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.)

Garth Algar: "We fear change."

Proof I'm getting old, experience has taught me to fear change.

So today my bosses bought three more newspapers, taking the company from 6 weeklies to 9. I'm not sure what this means for me. I worry that the photo end of things wasn't well thought out, or thought out at all and it will mean being overworked, overloaded, and stressed out for a while.

I'm already way behind because I've got so much on my plate between work, my freelance work, and my pro-bono work. This could also mean more photo staff, less sports, please god less sports, and covering more interesting stories. I'm just not sure yet.

We will see what this does to me, for me in the coming weeks and months.

In the Moment

If there is one thing in this world I can understand, it's being into whatever you are creating, being into whatever you do, being in that moment. I don't how much of her performance was show, and how much was real, but it felt like most of it real. Her eyes open then closed, stomping her foot, just looking absorbed into the music.

It was a joy to watch, not to mention the band, Ethel, sounded great, from classical to more modern forms.

And if you ask me, in case I haven't made it clear over and over again, a skilled artist can perform whenever they need to, but it's in feeling the emotion that it becomes so much more.

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.)

Generosity

I'm amazed at the generosity of others to share themselves, to open up, in some cases incredibly, about all kinds of stuff, to let me in, often a stranger, or close there to, during good times, and sometimes challenging times. And offer me the trust to document their life, without reservation.

A friend of a friend, and now my friend, has asked me to document a challenging period of her life. The story is good, in content, in personalities, and in meaning potentially to others. It's going to be challenging for her, for her friends and family, and I'm sure for me as well, but it's worth it. (In photojournalism, you don't pick your stories, your stories pick you, and when they ask for you, you go, it ain't a choice, you just go.)

This story is going to suck up a goodly portion of my life for a few months. So if I post less often, know I'm well, I'm doing this for a reason, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Also, for those amongst you reading this that are among my support structure, emotionally, thank you for all the help you have offered to me (oh, fyi folks, I might need a hand, a fun night, a talk, a whatever every once and a while. Help a bud out? Cool.)

And for various reasons, I'm going to be, I need to be, cagey about the subject matter and people for now out of respect. It's not natural for me, but it's not my story to tell, it's hers.

No School Like the Old School

I believe in looking back only as much as it teaches about the present and the future. What's done is done, money spent is gone, what investment can I make in the future?

So hence you'll rarely, read probably never, see images older than these, unless you are at my house rifling through boxes, which either means I'm sleeping with you or I'm dead. So, excluding those two, these are about as old as you'll ever see. (And the only reason you're seeing these is because I had to do some copy work as a favor for a friend, so since it was set-up I figured I'd shot these at the same time.)


These two images are part of a series of six or seven images, the others I need to find, they're in a tube somewhere, of self-portraits. I seem to be a lot of self-portraits lately, so this is a kind of compare and contrast. These images are from when I was 20, in college at U Iowa (Go Hawkeyes!) and very depressed.

I was done, I was cooked, it was time to leave the oven. Believe it or not, I didn't party enough, I was working too hard and just spiraled down and down. Sucked at the time, looking back at the images now, worth it though. These have been some of my favorite images of mine for years.

I look forward to making better images than these, as challenging at it will be to accomplish.


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On a completely different note, Seagrove tea, Wow. Just wonderful, a tint of orange I think, but whatever, it's delicious. My whole body just relaxes drinking this stuff. And the smell while you're brewing it, yummy. I love yummy.

I feel good.

I Am My Own Student, Or How I Schooled Myself

So many a moon ago (I'm going to start measuring my life in moon cycles, just for giggles) I taught a digital photo 101 course at a local community college. Working with the students was a really good time, as most everyone who has worked with students will attest too.


I would get my students going, a few weeks worth of shooting, then I would force them into a month of black & white only imagery. I did this in part because I grew up on good ole' black & white Tri-X, and later many other black & white emulsions.

I thought it was educational to learn in black & white. It simplifies an image to a more graphic construction. My students always hated it for the first 2 weeks or so, then a few, not all, but some, would fall in love with it. They also became noticeably better shooters during this time. In part because they were starting to hit the steep part of the learning curve, but also because many used color as crutch. The color in an image was used to create the image without as much composition. When they went to black & white it really forced them to compose, to think more about it. (It took me a few semesters to figure this out, and why this was happening.)


