Archive for the ‘Rambling’ Category
Not that a life in photography often intersects with normal.
But after the photo industry’s annual gear-gasm at the Javit’s Center in New York City, the event known as Photo Plus Expo, well, being back home for even a day is blessedly normal. The tough thing about the three days was that it was matched with some of the most splendidly fall weather the Big Apple has seen of late. The light, the wind, and the weather was NYC at its best. Leaving the light and going inside Javits was a bit of an effort, truth be told.
Gotta thank my buds at Nikon and Adorama for including me in the proceedings at their respective booths. Spoke each day there, and always had some gracious, fun photo folks gathered round. In between, I got a chance to intersect with many, many friends, some of whom I hadn’t seen in quite a while. That’s the saving grace of expositions like this. Photography has always been a lone wolf sort of thing, and digital has exacerbated the feeling of loneliness. I mean there’s the chattiness of the internet, but it’s not quite the same as giving your fellow staffers a bunch of shit over the hypo tray after a day in the field. Email lacks a certain immediacy, not to mention the capacity for winks and heartfelt hand gestures. But PPE presented some good catch up time.
In between hey, how are ya’s? I wandered. Some gear was interesting. Some of the stuff , as usual, made me wonder. Whaddaya gonna do? Photogs tend to be creatures of impulse, especially when confronted with gear. I’ve got a garage full of stuff accumulated over the years that I thought, at the time, I just hadda have.
Anyway, today, back to normal. Back on a plane. Bound for Orlando and a One Light Two Light seminar day, tomorrow. All best, and more tk….
Labor Day. Back to work, back to school. This picture I made of Claire, my youngest daughter, at the Jersey shore, many years ago, has always felt, to me, like the end of summer. More tk….
I grew up in an era, photographically, when we just didn’t know any better. We routinely carried 30-40 pound Domke bags around with us on one shoulder, turning spines into S curves, and what might have once been a normal gait into a disconnected shamble. Hell, I even used Anvil cases for a while there. Mishandle one of those getting it out of the trunk and it can snap a shin like dead twig.
These appendages have been operated on three times, had four casts, numerous tears, a couple of breaks, and a couple hundred stitches. I’ve been bitten by dogs three times, once really viciously. And, of course, I’ve put both my knees through the shredder known as thirty-five years of photography. You’re looking at the support structure for a condemned building.
All these damaging shenanigans means that, for quite a while, I’ve ambled about (that’s a generous description) like Walter Brennan. Last year, we finished a long, hard wedding and about 3am I sort of belayed my way down the block towards the studio truck, where Drew and Cali were waiting. Drew remarked, “You look like an old, sad, tired, injured rodeo clown.”
And these are the guys on my staff, who are actually paid to tolerate me. Can you imagine some reactions clients might have had when I did my scrape-thud, scrape-thud into their office? They hire me, thinking they’re getting this versatile, venerable lensman, and Igor shows up. “Walk this way!” All I’m missing is the hump, and I’m working on that.
One of these days, perhaps the knife, though not for now. No real guarantees that afterwards I can resume my side job as an Olympic pole-vaulter. Annie got me a Fitbit bracelet I’ve been wearing lately, which detects your daily travel, and during my last Kelby seminar day I walked over seven miles. And, coming soon, is news of another tough climb. So, I’m still in the game. I opted for the more temporary stay of execution of injections of a synthetic type of WD-40 for my knees, mixed with cortisone. A happy hour cocktail for my joints!
So yesterday they injected this slippery stuff into the structure of both my knees with a large bore needle that looks like they might have swiped it from the turret of a Sherman tank. (Hence the bandaids in the above pic.) Then the doc hit the plunger and the stuff sloshes in there. I keep thinking it might be like that adherent black goo from Spiderman III, the evil slime that overtook the already dark heart of the Peter Parker’s photo staffer replacement, Eddie Brock, the one who dummied up fake pictures of Spidey slinging bad juju all over town, and got turned into the creepy character, Venom. I wonder if I’ll wake up and my knees will have fangs.
The doc did a great job with the injections, though, admitting as he worked that he really, really hates needles, and can’t stand getting injected himself. I asked him if he’s ever sought counseling about this elephant sized irony sitting in the middle of his life, and he merrily replied no. He did say that his fear of needles makes him an excellent injection specialist, though, ’cause he’s very sympathetic about what the patient has to endure. Makes sense, actually.
