liked to point out, didn’t exist, just as European culture doesn’t exist). I don’t think he was such a big fan of my Mohawk (faux-hawk). He dodged the question when I asked him if it was insensitive and culturally offensive, though Wikipedia seems to feel it’s fine.
PSA: Bike Helmets are Good
It’s been a while since I’ve been able to take a nice bike ride. I figured it was a holiday, I suppossedly had the time, I’m going biking.
Had to fill up my front tire, it was low on air. The first gas station the air didn’t work. Went to the second gas station, buzzing down Harlem, take a soft right into the station. Somewhere in the turn my bike started sliding sideways. I knew it was unrecoverable pretty quick.
The bike and I went down as a unit. I didn’t have time to unhook my shoes from the peddles. For the third time today, time was going slow motion. The first two were when I was in the air jumping from a five meter platform into a pool for the end of my Summer Love project, more tears on that later, and it almost is tears.
So I’m going down locked into my bike, my whole body contacts at just about the same time. I don’t remember much about much of my body hitting the ground. I do remember my head smacking into the pavement. This wasn’t a light fluffy smack either, my head hit hard, viciously hard. When my head was bouncing of the pavement I remember actually thinking to myself, “Wow, I’m glad I’m wearing this helmet, because my head is hitting really hard.” I love real life slow-mo time.
My bet, no helmet, one concussion. One helmet, I walked away with a scrapped-up elbow, no big deal there, I’m probably going to develop bruises on my right hip, and my right shoulder hurts when I move it, but all and all, a mighty fine crash. Bike sustained no major damage, I sustained no major damage, thanks to the helmet, and I even got to go for my bike ride after the whole incident was done. Perhaps the biggest problem is that every time I wince in pain I start laughing which just doesn’t make it feel any better.
On a massive tangent, I will say that there was one problematic side effect. After riding for the a bit, and thinking about all the slow-mo time during the day, I came to a conclusion, I need to jump out of an airplane again, and preferably soon. I mean I’m just jonesing to jump. Anyone want to join me? I prefer jumping with people, but not many like to jump (theme of the summer, jumping) but I highly recommend it.
In my experience I’d say, at least right now, that there are three major intense experiences in life. The first two I’m not sure on the order. (Just to give you an idea what I think these beat, and mind you, I try really hard to live a quite life: having a gun pointed at you (this was tempered by knowing she didn’t really want to shot me, just get my attention. And before you say anything, this wasn’t anyone I dated, though I will say if your girlfriend/boyfriend suggests not having sharp knives in the house, listen to them. And when you start thinking they’ll use them, it’s a good idea to leave then, it’s great idea to have left when they suggested not having the sharp knives in the house. I love love, I hate love.) these experiences are more intense than flying upside-down in airplanes, firing big guns, floating on Lake Superior under the stars and many others which I just can’t remember right now. Okay, done being a show-off dork, back to the three most intense experiences in life….)
There is the moment when you capture, and you now you’ve captured a great image, or story. The fulfillment that courses through my veins when I know I’ve hit, it’s like nothing else. Day to day, life is good, those moments when you get the great images, those are the reason for all the other days. It may happen only a few times a year, but it makes the year worthwhile.
The second intense moment isn’t so much usually a moment but a day, culminating in moments. It’s that day you get to spend with a woman you love. The day you get to do nothing but love her, and show her that you do. Just let that pour out. And at the end of the day make love to her (get over the scandalous reaction, none of us are twelve, we’ve all been there.) And I mean savior her, with every sense, for as long as you both can, as much as you both can, not about the sex, but about each other, and loving each other. Where everything is just about showing each other, openly, unreservedly and without the existence of the rest of the world, just how you feel about each other. Nothing else exists.
The third moment, and it’s definitely third in my experience but it beats out so many others, is jumping out of an airplane. It’s a overwhelming, it’s hard to remember because it so much, and impossible to forget for the same damn reason. The rush of falling, straight into the ground, at 120 mph, nothing there, nothing to do but wow at the wonder of the smallness of everything, and how it’s now just a little bit bigger than it was at the beginning of the sentence. Followed by floating in the air, alone (okay, usually with your
jump-master because you’re not certified to jump alone.) Just hanging out, slowly descending, looking at the world around you, with just the wind blowing by. It’s both the most intense adrenaline rush and the one of the calmest, most free moments, wrapped into one.