I have been digital for about 6 or 7 years now. Rarely have I shot film since the switch. I have a few times, but probably not even 30 rolls. (30 rolls = 1 weekend) I have also had to start thinking about everything as possibly making page 1, or another color page, so I have to think in color for that. On top of that, I don't adjust my own images for print (a decision I see as increasingly bad and hope to get changed this year) so I don't see what my images look like in black & white, at any point.

Then, a few weeks back, I got an infra-red camera. This is essentially a black & white only camera. So now when I shoot with that camera I look at the LCD and see not color, but black & white. I forgot how much I like, no, love, black and white. I forgot how it affects my thinking.

So guess what I figured out in this process? I've started using color as a crutch, just like my students did at the start of their semester. Isn't it always about going back to the basics? Luckily, happily, and in way that is providing me with great joy, I found a way to deal with this, or at least have a little fun. (Remember when having fun used to be getting drunk? Now it's in creating a little different. And I'm happier this way too.)

I can set my cameras to capture images, from the get go, in black & white. This means when I review images, I see, black & white, shades of gray, when I'm trying to decide how to change an image. This seems to be helping me simplify, and work more directly, compose better, my images. (Yeah, these images aren't anywhere near my normal subject matter. On the other hand, life is slow right now, and when I want to relax I go take scenics photos, because really, what did you expect me to do? Not take photos, and call that relaxing? Hah!)

"But what about your need for color imagery," you may ask? For the shooters amongst you, I do only raw captures, all the time. For everybody else, the files my camera make contain all the color info, it's just the preview image and default, but changeable, conversions settings that are black & white.

So I can think black & white, and my designers can have whatever they need, and we can all change our minds later. Everybody wins, which is the best thing around, with "Josh Wins!" being a very close second.

An Ode to Failure

Okay, "Ode" is a little overblown, and failure is only in my mind probably. With those stipulations....

(This all revolves around the image at left of the dancer "flying".)

I can't find the quote unfortunately, even after much looking, but some well known photographer once made a comment about how it was better to have an interesting failure for an image, or when making an image, than a predictable success. Basically, screw-up, but take something cool away from your screw-up.

So, in this case, I ended up in theater much larger than I had been expecting to photograph Aloft Aerial Dance. (I'd love to desribe what they do, but I don't know how. It's all up high. It's very cool to see. Very pretty, but that statement fails in terms of depth. Anyhow, see some aerial dance if you get a chance. Good stuff.) Back to photography...Actually not a theater but a church, no pews, (whew) but comfy seating, with 2 balconies, for 8000 (at least that's what I think he said, at least 4000 otherwise.)

Fine, my life is about the unexpected, I like that. I worked with what I had, shot what I could, how I could, tried to make it work. Now, the other problem here, is that with a stage for a room that size, I really don't have the glass I'd want for it. Again, make it work.

The bigger problem is I didn't know the performance, I had never seen it before. I didn't know where to be when, what was coming. See, I don't care what has just happened unless it illuminates what is going to happen. The past is gone. I can't make a photo of it. I need to know what is next so I can make a photo of that. With a stage that large, that means having to move, maybe 50 yards or more to get into position. This means planning, which I couldn't do. Nature of the beast in this case. C'est la vie. I'm better prepared for next year.

So, take some chances and find a way to make it work. This is what I get paid for after all (though this was actually another of my happily pro-bono jobs. They are so much better.) I'm not a 100% on the "flying" photo, not even close. Given the choice, I want face, I always want face, this has been drilled into me for years, to my detriment. No face, I just don't normally plan for someone to fly 30, maybe 40 feet over the audience. My bad. So, shoot from behind, the focus is a little off (ankles are in focus, the rear foot is just a hair out, we're talking maybe a few hundredths of a second to traverse that distance, but I still want the rear foot in focus.)

The exposure is okay, background generally works. As a failure, I like it. It has some interesting ideas. I want to re-crop it to give a little more on the bottom now that I've had a day with it. I can play with the idea again in the future, better.