We’ll see if this works, and helps forestall the inevitable consequences of a life trundling around cases of filled with the scrap iron of photo gear. I’ve still got more buildings to climb, and pictures to make, and I’m sure many of them are miles away, but worth walking after. More tk….
Hi, and welcome to all for 2013. I hope the whirlwind known as 2012 deposited everyone on the doorstep of this new year in good shape. Mildly frazzled perhaps, but whole of mind, body and spirit, ready to start turning the blank pages of these new twelve months, with all the unknowns and things hoped for. I remain blessed, I feel, in that I start another year with a camera in hand. Three days of shooting this week. Four next. So it goes. It will not always be thus, so I treasure the moments behind the lens with increasing fervor. I joke about the passing of time and frames with my buddy Bill down at the National Geographic. Another year for him living inside the land of the yellow border, indeed, a place where the wild things roam. Me, being a freelance content provider, I’m just the occasional interloper, trouble maker and, dare I say, problem solver. Though it’s completely open to fair questioning as to whether I’ve created more problems than I’ve solved. Best not to dwell on such matters. Read the rest of this entry »
Which remains one of my favorite places. Folks here have always been remarkably gracious and welcoming, and the city is beautiful. Tivoli is a toy-like dreamscape, a looking glass you can disappear into in the midst of the concrete trappings of the city, much in the way Central Park is at once a greensward and a safety valve in New York. When I lived in the city, during the lunatic, tumbling free fall that often constitutes a day of work there, I would find, suddenly, that I just had to go to the park. I often had the sense not so much of walking there. Rather, it was more like pulling a rip cord and getting abruptly snapped out of the tumble and thus into more of leisurely, wafting drift, so pleasant in and of itself you didn’t much care where you would alight.
Tivoli has the same feel for me. Plus, throw in the coffee, the pastry and the beer, and well, these folks got it going on.
One of the last times I was here was shooting for FedEx, and we scouted and shot in this kind of twofer arrangement that has come to be as Copenhagen, Denmark, and Malmo, Sweden have forged closer ties. Separated only by a very cool looking bridge, there is a lot of back and forth between these two cities, in terms of people, commutation and culture.
I had, blessedly, a truly wonderful art director I was working for during these campaigns, and she literally pushed and prodded me to see differently. I’m a pretty lumpy traditionalist with a camera in hand, meaning I often observe certain rules of the road, like composing in thirds, focusing the camera, balancing and saturating the exposure for good color and the like. Kind of what you do when you grow up photographically as I did, shooting for mom and dad’s magazines, like LIFE, Nat Geo, and SI. I don’t get too many calls from Hip Hop Weekly. In fact, I don’t remember a single one.
But she encouraged me to break out a little bit, literally shoot from the hip, and handle the camera and the frame more casually than I had generally done. They wanted the look and feel of the pix to be more of a snap, a quick look at the brand, which was often not really overt in the picture.
It was fun, simply moving and shooting through the day, looking for light and trying to construct what would appear to be a chance encounter with those very familiar letters and colors on the packaging.
Of course, shooting in a city and culture that is very at ease with itself, and doesn’t ruffle or fuss about much, is wonderful, but does have its moments. We scouted a brand new subway hub in the city, looking for potential locations, and found some good angles we determined we’d come back to and shoot over the ensuing couple of days. The recently constructed metro stop we liked was perfect, with all sorts of silvery textures, a gleaming new emporium of commutation. Thing was, when we returned, one of the major areas we had in mind to shoot, was newly adorned with the below.
I remember looking up at this very sizable ad and doing a head tilt. I mean, this isn’t the kind of billboard you might see on good old Interstate 80 heading past Moline, fer chrissakes. As I’ve alluded to before on the blog, Europe is generally, wonderfully, much more blase’ and frank in their sensibilities about things of this nature than, say, a good deal of America. This particular ad roughly alludes to the fact that it was, at that moment, World Cup time, and the menfolk would be so ardently, utterly consumed by football that their female counterparts would be, at least temporarily, quite lonely, and thus left to, uh, their own devices.
Such are the vagaries of location work. We found another angle. More tk….