Philosophical Honesty
The photo is from the Belmont Arts and Music Festival (BAM), and is totally unrelated to the pointless point that follows. Thanks. Hell, it’s not even related to BAM really either, it was just there.
I’ve been debating the difference, on a philosophical level of 4 colors, white, black, chrome (oh, shiny) and clear. See, none of them are colors, in fact, most every color you think of as a color isn’t a color. Sorry, accept this, accept that your brain is making all these things up, you only see red, green and blue (RGB), as colors, you also see brightness with rods. Hope I didn’t burst your bubble, but teal, it doesn’t exist, neither does purple, orange, yellow, or any color beyond RGB.
So, if your favorite color is white, you aren’t actually choosing a favorite color as it’s an equal mix of RGB. You are being indecisive. (though further thought must be put into what a “color” is and the contrubution of rods to this whole thought and not just cones.)
Black is just a lack of light, so hence, it’s not a color, it’s actually a lack of color. You like black? You like nothing. Kind of explains some of my friends teen years actually.
Chrome, while shiny, and hence wonderful, is a reflection, it shows you nothing except what’s reflecting off of it. That’s actually where this all starts, The Bean (or Cloud Gate). It’s impossible to take a photo of the Bean, all you can do is take a photo of the reflection which infers the existence of the Bean, but the Bean itself does not absorb and re-emit light, it just directly reflects light. When you look at the Bean you are not seeing the Bean, you never see the Bean, you are seeing the reflections the Bean creates. (I kind of wonder if the reflection an object makes is enough to prove the existence of an object, I think so, but…)
Clear, clear is the most honest of these four “colors”. It doesn’t pretend to be a color like white or black, or a color in a Crayon box like chrome. It acknowledges it’s lack of color and embraces it.
It’s all about the food
I just get to have lunch/dinner with the coolest people. This is, yep, I’m calling you out on stage for a minute, Peter “George” Ksander, according to Time Out New York, “the most ingenious set designer working downtown.” And the whole serious look thing makes me laugh hysterically.
I’m becoming a stronger and stronger believer in the value of surrounding yourself with the most creative, kindest people you can. I think it will only encourage those things, help you grow those things, in yourself. I’m not sure if that’s how it works, but it’s a happy experiment to try.
Isaah
The world is different than I would’ve thought.
Many a year ago I saw a study. It pretty soundly linked perception and media consumption. By this I mean, how dangerous people saw the world was pretty strongly related to how much news and media they consumed. People who saw the world as less threatening, tended to be out and about more.
Now, mind you, I spend a lot of time consuming media. I may not read many books these days, or any books at all, but I read hours upon hours a day. I read newspapers, magazines, website upon website, blog after blog. Many of them relevant to my job and career. I want to do what I do better, every day, every year. But I’m also out and about, a lot, I mean, a lot.
So in the last few weeks, and these photos are already over a week old, I’ve just been busy, I’ve met at least two former drug dealers and ex-cons. You know what? They were two of the nicest, smartest, and in some ways, wise people I’ve met in a long time. The older one I met knew it, he just knew it. It didn’t matter what “it” was, he knew the score, he knew what was important in this world and he knew he had made mistakes and that he had moved on. He knew he was a good guy. And I only got to know him for maybe twenty minutes. From that time, he was right.
Isaah, was much younger, maybe 19. He made some mistakes, some big mistakes, but you know what, it’s not the mistakes that matter, it’s what we learn from them that matters. Isaah, he learned. He learned big time. Isaah is one of those rare people who makes me regret leaving the world (the horrible world) of management. I wanted nothing more after talking to Isaah than to offer him a job. No, his skill set might not have been great, but he has the important qualities. He is smart, he learns from his mistakes, kind, caring, interested and interesting, genuine and also scarred, hard-working, looking to make his life better, and willing to do the work to get there.
He’s currently doing work with a program, Clean Slate, to help him get placed in a steady job and get the training he needs. Much of this involves doing work picking up trash on the street. I was a janitor for a few months, but nothing as hard as what he’s doing, and he’s doing it for far less, for now. He’s trying, he’s working. Isaah came across as what we want from the citizens of this country, a desire to improve, both their standing in the world, and themselves.
Isaah was an inspiration to me.
I tried to relay that to him, I’m sure I failed, but that morning I spent hanging with him, learning his story, his past, and how he was trying to make a better now, and better tomorrow, you know what, he’s one of the reasons I love my job. People like Isaah.
My Unbiased Opinion
As a journalist, I am fair and unbiased. (Actually, I pretty much am, weird huh?)
I ain’t saying I don’t have a point of view on things though. This might not see publication, haven’t decided yet. It’s funny for me. Don’t like it? I don’t bother to moderate the comments, so have fun. And he full well knew what I was doing.
Plus, you got to admit, this is just so wonderfully, ridiculously over the top, how could I possibly pass this up? (Got to admire his make-up.)
A Moment of Silence
I knew coming into April that April was going to suck. It has. Royally.
On Monday I lost one of my closest friends, a friend who I’d spent literally 4 or 5 hours with a day at least a few times a week. Rarely would I not spend at least an hour a day with this wonderful friend. My beloved white 97′ Ford Escort is no more.
I didn’t treat it right. I wasn’t as kind to it as I should’ve been. It had a rough existence, just like everything that is close to me, it was used, abused, thoroughly beaten, but loved. I should’ve cleaned it more, lots more. I should’ve taken it in for maintenance quicker, for the last two months it had a tire that had to be filled up every week because of a “slow” leak. It had a dent that was never dealt with. It was in serious need of a car wash, serious need. The windshield had been cracked for the better part of a decade, it had leaks in multiple places (I’d laugh and swear as it rained on me while I drove), it liked to pull to the right, just a little, the windows were manual, and the number of times I had to tell people to lock their door as they got out I can’t count. Who besides me has…had…manual locks? And manual windows? The drivers side door would freeze shut on and off all winter, usually just the lock, but at least a few times every winter I’d be cursing as I climbed over the passenger’s seat to get in, and sometimes out.
It always got me where I was going, reliably, until Monday. I was pissed when it busted. I was supposed to be having a picnic with a friend of mine. An event that would probably have been the highlight of my week. Instead I was sitting on the trunk of my car in a community college parking lot, which I had mistakenly gone to because I screwed up where my shoot was at. Sitting on the trunk, waiting for a tow truck, thinking the fuel pump was busted. I was annoyed. I was supposed to be having a picnic. It was over 70 and sunny. It was going to be such a good day.