So anyhow, if you want to jump out of an airplane, let me know. I’m ready to rock and roll.
For those who are curious, all the images are from my Summer Love project. If you have no idea what I’m talking about, okay, if you want to know more though, great, it starts here and you can find out more in the stories section. There will also shortly be a rambling post about my lose from the end of this project. It hurts, but it was wonderful.
Lost and Confused, or Break Time
Some days I’m not sure if the universe is trying to tell me something, or if it’s just trying to screw with my head. I don’t know.
It’s really rather annoying, and maybe fun, but definitely more annoying.
I want a break from reality, from constant overwhelming quantities of work and personal confusion. (I always thought life would be clearer when I “grew-up.” I don’t think we ever grow up anymore. I don’t think I’ll ever feel like an adult.)
And the really funny thing, I know in a few days it will all change. And for no particular purpose, with no rhyme and certainly no reason, but it will change. It will be by some random, wonderful event, it always is.
Such is the joy and torment of life.
Election Night in Chicago
Former Alderman Wallace with Alderman-elect FiorettiVote early, vote often. A great saying, made in Chicago because that’s what used to happen. Even in my suburb of Forest Park the election judges, jokingly mind you, asked me if I wanted the ballot of a dead person along with my own. Classic Chicago humor.
So near the end of my very long day, I had been covering election related events since 7am, I was trying to take photos of a new alderman-elect. I showed up at his party as he was walking out the door, literally. I asked him, Bob Fioretti, where he was off to next, he told me “Wallace’s” a retraunat on Madison and California. A bit out of our coverage area, but it’s what I got to work with, so I work with it.
Turns out Wallace’s is a real hoot. I
love anyplace where people are genuinely happy and having fun. So I’m watching the band play, the Alderman-elect is having fun, being forced to sing and dance a little, but generally enjoying the moment. Eventually he gets pulled into watching the guitar player play the guitar with his tongue (and the song was even played pretty well still). How can you pass that up?
So I get a photo of Wallace, former Alderman Wallace actually, behind Fioretti watching the guitar player and the singer play the guitar with there tongues. Okay, pretty weird to start with. Now, go back to the office and find out that former Alderman Wallace, is actually disgraced former Alderman Wallace, something to do with corruption charges I think.
So now the picture is of two people playing guitar with their tongues, the Alderman-elect watching with the disgraced former Alderman behind him. That’s Chicago.
Easter Socks
My grandfather on my mom’s side on Easter Sunday. He’s got the most kickin’ socks.Making Myself Laugh
My impression of the world has always left me with the feeling that people think a joke is only worth while if the listener laughs. Personally, whatever you want to believe.
I know the jokes I like, and they’re the same if you tell them or if I tell them. Those are the jokes that make me laugh.
So most of my jokes are focused on making me laugh, and if you laugh also, great. If you don’t, bummer…for you.
This image was made during a judging of the pieces for the upcoming Dominican Fashion show. I had spent some time shooting in the judging room. The models would come in, walk to one end of the room, then back to the other, do a little twirl and then approach the judges that asked for a closer look.
It was interesting and somewhat depressing to watch. Beautiful young women, but yet almost no personality behind the walk. Admitadedly that’s unfair, and probably inaccurate, but from where I was the ladies weren’t much more than dolls with new clothes. Yet these “dolls”, I know, are well educated and becoming more so every day and probably have sparkling personalities. It’s just a bummer to me when that isn’t shown more in any person.
I know it’s just this situation, but I just always like it when a persons personality can shine through. Call me cheesy, it’s fair at this point.
Anyhow, after watching them show outfits for a while I wanted to get a shot of the line at the door waiting to go in. While watching that I noticed one of the models kept looking back at the vending machines. It’s a stereotype, and it’s unfair also. I guess you can also call me a hypocrite.
I couldn’t help but take the photo though. It brought a good laugh to me. Maybe it’s just me, but again, that’s enough for me.
And the joke is….
Let me start by saying that I work long hours, some weeks, and have to be able to handle a whole variety of situations and reliably be able to get images out of any situation.
That said, today I spent an hour and half shooting at one park, then went and spent an hour and a half at another park, then went to dinner. All of these things were work, on a warm sunny high 70s day.
To hell with offices.