Maybe that's what I like about failures though, "better in the future". Success closes off the future to some degree. Been there, done that, next. I like that I can re-examine, learn and improve. Yeah, anyone can do that all the time, but I like having a new idea to play with to improve. It's like having a new toy.

Hence, an interesting failure it is, better than the safe "successes".

Random Little Thought II

These are from Wednesday evening, a charming, and odd (odd is such a good word to me) little group, Aloft Aerial Dance.

The blue image is more technically accurate to the scene, but I just like the red one. She is more a more natural color, and I like the red. The red wasn't really there, it was actually a normal/whitish colored light, but when you adjust the blue lights to look white, the other light goes red, way red. I like the red, but I'm not completely comfortable with it.

It also changes the mood, a lot. She's an angel here, in the red image, she looks like an angel, kind of, but descending from the red light district. (no offense intended)

In the red one the grid is less strong, prominent, also, and I just don't like the grid, I want the grid gone, gone, gone. Ah well.

I'm also quite happy she didn't fall. It would have hurt like all hell for her, I'm sure, I'm also quite sure she knows how not to fall, but it also would've killed me as she probably would've landed on me. As ways to go, not the worst, but I still got a couple more years of stalling in hear. Just one of those things you think about after something is hanging a few stories above you by a cloth.

Anyhow, back to photo choices...which way to go....

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Also, I've decided, for about the third time, to add a new recurring theme...What I think about while "driving" on the Ike. (Yeah, this is going to be just over the top ridiculous, and I know it.)

Half of my job description is "sit in traffic" so I use this as contemplation time, usually about my life, it's direction, things that need to change, etc.

Currently I'm wondering about the breadth of experience vs. the depth of experience. I think I have a great breadth of experience, but is that depriving me of, or is something depriving me of, a depth of experience, or am I just spending too much time sitting in traffic and contemplating bs. And what would define a "depth of experience"?

Tis the Season

Sorry, I'm not a big seasonal person. Sure, I like the holidays, but it's not a big deal to me, as much as I enjoy them, they annoy me. Whatever.

And it tis the season of giving. Call me Grinch, it's accurate enough, I really don't like "season for giving". I'm all for giving, I just don't believe giving should be a season or seasonal. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad people give, but giving is a year-round gift. Not for the receiver, for the giver.

I'm also not a fan (did I mention the Grinch yet?) of flat out giving. I'm a strong believer in the old "Give a man a fish, feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish, feed him for a life" philosophy.

Maybe I'm not the person to providing advice on giving, I rarely give any money. Sorry folks, artist, not exactly rich here (though to be fair I've got food on my table, a roof over my head, so I'm pretty blessed).

So for those like me, stingy and grumpy (I'm so old!) may I send you to Kiva. Don't give, help micro-loan. It's not the perfect solution, by any means, but it helps out. You can give money once, and it can keep helping different people over and over again. Anything that can help a person start a small business, help a person get educated, take care of themselves, their families, I'm all for.

Add $25 here and there, let it rotate around, help many people out. Not to mention it's nice to export a little American goodwill. I'm perfectly happy knowing that someone, somewhere, knows they are being helped out by some American who thinks the world can be a little better for us all. (I'm currently helping a well digger in Cambodia improve his business, and a retailer in Tajikistan increase the diversity of what she stocks.)

I may be a pretty cold-hearted person in my belief that conflict, strife, and suffering are natural states, and even ultimately good, but I do believe that all boats can be lifted together sometimes.

So in my grumpy seasonal giving plea, help someone out, don't do it for this week, do it for the rest of this life. Look at kiva.org, and take a moment to remember, we don't have it all, but we are lucky to have what we do have, and help someone else get so lucky.

What You Wish For

I have a lovely little apartment. Well, I have a little apartment that I have lived in for about a decade now and has to deal with the destruction that is my life.

Anyhow...the floor of my apartment isn't well insulated from the basement. So my floor is often a little cold, not a lot, but just a little, just enough that I'm a little cold much of the time. My wool socks get plenty of use. Hmmm...I see a trip to Campmor.com when I'm done with this post. So for the last few weeks, I keep thinking, "I just want to be warm, I just want to be warm."