I had, by some weird quirk of chance left my bike in the trunk of my car. At least getting home from the mechanic’s was going to be easy. A little before 4pm I got the call. I don’t cry. I just don’t. It’s not good, it’s not bad, it’s just me. But I couldn’t handle that one. I only had a few minutes before I had to get running to my next shoot, but I shed a few for my Ford. The engine needed to be rebuilt, and, well, it’s a 97′ Ford Escort. The work was more than buying a new one. Nothing but dumb bad luck. Something involving the 4th piston and a lot of words I don’t quite get. Nothing I could’ve done. I can’t even feel guilty that it was somehow “my fault”, it wasn’t. It was just gone. It had seen it’s last trip.
137,000 miles, 90,000 of those with me.
It was my first car, my only car to date. I need to get a new one, this week or next. But I’m going to miss my white 97′ Ford Escort, affectionately known in my own head as the “411″.
You’ll always have a place in my heart.
7 Days, This is 7 Days
Alright, this is to help give you an idea of what 7 days in my life looks like. This doesn’t cover it all, there are some images I’d like to have in here which are missing, just no time to work on them, others have already been posted. There are, of course, things I did, very happy events, which I enjoyed, didn’t document. But this is 7 days, from Friday, March 28th till Thursday, April 3rd.
The theme of my seven days was awesome people.
This includes some former residents of the Henry Horner CHA projects. They had a great conversation, which I was minimally part of, about the past. Basically, the past is the past, we’ve made our mistakes, it’s where 
are we going, who are we now. It’s one thing for me to say this, it’s another to hear this from a man who’s done some time. It’s also always fun to hear stories about the projects, and how wonderful they were, how much fun, how strong of community there was. It’s so easy to see what we want to see, or what was most recent, to forget that there is so much more there, there once was so much more there, if we just sit down and listen. Stories about kids growing up, and parents having to sneak out to have a drink because they couldn’t be seen drinking in front of their kids. Doors left unlocked because it was community. Kids goofing off, and while going up the stars getting a whoppin’ from adult after adult for their misbehavior, till they got home, the parent thanked all their neighbors for whoppin’ their kid and then gave em’ a whoppin’ themselves. The kids learned quick, communities are wonderful things.
Lloyd Bradbury, a blind painter. He can see just a few inches out of one eye. He’s happy, a kind of sarcastic in a fun humorous way, funny, intelligent, and a pretty decent painter. We had a good talk about how art has to come from what the artist feels. He’s good people, good people, and someone who I look forward to talking to again.
Otherwise, a week of good friends, good to awesome talks, some really hard stuff, really hard. I hate watching bad things happen to really good people, but it does, and it sucks, I wish I could protect my friends, but alas….
Other more random photos:
The man with the bat is Ernie Banks. Not to exciting the PR shot essentially, but cool, because it was Ernie Banks, not to mention Hank Aaron was there, we just goes to neat’o in my book.
The building is the Chicago Cultural Center, and it’s Escher like nature. I’d been meaning to shoot that space for a while, and I’ve still got a lot of exploring of it to do, but it was fun to spend some time there before having dinner with a friend.
The play was something I shot as a job for a buddy of mine. The usual theatre stuff.
Long Live the Simple Joy of the Company of Good People
I have a long rant on my company’s piss poor communication skills. I don’t have time to write it right now as I have to be able way early to drive a long way. Plus I just don’t feel like focusing on it. I want to enjoy life, be happy. Instead…
I got to hang with 75 people of all ages today who gathered outside the Art Institute to have a pillow fight.
You know what, it’s not your job that’s important, it’s not some item or such, it’s the simple company of good, happy people. We are, ultimately, almost all of us, that, good happy people. We just forget. Take pleasure in the company of those around you, don’t worry about what they think of you, hint, they think you’re good, you’re cool. (FYI – if I know you, I do as well. You are worth a lot to me, even if it’s been too long. That reminds me, gotta call Becky.) Enjoy it, do something simple, have some fun, but most of all, be happy.
And if you’re totally lost, smack em’ with a pillow. You know you wanta.
It’s going to be weeks before I get all the feathers out of my clothing.
That makes me smile.
Dreaming
Why a picture of a building? Yeah, I take lots of photos of buildings, this building though I’ve dreamed about for about 13 years now.
I was first in this building back when I was assisting for a magazine and we were doing an in-house ad, “these are the people that read this mag!” Yeah, whatever.
It’s an old CTA substation up by DePaul. I was a block away for a shoot today and just happened to be walking by it. There are three buildings of it’s design in Chicago-land. This one, which is owned by a well known sculptor. Another in Oak Park, which I’ve also been in, humorously enough, which is owned by another well known artist and occasional sculptor. (Both work a lot in metals, hmm.) The third is on the south side somewhere and is apparently an industrial business of some sort. Metal work I believe. (hmm…)
Why do I love these buildings? Good question, thanks for asking. Starting from the front, if you go back to between the first and second window, that portion of the building is living space. 3 floors of pretty good size living space. The rest of the building is wide open. It’s an empty space. It also does have rails between the upper and lower sets of windows which hold an industrial strength winch, for lifting and moving CTA “L” cars.
If/when I get one of these buildings, I’m not entirely sure what I’d do with it. I might turn the open space into a giant studio space, it would rock. More likely, I’d turn it into a forest. Plant a couple of trees, get some birds, a few animals, and have my own Eden in the city. I always want to escape the city and get to the woods, but it’s hard to find the time. Imagine just coming home to it. It’s a large enough and well enough lit space to hold at least 3 large trees and some smaller foliage. Maybe a little pool, by little like 15 feet round with a stream.
And remember that industrial winch on rails? Imagine using the bracing of that, removing the hardware, putting in a sheet metal floor with small holes punched in, so you could see below you, and were able to look out over the forest. That would be my main living space. A bed, a bathroom (bathroom, no doors, just curved semi-opaque glass) and a little relaxation area. All open. Just my tree house above my forest in the city.
I dream of that space, I have for a long time, I always will. The details of getting there I just don’t know, but it’s a dream, I may find a way, but part of the joy is in having the dream.
Okay, so of my three “big” dreams, that’s number two. Let me give you a run down on one and three also.
Three is the least likely. Quit everything, move to Hawaii, surf in the morning, take pretty pictures of nothing meaningful in the late afternoon. Just escape the rat race, escape responsibility. It’s my escapist, won’t happen, and wouldn’t want it to happen dream, but it gets me through those tough days.
My number one dream, I’m pretty sure I can pull off. It’s going to be a few years, but I’ve got the initial plan, it’s just doing some foot work, and when I decide to do it, which I get closer to every year, I can get everything together in under a year.