The other thing I always wonder about. Guys like this guy. In town for a conference on bio-engineering or something like that. Hard core science stuff. Looks like a hippie. Looks like the devil with his eyes rolled into the back of his head. Very nice. People like this are what make the world so good.
Are scientists just artists with the good sense not to go into the arts?
This program was modified to fit the time available
Weaknesses are strengths, and strengths are weaknesses. The only difference between the two are how you choose to use the inherent qualities of something. One way makes a quality a strength, one situation makes it a strength, another situation or use makes it a weakness.
Audio slide shows, for the most part, have to be kept pretty short. People just don’t watch them for that long. Or at least that’s what I’m always told, and that’s what I do.
So the rough figure is that you have about 2 minutes of time to keep viewers attention on a website. This means my recent Chiditarod audio slide show had to hit about 2 minutes. This also means some real beauties of quotes got left out.
This includes the winning team captain talking about his various forms of sabotage; replacing race maps with fake race maps, shoving opponents into snow banks, various forms of bribery, taping opponents wheels so they wouldn’t roll and tying carts together. Also cut, a good 45 seconds of the judges bragging, outright bragging, about their bribes (transformers, head rubs, 3 shots, cupcakes, chocolates, you get the idea.) And after listing all this off, “It was pretty awesome.” I also had to lose a woman saying she was going to get the next round. I really wanted this to get the drinking end across, but alas it had to be surrendered to the time goods.
Ya gotta love competitions that encourage cheating.
On the other side of the coin being forced into a tight edit usually makes the piece better overall. It makes the final piece tighter, more focused, which tends to be a good thing. It tells a better story for it’s shortness.
Also check out the coverage by Matt Bigelow, good stuff (video also available through Methods Reporter). Always love seeing all the different views of the same event.
Sophomoric Humor and for the Love of Storytelling
Alright, let’s be clear about this photo. It has no other point other than dumb humor. Even I think it’s ridiculous, sophomoric and juvenile.
I expect no less from anyone looking at it. And just to provide context, this is Jason, at the Illinois Boys State Swimming Championship. I was killing time, he was actually working.
While there I ran into another photographer I’ve met before, she’s becoming something of a friend, but I we’re not quite at that point yet. We got to talking about what we enjoy shooting, the need for variety and effort. Maybe the effort part is where Jason comes in, he always puts out a 110%.
Anyhow, my comment to Tracy, and I hope I spelled her name right, was that 75-85% of all assignments are going to be the same repetitive crap and I do it to pay the bills. Thinking about it now I think it came off as a little more negative sounding than I meant, but if you wanted someone good with words you, and she, would be talking to writers and not photographers. The idea behind is that most shoots are pretty much the same as any number of shoots you’ve done before it. That’s fine. You do the job, you do it well, and you move on.
The idea isn’t that I don’t try hard at my job. The idea is more like what I would imagine it is being a striker in soccer. Whenever you get the chance you walk, or run slowly. You do this to conserve energy. While hustling constantly may help make a difference in any particular play, the difference it makes will probably be small. So instead you save your energy so that when you need to be able to strike hard, move fast, you have the energy for that sudden burst.
It’s a similar idea to what I feel I do. I take the day to day assignments, I do them well, but I don’t put out that extra energy to take a nice photo and make it very nice. Instead I hold that energy, so
when the situation arises I can take a good photo and make it great, take a good photo and turn into a great photo story. I look at as being able to take an image of medium importance and story telling ability, and make it 20% better (yeah, percentages don’t really work with are, but work with me here) or take a potentially good story and make it 10 times better.
At the end of the day I don’t think artists have an infinite amount of energy; creativity, sure, but not the energy to carry out all those ideas. So decisions have to be made, sacrifices made. Happens in everything we do, it’s no different in art.
And mind you, I’m not saying this is necessarily the right choice. I’m saying that this is the choice I’ve discovered that works best for me, at this point in my life. It may be different for me in a year, or a decade, and it’s probably different for you.
Now I just need to find a story that lights my fire. It’s been a few months, I’m in the mood, but nothing has appeared that has really screamed “I need to do a story on this.” I’ve already got one planned for the fall, and some ideas of where I want to go for summer, but the season of the moment, spring, I’ve got nothing. At moments like this I count on the strangeness of the world and serendipity, and a story shall appear. I just hope it’s soon.