I should have termed that better. "I just want to be warm in my living room." I was not planning on being in a 110-140 degree heat (amazing how much the temperature can change in a few feet) with a 100% or so humidity and 5-10 naked men. Ahh...bathhouses, such fun.

So a couple of problems here. It's cold outside, it's hot inside. I'm mostly outside, and dressed for such. This means I'm uncomfortable inside, at least when inside is 110 and up. I could wear a towel for the shoot, but I have equipment that must be kept on me, flashes, lens cleaning clothes, etc, so that means I keep the pants. Heavy pants and no shirt just looks silly, plus, I don't really have time to change for the shoot as, is always the case it seems, this is very last minute and I haven't had the time to devote to this shoot that it needs.

That raises another problem. When shooting swimming one of the recurring problems is that when you go into an 80 degree room from the cold, water condenses on everything, especially the glass. This means you can't see, or shoot, squat for 10 minutes in some cases. In this case, it means the glass fogs up after 3 seconds, for the first 30 minutes. Wipe with lens cloth, shoot really quick, wipe, repeat ad infinitum.

Add to this, everything has to be shot from low, you know, like I'm looking up towels, because at a normal sitting height, it's about a 100-110 degrees. At the same height as standing on a chair, it's about 40 degrees warmer. Hmmm...things I forgot about bathhouses. (yeah, numbers change due to guessing and the fish being thissss big.)

Oh yeah, it was dark too, not the Leslie like black hole dark, but definitely dark. For the photographers amongst us, f2.8, iso 3200, 1/4 of a second. Fun.

It is an environment with a lot of potential, if I can create the time to spend there, and do it right. And if nothing else, the guys were plenty nice, understanding and accommodating of what I needed to do.

Suffice it to say, I was warm, plenty warm. Wasn't quite the plan otherwise. It's sort of like I have my own personal Genie, with that classic Genie sense of humor, and not in that "I Dream of Jeannie" kind of way. Bummer on that last part.

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.

Creative Renaissance

I had the good fortune Friday evening of photographing my favorite tap theatre company. (They shall remain unnamed for this post, but I'm going to use their images, because it's all I got. Sorry for the abuse ladies and gents. They have to remain unnamed because, see, they're stalking me. Okay, they're not really stalking me. It just makes me sound so much cooler if I say they are stalking me. "Hi, I've got like 9 hot chics stalking me and 2 good looking guys. Not "make me want to bat for the other team" good looking guys, but certainly very top tier looker men." (FYI ladies - they're happily accounted for. Sorry) Actually they use a Google device to alert them to when the company name appears on websites. Well, this post has little to nothing to do with them, so I'm not going to use their name. I still think it sounds cooler though if we say they're stalking me, it's so much better than what life actually is. Anyhow...)

I was on the way to the theatre when I realized I was passing the house of an old friend who I hadn't seen in many a year. I called her, gave her 15 minutes of notice and we went to the show. She was a sport. I may be neither here nor there about Christmas, she actively dislikes the season, especially this season. Let's say she's finishing up a rough relationship spot. (I was watching the tap performance and there was one love-ish scene which was just way to accurate in some ways to her life. I felt like such an ass. And it's hard to make me feel like an ass.)

So we got to see a show, then had drinks.

She had, during the show, and before given me some of the low down on her life. But it was when she got to fill in the details, it just made me feel good. Joyous. She's in a tough spot, or getting through a tough spot. I feel for her.

But I envy her. She is entering, I think, I feel it, it just screams out, a creative renaissance. She is an awesome, stunning poet. I was worried, as happens so often in so many arts, that she had largely stopped writing. For some reason she had popped into my mind a few times of late, and I've thought, "I'm going to kick your ass if you're not writing". This was a correct thought on my part, but totally unnecessary. I love it. She's writing a lot. She's trying to leave her job, go back to grad school to "study creative writing". She's looking for a break, a break to write, to focus on creating. I admire it. I love it. She's giving herself over to her creativity. She's always been creative, but it just feels so total.