I’m going to get myself a canoe, a bunch of supplies, cameras, solar cells, tent, sleeping bag, all that good stuff, and I’m going to canoe the Mississippi-Missouri-Jefferson. It’s a little under 4,000 miles. I figure it will take 9 to 18 months. I’m not going to worry about just doing it. I’m going to use it as a conduit to explore the country and understand myself. I’ll blog the whole thing of course (it has some good book potential, and blogging might be able to provide me with a modest income while doing it, not to mention I’ll need to be journaling in some fashion, so why not do it publicly). I’ll probably make it a largely one way communication though, only one person with my email address, no incoming cell phone, all that good stuff. I’ll occasionally invite a friend to join me for a week, but not many, and not often. Mostly, I just want to meet the people on the central artery of this country. Talk to them, get to know them, document the river. The escapist aspect has been noticed also.
It’s a very doable dream, not easy, but definitely doable. The key is going to be getting to a point where I have nothing, or little, to leave behind. I’m not saying that is a good thing, but the closer I get to there, the more I see this as a viable option. I’d put 2 to 1 odds that I do it, someday. My best guess would be five years.
I’ve had a lot of serious life lately, and that’s fine, the last year has been wonderful, and horrible. If nothing else it’s been meaningful, and I wouldn’t give it back for anything. On the other hand, it has been hard, some days very hard. So I do what many people do, I escape into my dreams sometimes. Maybe I see my dreams as being a little bit more doable than most though (outside of my moving to Mars dream, that’s really unlikely.) I guess I understand having to do stuff in life, and I support it, but maybe those dreams I have, the dreams you have, maybe I just see, believe, they can be lived, if we want to live them. Saying that makes me want to leave next week, but I’ve got a few more good years, then I’ll be gone, and why not? I always wonder, why not live your dreams? Nothing stops us but us, and a strong enough desire to fulfill the dream.
Because I Can, IV
The photo is from a fund raiser for childhood cancer research. Fireman shave their heads to show solidarity and raise money. Good stuff. They actually offered to donate a $150 for me to shave my head, I just couldn’t this year because…well, I couldn’t, it was too important to show support for a friend of mine. Next year I’m going to go in with full faux-hawk though and see how much I can get. For a decent dollar donation, I’d give in.
My other good work from this week I’m sorry to say, I can’t show you. It’s from my current long-term project. Someday it will be shown to the world at large, but not today. The work is good, it’s hard, it’s painful, it’s joyful, and loving, it is what it is, but most of all, it’s good, I’m happy with it, I’ve given a lot to this project, and it’s been one of the best decisions of my life.
The rest of this is all personal, read if you please, don’t if you won’t. The world is a confusing place. This year is absolutely excellent. I’ve hung with, talked to, lunched with, otherwise gotten to know excellent person after excellent person. It’s a renaissance of life, it’s a dream, my work is hitting like it has never hit before. The last year is nothing short of amazing. I’m tired, drained, exhausted, and so in love, not with anyone unfortunately, but just in love. I’ve seen and felt so much caring, so much wonder this year. I’ve also seen so much go wrong, so painfully, so horribly, so cruelly wrong around me. I wish the world was a better place, a better place to good people, I wish the universe could show the love to the people around me that I have for them, but it doesn’t. Good people suffer, sometimes horribly and cruelly and pointlessly. I don’t understand it. All I can do is give my love, as much love as I have to my friends who so richly deserve all that I have.
My job may pay like shit, welcome to the industry, it may demand brutal hours some, many, weeks, it may have, I don’t know, I’m scared to find out, removed much of my chance for finding a partner in life, but it has allowed me to see many things in this world, learn many things. One of those lessons is that nothing matters, nothing at all, except love.
I’d say this boils down to really three things. The love of creation, this is true to me at least, this is what is important to me. In the scheme of things it’s small, but it matters to me. The second is loving a good partner. I’m not good at making this happen, it’s just me. I’m not happy with it, but I’m resigned to it, I’m comfy with it. The third, and the one that matters, is the love of those around you, the love of other people. This for me is most easily expressed in the love of my friends. My friends know, I hope they know, I love them, I’ll fight for them, I’ll help them, whatever, they are my friends, they are my flesh and blood in this world, they are what matters. In the larger view, all that matters is each other. A building matters, but only so much as it matters to someone, in and of itself, it’s meaningless. A tree may matter also, but only in how it matters to a person. This is true of everything around us, it matters but only because it matters to someone, in and of itself, it’s meaningless, pointless.
Take a moment today, call someone you wouldn’t have, find a friend, share some time with them, and tell them you love them. We don’t do it enough.
As it’s late while I’m writing this, I’m going to lay back, have some more scotch, I do love my scotch, yummy, and watch some episodes of the Muppet Show. Good stuff.
Addendum: I finally found it! I finally found it! The basis, the start, the source of why Marvin the Martian is the Man, why I love Marvin. Go here. “Hareway to the Stars” When in doubt, go to time 3:12, watch the next 15 seconds or so. Genius. I want to be so cool. Chuck Jones just rocks the house. It’s all about Venus, it’s always about Venus.
Flight and Falling
The pics have nothing to do with the words. I don’t care. The pics are from Ameba’s current piece, “On the Edge” at the Ruth Page Center for the Arts.
I have no idea any more. I’ve totally lost any concept of if I’m flying or if I’m falling, as far as I can tell, there is no difference between the two. I’m overwhelmed on almost every side of life. I can’t handle it, and I love it. The contradictions in my life are constant, and thorough. I’m totally lost, and I just can’t stop myself from continuing to go, further and further. Reality is becoming a distant memory, unless where I’m at right now is reality, which I find hard to believe, but how would I know?
I increasingly see my life in terms of “Apocalypse Now”. It’s my all time favorite movie. It describes my life. Surreality every where, all sides. And I just keep getting pulled up river, pulled by some force I don’t understand. I don’t know who I am, both in terms of which character I would most resemble (I can make arguments for the Chief, Lance, and the photojournalist, but I want to be Kurtz.) and I just don’t know if I know who I am anymore. I’ve chosen to let go, or remake so many parts of me in the last year, it’s amazing, I’m happier, I’m a better person, a better human, but I’m not sure who I am, or where I am. This isn’t a bad thing, if anything, it’s a good thing. I’m just totally lost on the river. Whatever it is, it works, but it’s all such a swirl.
Because I Can, III
I’d like to note, here and now, I don’t know what day of the week it is. They change, the days, but they are all the same, they all blend into one day. I shoot, I edit, I hang (hanging is key, lunch has become key, anyone want to do lunch on Friday? Let me know.) 7 days a week, forever.
Hell and Heaven are the same place, and you never quite know which you’re in.
It’s all so Zen
I’m going to start with some tangents then get to the point, as much as I ever have one, a few paragraphs on. The imagery is from polar bearing, the Chinese New Year’s Parade, a Snow Skate event (think SSX Tricky, and the only story assigned by the office, for you PJs), Information Superhighway’s performance, and The Afterlife’s performance. All the photos are from Friday night through Sunday night, and if still got leftovers for future posts. Ha!
There is just way too much to talk about from the past few days. Busy, busy beyond all recognition. Last night I got to turn the TV on for the evening news, tonight I watched my taped episode of Coupling (btw-I started watching this program a few months back, and it just kicks ass. Hilarious. Plus that whacky British humor kick. It’s on PBS.) That hour of TV has been all my free time for the last 5 days, and I hope it never ends.
It’s been nothing but edit, shoot, drive and talk about imagery with amazing photogs. Life is nothing short of grand. (I should note here, that I feel a little bad saying that as numerous of my friends have had really bad things happen to them this last week. And while I may be having a great week, that they are all in my thoughts and heart. If any of you need a hand, and I’ve said this to many of you already, let me know, I’m here and it would be my honor to make your life a little better.) Thursday a friend went out of her way to set-up some free tickets to a show for me. Totally unasked for, so kind, and wow, talk about setting a great tone for the weekend.
Friday after hanging with some friends, and running into a cool new friend totally at random, I got to see my favorite singer, the incredible Leslie Beukelman. (And if you’re cool, and I know you are, you want to see Leslie perform with my favorite tap dancers, Chicago Tap Theatre, in what will surely be an awesome performance, Mixology. Buy tickets now, it sells out, every show last year. Guys, you will impress your gals, with your class and taste, trust me.)
Saturday I got go Polar Bearing (I will go into depth on this in a bit, it’s the zen of it all.) And that night hang with some of Chicago’s, and the country’s premiere photographers. (Don’t believe me? Go here. Some of the presenters, showing the best in unused political photography coming out of the primaries. It makes me sad for newspapers that this doesn’t get used, but I’m not surprised either.)
Sunday was the Chinese New Year’s Parade, which was just all kinds of cold. Sunday night (Fri and Sun were both at Silvie’s strangely enough and Sat was at a house two blocks away, weird) I got to see one of my favorite theater groups turn band, The Afterlife. Whacky fun. I like theater people, I tend to get them, usually because they’re insane, so we have something in common. Plus I got to finally meet a friend (this whole Facebook/MySpace/Blog (FMB) world is weird. People I’ve never met know me, and I know them. Well at least this weekend I got to meet both of my FMB friends who I had never actually met.) who I’ve been having some pretty kickass conversations with.
Damn, I mean, damn, can life be better? Oh yeah, to top it off, I was on fire. I was like a drunken teenager in a car on a Saturday night in nowhere Texas with a baseball bat and nothing but mailboxes in front of him. Just hitting everything, everywhere. Not perfect, but solid hits all around.
Alright, too the much delayed point……Zen.
My mid-day Saturday shoot, or one of them was the Lakeview Polar Bear Club’s 7th Annual Celebration of Shrinkage. For those who don’t know, Polar Bearing is basically jumping in a cold, or in this case, literally freezing, lake, for…fun? I’ve wanted to do this for years and because of recent acquasitions by our company, was able to self-assign it for work. All the time I had for prep work basically consisted of calling Brian and getting some tips; sandals so submerged ice cuts your feet less often, a nice robe so you can quickly disrobe and re-robe, things like that.
I knew there were going to be a multitude of technical issues going in. Not that cameras don’t like either the cold or water. Who would’ve thunk it? Plus an event I have a minimal understanding of and have to cover with a minimum of equipment, again, due to the whole “water problem”. I made sure my camera was set-up before hand to be as quick and responsive as possible, basically, all manual. As old Leica ads used to say, “A camera that doesn’t get in the way of taking the picture.” Plus it was going to be quick, maybe a minute, maybe less I had been warned and the people I really wanted, the newbies screaming, probably meant a 15 second window for what I needed. This was going to come down to one, maybe two chances and that was it. Plus there were going to be a host of safety issues, as I would be in literally freezing water. Dead photographers don’t make good photos, basic rule. Basically I knew it would be great. I love intensity. It’s passionate. Yeah, baby.
So I get changed, btw-you know you’re in trouble when you are taking your clothes off on a beach, in the snow, and when you pull your long underwear off, and you have swim trunks underneath, so I get changed, get some “before” shots. Whatever. I end up standing around for a few minutes in my hat, sandals and swim trunks. You’d think this would be really damn cold, it was in the mid-20s after all, but I really wasn’t. This was kind of the theme for the day.
I set-up to be able to enter the water about 5 seconds ahead of the pack. I wanted to be able to get people if it was shocking right as they entered the water, and as I wasn’t wearing a wet suit, it needed to be as little lead time as I could get away with. Safety was a constant in this plan. I entered the water well everyone else was still about 30 feet away, so the first few seconds I got to be in the water without having to, being able to focus on shooting. This is, actually, a bad thing. See I got to feel my feet lose feeling, in what I would estimate to have been 1 to 2 seconds. But once everyone else started hitting the water, it was totally different.
When I shoot, not always, but when I’m there, when I’m in the zone, I’m there, totally in the moment, totally aware of my surrondings, totally aware of what is occurring and totally focused on what I’m doing, on the image I’m making. I think, but more than that, I react, I follow instinct and training, years of training. It’s a hard to describe combination of being in the scene, feeling the scene and floating above it all. I believe as a journalist I have to report what is there, but to capture the emotion, I have to be open to the emotion, and sometimes, feeling the emotion. I have to let that feeling, in this case, damn cold, into me, but flow through me. It has 
to flow through because well I need to feel it to use it to guide my imagery, my creation process, I can’t get overwhelmed by it. Sometimes I do get overwhelmed by it, and that’s hard on many levels for me, but as much as possible I need to not let it stop me from doing what I need to do.
So once all the participants got in the water it was all shooting. Turn here, look for this shot, turn there, try to get that shot. I don’t remember my legs being cold, but they could’ve just been numb at that point. And while I remember my feet being cold initially, there is something shocking I don’t remember. I didn’t go that far out, that deep, but I got above my waist in the water, I know this because my trunks were soaked when I got out of the water. Not to be blunt, and while the ladies will understand this, the men will truly get this, I don’t remember the boys hitting the water. Maybe they went numb to quick, whatever, but this is one of those moments you expect to hit you, like that drunk teenager earlier, except this time I’d be, or my boys more accurately, would be the mailbox. As a guy, any water below a nice warm bath tub, or a jacuzzi, ahhh jacuzzi, is a memorable experience and not in a good way typically. This one, which may have been the worst ever for me, I didn’t even notice. I was too focused on getting my shots, on what was around me.
It just amazes me how focused the mind can be, how it can allow all the necessary information in and discard everything else, regardless of how…profound, it may be. I ended up being in the water for about a minute and seven seconds (I’m taking that time from the time stamps on the images.) I left, I think I left, when I felt that I was starting to enter a time frame where safety issues might start to appear. Plus most everyone had come in and gotten out, so my shots had moved to people getting dressed and such and were no longer in the water. I didn’t think about it much, I just knew that’s where I needed to be, and moved to be there.