Here she is, leaving a tough relationship, entering, not in, but entering a good place, mentally, emotionally. I don't know this, I feel this though. My instincts are good, as long my personal emotions aren't involved. I trust my instincts here. So I can feel that she is entering a good place. She's writing, from what she described, a lot. I love it. She's exploring some new forms, loving her old forms. She's using her hardship to create beauty. I so want to read what she has written. I'm going to kick her ass if she doesn't let me. She's creating, writing her way, through her challenges. She's sharing. Maybe that's just it, she's sharing, she's braving the waters of sharing those most personal of pains, and letting us feel them.

She's only told me a little, recited for me a bit poetry, here and there. I love it when people create, share. We talked about an old piece, 15 years old, maybe more, about the same man that is now the source of the challenge. How a piece so old, can be so wise, it's amazing. Tis her style though.

I've been truly blessed in this life, blessed to be friends, to have met, such an awesome range of people, and such creative people, such giving people.

I look forward to reading her writing. I'll be a lucky man the day I get to read those poems.

She is entering a place, a world where she will create, totally, purposefully, she is creating her own Creative Renaissance. I so want to watch it, read it. It brings joy to my heart, a soothed smile to my face. This, these, are the reasons, I love this world.

He's Mr. Vain, Part Deux

So I got my hair done again by Lexi, The Great and Everlasting Goddess of Hair. I now have a dark red streak. It's a bit...strange, but I think I'm going to have fun with it. So far reviews have gone reasonably well (also known as, several women and gay men have said good things about my hair.)

Lexi recommended I head straight out to the bar after getting my hair done, to go pick-up ladies. Alas, meeting people in bars is just about my definition of Hell on Earth, right next to parties where I know at best a few people. I'd rather be shot, and I'm not sure if that's hyperbole or not either.

So what's the best thing I can do with new hair? Make some self-portraits of course.

It's funny, about a year back I had been considering doing a fairly large self-portrait project. It was going to be my break-up project. All my major break-ups have a project, and they tend to be some of my best projects. I don't know if that's good or bad, but it is. It was going to involve each image having a large number of images combined to make one image of my face. Each of the smaller pieces of the larger was going to be slightly different and help create a somewhat torn and fractured portrait. It's an idea that had some legs to it, I still think it does. It never happened. I found, or more accurately it found me, another project, a project that was so much better and expressed my break-up in a way I never anticipated, and helped me see it more clearly, see me more clearly, and helped me grow. The new project was about excitement, joy and freedom and the self-portrait project was about pain. The joyous project won. Great.

But I'm still me, and sometimes, as with all visual artists, I think, I like to do self-portraits. What's interesting is what the self-portrait reveals. I spend a lot of time analyzing myself, and the world in general (read, sitting in traffic). What I find in the self-portrait tells me some great things about myself that I don't find by just thinking.

When I do these I set-up the camera and the lights, do some testing and go. And when I say "Go" I mean "Go". Have the camera take a new photo every two seconds for 50 continuous frames, maybe more. It's not enough time to think, just act, just release. And that's the key, sometimes items must be thought out, thought through, but sometimes, just letting go, and flying, feeling, says everything that needs to be said. Thought gets in the way of feeling some days.

So apparently, I'm not in all that serious of place, though part of me wonders if I'm also partially in a place where I can't face myself. Only time will tell which of those is true, but currently I prefer the not being in a serious place theory. It feels...good.

This kind of self-examination is also why I love (and for other reasons loathe) the growth of the cell-phone camera. Sure I may do self-portraits, and I may set-up a bunch of stuff to do it, hell, I can, so why not? But people everywhere are taking self-portraits all the time now, so much more than at probably any point in history. And well I may use them partially to self-analyze because I've been taught to, I'm hoping others use them to do the same, even if not so pointedly or seriously as I do.

Nothing wrong with a little more self-reflection in this world. And for me, I'll just enjoy being ridiculous human being.

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.

New Toys, part 1

So I've recently had "need" to add some new "tools" to the toolbox.

The first of my new toys, and today's subject, is an infra-red camera. It's a camera, Canon Rebel XT, that's been altered only to see in the near IR portion of the spectrum. It doesn't record body heat or any other such trickery, it just sees a scene different than what humans are used to.

For example trees and grass are white, skies are darker to occasionally black, skins are smoother and more glowing, hair colors sometimes change, dramatically. Oh, and when I say color, I'm taking some liberty here, as the camera only records in B&W.