I spent the next 30 minutes, maybe more, in my wet trunks, my sandals, with wool socks on now to keep my feet warm (if my feet are warm, I’m warm), my winter hat, and my
awesome royal blue heavy cotton robe. I wasn’t cold at all. I shot people getting warm, drinking hot chocolate, doing all the “after” things you would expect. Plus I ran into one our freelance photographers and we chatted for about 10, 15 minutes. The photo community is small, it’s always good to get to know people, and help them when you can, because someday, you’ll probably need it in return.
But my favorite point in shooting, the experience I live most for, is not when I see that final image. It’s for the moment shutter is open, it’s when everything is around me, I know what’s happening on all sides, and the shutter is open, making that image. For that split second an exposure is being made. That is my moment in life. That is the moment I live for. Not all photography is like that, a village council meeting? Who cares, it’s got to be done, but I’m not into it. Those intense, beautiful instants, when it’s all about feeling, instinct, passion, and the moment, that beautiful moment, is like nothing else. It’s probably the closest I’ll ever come to that Zen mediation feeling of being totally empty, without thought. Luckily for me, I get it regularly, or fairly regularly, and nothing can replace it.
Can life get better? And if so, can my heart handle it?
Cup: Half Empty or Half Full?
It’s always an interesting question. I can positively, and definitely say, I see it both ways. (And in the political spirit of the season) I wholeheartedly admit to flip-flopping, flip-flopping like a pack of teenage girls on the beach, on this issue. One day one way, one day another. So, what I say, here, now, is true for today, tomorrow, we’ll see….
So recently my “daytime” employer, thee who provides me health insurance, bought several new newspapers (new for us.) We went from having 6 weekly papers to 9. The 3 additions are also a significant hike away. This will most severely effect the circulation staff and the photo staff, in my estimation, because we’re the people that have to travel there. No way around it for us. We have to be on scene, we can’t work via phone calls and email.
Of course, my first response is panic. Change causes fear in many people, me included. I believe this is natural, and good. Change is symbolic of food or shelter being at risk, and people want to live. I want to live. I want to live my happy, shiny little life. That has been largely my response, and is going to continue to be part of my response till I see how this all works out.
My belief is that photo doesn’t have the resources to do the job properly. The company’s position is that they’ve added the resources they can, and that will do the job, and otherwise we’ll find a way. (Hmmm…the staff wants more, the management wants to give less than what the staff “needs”…this song sounds familiar, like the song sung at every company everywhere, except maybe Google. I don’t want to work at Google, or own Google, I want to be Google. Someday.) Where it all lands? Who knows? Give it a few weeks to a few months.
To date, what I’ve been seeing is the company believing I should work 70-hour weeks, and that all the photos should just magically get done, somehow. I like to think of it as the “Photo-Fairy”(picture me in a tutu with a wand in one hand with a magically light weight pro-body and lens combo on the end, just taping people and getting photos and floating over traffic.) Now, my publisher expects a lot out of the photo staff, but he’s not inhuman. The problem is, he doesn’t understand photo. He’s a writer, writers never get photo. They’ve never done it, don’t get what’s involved except in rare instances. Alas, my boss (photo editor, PE) and I aren’t good at communicating our workload to the office. We’re always on the road, I only go in when I have to and call when I have something to talk about. They know as little as I show them.
The solution? Better communication, better self-management. I need to realize my days are going to be full. Every day. Previously some days were full, some over-full, some downright slow. As a colleague (Strazzante) once said, (I’m paraphrasing as I don’t remember exactly, but it’s a great sentiment) “I average 40-hours a week, but I don’t work 40-hours any one week.” I’ve had weeks hit 70 hours in 5 days in the past. I never minded that much, as much as I get kind of pissy and bitchy those weeks. Why? Because some point down the road, I’d have a 30-hour week or less, and maybe a few of them. Over a year, I’m guessing I averaged 45, maybe 50 hours a week. I can live with that.
Now those slow weeks are gone. This means, no more sprints, but a constant marathon. I have to work 50 hours a week, but not more, not more because I won’t have the slow week to walk after the sprint. It’s a constant jog. The office won’t be able to see how much I work, they don’t do my job, they don’t know. I have to set this pace, and they have to respect it. That’s all they have to do, is respect the limits I set and listen to what I’m telling them. Hopefully they can accomplish this. I don’t usually give them credit for this, but this is often unfair, as I’m bad at communicating the limits to them, and why.
So hopefully by managing myself better, I can keep the potential bad of this growth at bay. But the good? That had been simmering in my head, but really hit today, and it involves, of all words, bhangra. Yes, bhangra.
See, over the summer, I went to one of the Millennium Park Dance Festival events of band that was recommended to me, Funkadesi. (FYI – they are absolutely awesome.) I learned how to bhangra dance at this event. Good times. Need to do that more. Apparently bhangra is a from of traditionally Indian dancing, I learned this at that point. I need to do more of it, just an FYI.
So today, I’m driving down Devon, in one of our new neighborhoods (I have no idea what neighborhood mind you), and I realize I’m in a heavily Indian neighborhood. “Hmmm…”(he says in his head) “wonder if I can find some bhangra to shoot for these new papers.” That sounds like fun.
Then it hit me. Duh! Okay, we now have some freelance budget, so if I’m booked, it’s not as bad. If I limit myself to the jog, and don’t get burned out, I can take the chance to explore these new neighborhoods, which I’ve been rather interested in since this acquisition was first announced. If I do some research, learn what’s going on, where, and find the visually interesting ideas, as long as I stay ahead of the writers (which is like hurtling a cantalope, not much more than walking) I can save them the effort of finding photo spreads and drop-ins, and create my own. Writers are inherently lazy people (I really rather like writers, and by writer I mean reporter, not real writers, oh yeah, bring it on, and respect them, really, I do, they just don’t plan well, as a group. There are some wonderful, marvelous exceptions. Yeah, and photographers are pre-Madonnas, we are, which is one of the common complaints. That and all women think we’re hot. We are. Just suck it up writers, Photographer equals sexy, don’t be jealous. Don’t be hating.)…where was I? Oh yeah, writers are always behind on their photo requests and don’t like doing them. So if I can find ideas for those imagery needs first, they’ll be happy not having to do that work, and not get in my life with they’re non-photogenic ideas. (I kid you not, “They’re doing this old time radio broadcast. This should be really cool and interesting, let’s get 5 images out of this!” What about “radio” says “visual”? People standing by a mic, one prop person.) This is a good thing. I get to photograph more photogenic subjects and events, and do more of what I want.
I’m a believer in chaos. Chaos is good, just follow me here for a second. In chaos, the people who usually come out the other side in the best condition are those who are best trained, most intelligent, most adaptable, best prepared, and generally, strongest (in which ever form the word “strong” need take.) I’ve been through chaotic times with other companies in the past, I’ve done well, quite well. I believe, if I take control of my situation, I can come out the other side, doing more of what I want, less of the reporter requested schmuck grip and grin, ribbon cutting crap. Maybe I can even book all my Friday and Saturday nights October through March and not ever shoot basketball again. Okay, that might be too much to ask.
I do have about 20% of the city of Chicago to work with. I might, just might, be able to find a way to fill 30, maybe 40 hours a week, with what I want. Okay, that might be high, but you never know.
I’m not sure how true this all is. I’m not sure that I’m up to the challenge. I’m not even totally convinced the opportunity is really there. But maybe it is. Just maybe.
And tomorrow? Tomorrow the world be crashing down again. Oh well. (I’m smirking here.)
No School Like the Old School, Again?
Someday I’m going to learn to stop unlearning things.
Many a year back I used to use test strips, many test strips, during many hours in the darkroom. The test strip, for those of you who never hung out in the darkroom, which is the high school equivalent of the college bar. (Well, maybe not, but it’s sounds like I was more fun when I say that.) The test strip is a thin strip of paper, that you made a print on, a small portion of the final print, to figure out your exposure and contrast and test to make sure things were coming out alright before dropping the dough on the full sheet.
I took my darkroom down about 5 years back. The “digital darkroom,” which sounds downright sexy compared to “home office,” took it’s place. I haven’t done a test strip in that time, till tonight. See a few weeks back I got a new toy, unless you’re the IRS, in which case it’s a tool to expand my clientèle and avenues of distribution for more imagery and increase my name recognition to generate sales of fine art prints and increase my speaking revenues. Also known as, a really cool toy. It’s a 24inch wide printer. I got it for “Summer Love”. Those images are going to look so sexy when I’m done and they’re 23×31 inches. Oh, they’re going to be hot. Like my hair.
Anyhow, I haven’t calculated out the cost per square foot of print yet. I’m to scared too. Suffice it to say, “not cheap”, will be part of the answer. (replacing all 12 ink cartridges will run roughly $700-$800. Add paper on top of that. Ouch time. And if you want to know why I’m too broke to go out for drinks. Yep. Why I’m working every day, this year. Yep.) So I’m back to doing test prints.
I find it hilarious how the longer I do this, the more I go back to what I did when I first learned how to do this.
On the edge
Just as a pre-cursor here, and because I’m thinking about it right now. Diet Sunkist with Diet Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper, kinda tasty. I’m going to have to work on it, I don’t have the ratios quite right yet. I can get it to start with a good Dr. Pepper flavor with a hint of orange then have it finish with a nice strong Sunkist kick. But I’m not quite there, yet. The ratio is something like 10:1 Dr. Pepper to Sunkist too, it may go even higher by the time I’ve figured it out. I’ve never had a mixing ratio that high before. Anyhow…. (and yeah, I need something productive to do with my life.)
One of the skills, thought patterns, I’ve been working on improving is spending less time working the event, and more time working the edges of the event. The center of an event often has a lot going on, but it’s predictable, it’s easy. The edges, where the people are there, but aren’t necessarily, are so often more. They speak more to what people are, and less to what they want to project to be. They tend may be more into the event than those that are there to appear to be in the event.
Cases in point. The man dancing. I can always groove with a guy who will dance to the music, unself-consciously. The man sitting by the wall, maybe homeless, maybe not, I don’t know, was way into the music. He would occasionally shoot dirty looks at the talking couple, not in a mean way, but just in a way that you knew he was appreciating the music. He had a great little wry happy smile, that I wish I could’ve got just right, but never did (well I may shoot for publication, sometimes it’s better to remember than to capture.) He was also very kind, anyone who wanted the seat in front of him he generously extended his hand to say “you are welcome to sit here” even when it was going to block his view. The band was good, don’t get me wrong, but so much less interesting to watch than the people watching. (It’s like the zoo, animals, cute, fun. People? Now that’s just fascinating, and a reason to go. Whacky species them homo-sapiens.)
And yeah, I’ve been going and shooting the Cultural Center during their lunch time jazz performances, because really, if you could go listen to a 45-minute jazz concert and call it work, legitimately, wouldn’t you? My job may not pay much, so hell, I might as well be happy. And I am.
Now, the one thing I would change, of my three primary work cameras, all three have something busted on them. Buttons not working is the top problem. I was really enjoying when I could only trust the auto-focus on one of the cameras, and that camera can only auto-focus in the middle of the frame. I don’t own a single camera with a totally working auto-focus mechanism. Alas, one of the questionable focusing cameras went and had the whole shutter mechanism break, so that’s off to Nikon tomorrow. The Canon with the sticky focus button I can do on the fly fixes for, but it’s annoying as all get out. It’s tough to manually focus well when you can’t even see what’s in the viewfinder. (I like dark places. It probably goes along with, I like challenges.) The auto-focus doesn’t do well in those situations either, but if I can get it to catch I know I’m in the ballpark. Alas I can’t go a week without that camera, it earns me too much money, and I’d really rather not drop the cash to buy a replacement, for a week. Few more months, the new version will be out, and I’ll buy one of those. Life is funny.
Self-portraits: Part One
Quick note, when I do this “Part One” routine, do I ever do a “Part Two” or do I just get distracted too quick? Ah well…
Lately I’ve been taking a lot of self-portraits, every few weeks I do a session. I find I’m enjoying it, and more importantly, it’s helping me out. It’s my therapy session. I get in front of the camera, and I have to explore where I’m at. No one else matters at that point in time, it’s just me and the camera. Sometimes it’s a bit surprising to see what comes out.
My latest session, a few days ago, I was expecting to be a bit more…down, not depressing, but emotionally exhausted. I had spent Thursday watching, documenting a difficult situation, watching a good person get made to feel bad, really bad, but to get healthy. By the time I left her for the day, I was done, cooked, empty. Don’t get me wrong, if she needed more from me, if the story needed more from me, I would have done it, in a heart beat, but outside of that, I was done.
So on Friday night I decided to take some self-portraits. I needed it. It’s my version of sitting in the psychiatrist’s coach. I wanted to play with the smoke machines I bought back around Halloween, but they never quite worked out, which was okay in the end. The self-portrait is, for me, a very organic process. I go in with an idea, but I never quite come out with what I was expecting, and that’s good. I like letting the situation evolve, I feel that it lets my feelings rise to the top, or it at least gives them the best chance to rise.