The only B&W item is, in my world, not a negative but a positive feature. B&W forces photographers to be more mindful of their composition, and moments. It provides a feel that color loses. With color images, the color can become a crutch, it can become a central theme and element that takes away from the photo. B&W forces photographers to create a stronger image from the get go, to think more about the final image. I like this, I miss it.

So what is the "point" of this camera? What will it be used for? I don't know. I'm really just not sure...yet. And that "I don't know" is why I like it. "I don't know" is my favorite answer to many questions in the world. It's often the most honest, usually we, humanity, don't know. And that's okay, in fact, wonderful. It's in answering the question that the interesting ideas will be revealed. I hope. So far, and so far it's been largely "testing", it's been fun.

I know I probably won't mostly use the camera for what most people use IR cameras for, pretty outdoor scenes. So far I've done some of that, not much, but a smattering to try it. I have tried the camera in a dimly lit (think near to a black hole) wine bar. The lovely, and intoxicating voice of Leslie Beukelman was kind enough to agree to be my victim. She also happens to always be in the darkest location in Chicago which means that I can really put the camera through it's paces. Come to think of it, maybe Leslie carries a black hole in her purse?

Anyhow, back to reality, in infra-red. These photos aren't totally successful, as I would expect when dealing with a new camera, but they're a start. Hopefully, you'll see some strange, yet alluring, photos in the upcoming months. I don't know what strange photos, but it's going to be a joyous ride finding out.

Sometimes You Win, Sometimes You Lose

I tend to like the people I work with, I tend to really like the people who I work for/interact with, I tend to wholly and thoroughly disagree with my managers.

In an old example, when I taught, I liked my fellow instructors, they were always helpful and kind. I thought my students were great, even the problematic ones. They were generally nice, often inquisitive, creative, energetic, everything you could ask for. No they weren't all perfect, none of them were, but they learned, and that was enjoyable to watch and they treated me and each other kindly and respectfully. The administration, well, they were wonderful at being bureaucrats, and I barely dealt with them, but any time it came to getting anything accomplished or done, I just stayed away because it was too annoying for me to deal with for pittance of a salary, and with my job title and experience I wouldn't have been any help anyway.

In my current example, my co-workers, well occasionally problematic (reporters have issues with getting anything done in a timely manner or realizing that anyone else in the world needs time to plan) they are generally nice people. My management, ugh, they are nice people as people, but certain bits of reality don't seem to compute to them. They recently bought the latest version of Photoshop for the entire office. This amounts to a hefty chunk of change. They forgot, yep forgot, to get copies for the photographers. Really, why do the photographers need Photoshop? And now the art director, who may or may not have done the forgetting in the first place, is trying to get our copies budgeted for, but it's not going rapidly, or much at all. Again, photographers, Photoshop, why? Okay, whatever, except that they've actually never provided the photographers with Photoshop. We just happened to have it when we started to so why upgrade us along with the rest of the staff? This isn't a first time for this. It's a bit....insulting.

On the other hand, I have subjects that request me, me specifically to photograph them and their home because they like my work so much. Nice warm fuzzy feeling there. And I took photos today of two lovely and nice women who were generally happy to have their photos taken. Great. Plus, when we were done taking photos of them with their brownies from an 1890s recipe, they had a wrapped tin of them ready for me. While technically, technically, I shouldn't have accepted them, that whole receiving payment from subjects thing and journalistic detachment, in this case I didn't think it would do any harm and I didn't want to insult them, so I accepted their brownies. It's nice to be so appreciated. (FYI - the photo isn't of the brownies I received, as it's been almost two hours so mine are almost gone. If you ever need your dessert guarded, I'm here for you. My stomach is the Fort Knox of the dessert community.)

Seeing Everything

I love the range and depth of human experiences I get to either experience or observe. It really gives me faith in humanity, increase my wonder and amazement of humanity.

Other days, it's just gross. Gross, I mean, gross. I like to see all kinds of things and events, sometimes I get to see too much though.

Let me give you a little context here. I have a weak stomach, a very weak stomach.