In the end the photos were serious, but not morose, like I was expecting. Part of that was the lighting scheme I chose for the evening. Strong highlights don’t lend to depressing imagery, but I’m pretty sure if I wanted to, I could’ve got it there, but I didn’t take it there. And this is why I love the self-portrait, because it helped me realize something, I had been refilled, a little, been picked up. (though I’m a little up in the air as what they are emotionally, maybe just confused, unsure, all over the place, god knows, that would be believable considering life of late.)
After I had left Thursday night, and I was done, I decided to go out. I had actually already planned on going out, but I got out later than planned and I had to ditch on a friend (sorry).
Another friend of mine was singing at a local bar and I figured I had to go support her, it was all of a ten minute walk from my home, not to mention, I knew I’d need the pick-me up. So I listened to some good singing, another buddy of mine, Jimbo, The Great and Wonderful Jimmy, (a better friend can’t be asked for in this world. He’s a unique character, in oh so many ways, but he’ll always step up for a friend.) So I hung out, talked to him, which was all kinds of good. Followed that up with an excellent conversation with the singer after the show.
And this is the part that the self-portraits helped me realize, that conversation, it was exactly what I needed at that point in time, and I never knew it. Even afterwards, I didn’t realize for a few days. She thinks we talked and I helped her out and was kind to her, and I hope I was and I hope I could help her, but what was less obvious, was how much it helped me. Maybe I would have come to this realiztion on my own otherwise, but the self-portraits helped me see I wasn’t where I expected myself to be emotionally, and to see the reason.
Personally, I’m a fan of self-portrait sessions for everyone on a regular basis, but I’m biased also. You got a cellphone, why not? If nothing else, who sees it besides you?
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Next time on “Pigs In Spaaaaccceee…..”, oops, I mean next time in the reasoning of self-portraits. The growth of the self-portrait in the new millennium and how it will be seen as a defining art form at the start of the millennium. Also, the internet, how the entire world is now open to us, and yet we can now be so much more self-obsessed at the same time. (yeah, I include myself sadly enough.)
Nothing Much to Add…Yet
There is something cathartic about setting up a camera, and just letting it take pictures. No purpose, no point, no reason, just letting it go, and seeing what appears. (I really didn’t plan on shooting till 3am. Damn.)
Imperfection is Better. Period. Part 1
Rant time. And sorry about the lack of photos, but I really need to get this written and also sleep tonight. I’ll be better in the future.
This comes from one of those confluence of forces that forms a wonderfully large storm.
The mental process started actually a while back as I’ve been reading more and more about the changes in audio recording and thinking about those. We all know by now that if Britney hits the wrong note, no biggie, they’ll just take care of it in editing and the note will be dead on. Slightly off rhythm, solved also. Whatever the problem, solved in editing. Then add in some reading on mid-tone compression, maxing out the levels, and the loss of subtlety in music. Hmm…now that’s interesting. We’re losing something in music, sure we’re gaining in other areas, but it’s worth the thought.
The photo world has become very much the same. Blemish? Pimple? Wrinkle? Bags? Crows feet? (Really, why in the world do I even know what “crow’s feet” are? I’m an early 30s male. Geez.) This is just silly, but that’s the fashion world for you. And that’s how I have dealt with it, it’s not my world. That smooth perfection doesn’t effect me, I’m a journalist, I can’t do that stuff, so ignore it and move on. (Go here for an example of just too far. Geez.)
Okay.
Then a few weeks back I had to buy some software to put film grain into photos. Here I spent years fighting to get rid of film grain. Fighting to get smooth, perfect images that can blow up huge. Fighting to get rid of high iso noise. (Even though some of my favorite images use that very effectively to their advantage.) I’ve got prints on my wall right now, that were shoot in okayish lighting, 800iso or higher, and are 24x39inches (I got a new printer by the way, it’s sexy in way that I can’t accurately describe without inflection. Suffice it to say, if you’ve ever seen a 73′ Corvette, it’s sexy like that, and the 73′ Corvette is the basis of all sexy. I digress…) So these huge prints look great, and I love that I can do that, that I have that option available to me. I couldn’t get prints this size with 35mm film under ideal circumstances without the image falling apart. Now I can do it under iffy at best circumstances. I love the versatility. But I’ve lost something.
Adding the film grain back into images has been showing me, smooth, perfect, clean, is just that, clean, sterilized. I’m not a sterilized kind of guy (insert joke here). I like it messy. I like the feeling, the dirt, the grime, the roughness. The best things in life aren’t clean cut, they don’t exist in an operating room. For the first time in the history of humanity, anything is possible visually, anything. It can be as perfect as we want, every time, if we are willing to put out the work. Reality is no limit. And for this, we have lost something, we have the lost the nature of the subject. (Wow, what an art bs sentence that means nothing.)
I like the grittiness of the film grain. I like the emotion of b&w. I’ve worked the last 7 years to achieve color nirvana, and now that I’m here, I want to go back home to Tri-X and Tmax3200, though without the cost of shooting film. The grass is always greener on the other side.
In sterilizing our subjects to perfection, we sterilize them of their nature, their emotion, their very value if you ask me. I like that Joni Mitchell doesn’t hit every note, her voice, her songs is no less beautiful, in fact, it’s more beautiful.
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On a related, but not really note, I’m going to add in my perception of women as a professional observer of women and their beauty.
First and foremost, I feel bad for how screwed-up the world is, and it makes me happy to not be a woman, or have daughters. I love the Dove Campaign for Real Beauty. I’m still trying to find some Dove products to buy just because of that campaign. If you haven’t seen it already, you need to watch this video. (sorry, Dove won’t let me embed it in this page. Bummer.) And regardless of whether or not you think you are an attractive woman, you probably are, many if not most women are. I’m not saying their aren’t women with amazing genetics, their are. Many of them, are uninteresting. An insight into the male mind (I know, it’s not about us, but I’m going to pretend for this bit), men compliment the little unique things, to other men. The mole on the neck of their girlfriend, the quirk in the smile, the gray hair (yep, gray can be hot.) I’m not saying that the usual stuff doesn’t work, it does. Make-up is amazing. A good hairstylist is a wonder. (On a self-obsessed side-side-note. I can put the wave into my hair, let it dry, then wear a bike helmet for two hours, and my hair comes out just like it went in. My hair is taking lessons from John Wayne’s cowboy hat. Untouchable baby. My hair cannot be beat.) The usual stuff, hair, make-up, etc., is wonderful, but it’s small.
I can remember seeing a beautiful woman, I see plenty of them. What sticks in my head though, that woman who shines. It’s not physical, or just physical. It’s that smile. I can remember those smiles that light up rooms. Those eyes that are just happy. I can remember them from last week, I can remember them from the early 90s. Yep, I can pull up a smile from over a decade ago. I can’t remember the rest of the face necessarily, just that smile, and that feeling. Same with eyes, same with any number of similar items. Whereas the chic in the hot dress with the hot bod, from last week, tough to remember, honestly, not worth remembering, but those great smiles though, even if just a flash, are worth a lifetime. (A bud of mine, Nick, first planted this thought in my head when I was a teen, and I have been grateful ever since. It wasn’t that it wasn’t true before he told me, it was that I needed it verbalized.)