In high school, when we had to dissect the frog, I didn't touch the frog. Not a once. Something like two or three weeks, and not a single cut by me. I had lab partners who really wanted to do the dissecting. I let them do the cutting, and the poking, and the prodding, happily.

To this day I still can't handle raw meat. I can work fine with hamburger, hamburger ain't meat anymore, hamburger is clay, tasty clay. Frozen chicken? Fine, it's a block of ice. A chicken breast that ain't frozen, nope. A side of steak? No way. Don't get me wrong, if you ask me what I want to eat, it often includes a dead animal. Dead animals are tasty, but I don't want to touch them or be around them between the point where they are living and the point where they are cooked.

So Tuesday was the second time I've had to photograph people working with cadavers. I didn't lose my lunch the first time, I just came close, repeatedly. I didn't lose my lunch this time, just to kill the suspense, but I certainly didn't enjoy it much.

I was photographing a group of high school students who were taking a field trip to a local college that has cadavers for some of it's human anatomy classes. The students ranged in their reactions, some were like me, no touching, learning what they need to learn, but not real into it.

Other students, well, they just loved it. They were having a good ole' time. They weren't grossed out, at all, they were totally fascinated. At one point the doctor/instructor told them that the male's heart was detached and they could remove it. One girl didn't hesitate, at all, she just reached right in, moved some other organs out of the way, and pulled the guy's heart out. She found it a bit gross, but she seemed more amazed, fascinated, and awe-struck than anything else. Good for her, on my end, eeeeeewwwww.

I'm glad there are people like those students who were fascinated by the innards of the human body. I want those people as my doctor. But its not for me.

Now, being a guy who can come close to passing out when he sees his own blood (yeah, and if that ain't just ridiculous) now I'm expected to watch a dissected body? One of the keys I've found over the years to being a photojournalist is that your own personal feelings, inhibitions, fears and emotions, just don't really matter.

I hate heights. I get scared when I'm the roof of a one story building, I can't walk within feet of ledge. I also can't count the number of times I've been 30 to 300 feet up on the edge of a ledge taking photos. Doesn't matter that I'm scared, I've got photos to make.

Same thing here. I can't deal with blood. I'm guessing I can't handle dead bodies. Doesn't matter.

The camera, can be, in the hands of a photographer, also used as a shield. My introversion, gone when I'm shooting. My fear of heights, doesn't matter. My personal hang-ups, of most all types and flavors, just don't matter or exist when I'm shooting. The camera protects me from the danger.

I don't understand quite how this works, or why it works, it just does. Maybe it provides the excuse to forget my own inhibitions. Maybe it just pushes me harder. Maybe it distracts me, provides me a focus, a focus that isn't my hang-up. Whatever it is, it works, I'd like it to work all the time sometimes.

A cadaver becomes subject and shape, nothing else. If it was a chess match it would be the same thing in many ways.

Snack time anyone?

Sad Realizations

On the A Photo A Day blog, they linked to a Time magazine chart that lists percentage of people "very happy" in their jobs. Photographers, 20.8%; Correctional institution officers, 26%; Mail carriers (postal service), 34.5%.

More people working in prisons are happier in their jobs than photographers. That's depressing.

Though to be fair, I'd be in the "happy" category and not the "very happy" category.

I'd also take the study with a grain of salt. As was said in one of my college classes, "lies, damned lies, and statistics."

Nothing Big

Just a nice few days.


The top image is a friend's thirtieth birthday party. She got her dad to wear her birthday tiara. Also, in case you hadn't guessed, your birthday is not the most fun day to get surgery. Just an FYI.

Also, her sister and mom made a bunch of balloons with pictures hanging from them. The pics detailed the birthday girl's life to date, her crossing of Delaware, her time as pope, her Academy Award, climbing Mt. Everest, the usual. It was pretty cool, and a lot of work. The reason you never, ever, ever do something like this though, is that you be forever required to top it for other birthdays, forever. This is where men have it figured out, set the standards low so that doing something modest, like say remembering a birthday, is taken as a great compliment. Just saying.

The bottom image is the first time my grandma had ever used a computer, she is being helped by my cousin. I think the family is trying to get her on email. I think the family also knows this may take some time/years.

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.