Anyhow the point of this is, as such, ladies, you are beautiful, when you let yourself out. I say this as professional observer of this, as a creator of imagery of you ladies, and to be quite honest, as a man (it’s hot, not lecherously hot, just gorgeous. The moments I miss a woman in my life is not when I see that “beautiful” one, it’s when I see that look in the eyes, and a tweak in the smile.)
I don’t know
I’ve given up on the big things, the big changes, the major milestones of life, changing the world. It’s been one of those frustrating weeks. But I really love those little things, those little steps, and maybe calling them little is insulting, inaccurate, and it’s not what I mean, but I think I’ll get to the idea. But those are the worthwhile things in life.
Photographed Giuliani, why are elections on, again? Wasn’t it just last week when the last one ended? Fine, show up to the pen. I hate press pens. Talk about a sure fire way to get the same shot as everyone else. Basically they round up all the photographers and let them shoot from one of two, three, maybe four positions. I think it’s the press pens that make sure photographers all have the same difficult, independent, and at least slightly uncooperative streak. The advance team’s job is to get the image that they want to portray, portrayed. Fine. That’s not my job. I’m not their PR department. They want me to be?, I’ll quote them the rate.
I at least got one shoot that AP, Reuters and whoever else the other 7 photographers were working for don’t have, except maybe the Time guy. That makes me happy, or at least un-surly. Always be nice to the people on the ground level, the people who greet at the door, the maintenance person, they know what’s happening and where to go most of the time and get you around. Also, and sometimes I do this, and sometimes I hate it, it’s rude; don’t ask, just do, and take the slap on the wrist. I was where I wasn’t supposed to be, and that got me a different shot. “Please go back to one of designated shooting areas sir.” Right. He was doing his job, and was actually quite nice later. I just don’t do well with rules. The photo probably won’t get used, but whatever, made me happy. Now, do I go with the smile or the tense look?
I happily left that event, if you’ve never listened to a politician speak to a crowd, do, it will make all those times your spouse asks you pick up after yourself sound so wonderful and interesting.
The rest of my evening was spent shooting Chicago Tap Theatre. (Howdy ladies and gents. FYI – to everyone else, show this weekend, at UIC, kid friendly. Go.) You know what, helping them out, ain’t going to change much of anything in this world. But damn, it’s nice to be appreciated. (Take notes bosses everywhere.) If nothing more than a “Thank You” in the lobby. I ain’t going to change public opinion on who to vote for, or make a voter more informed, probably ever, for anyone. But you know what, I made one person a little happier. This is, for better or worse, the goal of each day of my life currently. I want to make someone a little happier, or at least a little better feeling.
Sure I want to inform and educate, create interest about the world and the people in it in the people who read our papers. Tell you what, as far as I can tell, next to no one cares about the photos in our papers. God knows, nobody I works with cares an iota. Endlessly frustrating. Unfortunately I care about what I do, and at least want to do it well. If they screw it all to hell on the back end, not my problem.
On Sunday I got to spend some time photographing CTT, just for me. Just playing. Every once and a while, we all need to just let go, and play, for ourselves. What CTT needed was probably covered. I wanted to spend some time making me happy. Playing for me. If my playing helps them, great, if not, sorry about the intrusion. I just hadn’t been happy for the last few productions with the images I had been getting. Some of that was technical issues beyond anyone’s control, if the lights don’t work and I can’t get any of Jesse’s sweet love with light, what can be done? (He really needs to get a website, or something I can link too. I really want to see if I can get him in the top results for “sweet love”. I love Google bombing. Also, if you think “Sweet Love” is the wrong term, look at the lighting for a minute in what I’ve posted of CTT recently. Every step has to be accounted for to get those images. Yeah, I have to do my job well, but even more so the dancers, the lighting designer Jesse Klug, choreographers, everyone. I can only capture what is already there.) Anyhow, I was tired of problems, and needed to loosen back up, which usually means experiment, experiment, and experiment. Some loses, some ties, I’ll take that. I feel better about where I’m at with photographing dance, even if it’s not the norm stuff that came out of that shoot.
Today though, today was quite good, if still frustrating. (I think I’m just personally frustrated at the moment, hence I’m frustrated by everything. No decent reason, just life. I even met a few nice people this weekend. Just too much in my head about things it has no right to dig into. As with all feelings, it shall pass.) Took photos for some magazine cover. The photos are fine. There is at least one nice usable image, probably more. In a year or so when they pull the images up for use though, the ad department is going to cry and scream. Not for reasons of execution, but for reasons of concept. Oh well, not my problem, not my concept. They don’t ask me, I don’t care. For me, Olivia, she was happy. Olivia is a young girl playing Clare in a local Nutcracker production. She liked the photos of her, she had fun. The office can be happy, they can be sad, they can be mad, they can be glad, me? I won’t rhyme or mind anymore. Olivia was happy. The photo is cheesy, sure, but whatever. Olivia is happy.
And even better, I got an email from Donna, the head of the science fair I judged last week. (Was that last week? I’m turning into one of those old men who doesn’t see the days/weeks/months go by anymore. I’m also becoming a curmudgeon, but I’m proud of that one.) Romario, the first place winner, according to Donna, “almost had a heartache with joy” when he saw a copy of the article in the paper. (Hmm…didn’t think it got published, maybe I should look at the papers sometimes. Bad Josh.) He got copies for his family and they’re going to read the article in class tomorrow. (Umm…Donna? Didn’t you notice I write horribly? Come on Tim, tell me you edited the story well. I feel like the pressure is on now. People are actually going to read what I write? Strangers? I’m going to have nightmares tonight. Well, at least the kids will know that anybody can be a journalist.)
It’s making Romario happy, hopefully proud, that makes me happy. It’s making Olivia happy that makes me smile. Maybe it’s not asking enough of myself. Maybe it’s realizing my limits. Maybe it’s a failure to see a larger picture. I don’t know. I made two kids happy today. That’s all I want anymore, or at least today.
Random Little Thought
I’m not sure what to do with this image. It’s close, but I don’t know if it’s a hit. I like the blur, the color, the person in the background I’d rather be gone, but I can live with them, and I’ll bring them down a bit given some more time in post. But it just doesn’t come totally together, not yet, but it’s close, it’s got the pieces. Just bugs me. I’m not sure what to do, or if anything can be done. It’s one of those hits to right field that’s going to die in the corner and be a triple, but lands just foul, not even by inches. Damn.