A Cloud of Dust

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I love watching a horse just turned out and eager to work out the kinks. Here, Night was feeling especially good and relishing every moment of his freedom. You can almost hear him snorting and whistling as he kicked up the dust—coiling and uncoiling those muscles, celebrating his power.

When I work on an image such as this one, I always think of Mark Graf, since he has mentioned on numerous occasions revisiting images. This is one of those that I shot years ago and have always known that eventually I would know what I wanted to do with it. Finally, in late last year, I could see this one and knew where I wanted to go with it. In the past, I wasted a great deal of time worrying an image, attempting to force it to give up its secrets. Over time, I finally found the patience to interrupt these struggles, listen, and discover, finally, what is locked inside an image. It is amusing to me that when I finally have found my way, I can't imagine why I didn't see it all along.

As usual I have gotten myself into all sorts of things in the last couple of weeks. To top off the distraction angle, we have a houseful of guests arriving in just over a week. During my nasty cold, I let the house devolve into chaos and now it is catch-up time. As if that weren't enough, I have been on a roller coaster with my back: getting dramatically better; no, snapped back into deep mind-numbing pain. I stubbornly cling to optimism about this all being a positive sign. I went for a walk about a week ago and, while I could barely put one foot in front of the other by the time I got back to the backyard gate, it was exhilarating and I can't wait to do it again. I am determined to improve during this coming year.

I can't blame all of my absence on pain, house cleaning and rehab. My recent distraction is partly due to the influence of Roberta Murray. I caught on immediately to the fact that Roberta is a very smart lady. Thus, when she mentioned an article on art marketing, I ran to the site and was almost immediately hooked. I have been soaking up information and not giving anything back. That is nothing to brag about. My fascination isn't just with the articles about selling. Many of my favorites are about painting techniques and, since I never studied painting, my mind has been awhirl with some new-to-me and wondrous information, as well as some validation of my own blundering discoveries. Thank you, Roberta.

Of course, there is always something going on in the computer department. Recently, The Husband and I spent one fun afternoon, rewiring the maze of cables under my desk. Oh, boy, that was a fun time. It was well worth the effort, however, because I have better access to some switches and little things such as this simplification can make a big difference.

Although I have only scratched the surface, I will resist the effort to talk about all the things I have cooking now—such as working feverishly on some new pieces. Instead, I will save the rest of my jabbering for another day.

Between Shows

I am still here—still alive—although I am tempted to add, barely. And , that could apply to both statements. 

I regret having been completely absent from the blogging world for so long. Most of all, it isn't fun to admit that I managed to become totally overwhelmed by the preparations for this first new art show venture. Oh, I had not yet mentioned that there would be more than one, had I? Yes, long before I was ready for the first show I had opened my big mouth and booked another one for us.  The first was this past weekend and no. 2 comes up this Saturday. But, we have a short break. Show number 3 doesn't come up until December 10 and 11.

Unfortunately for my health and peace of mind, I suffered a severe attack of Compulsive Creative Syndrome. I had to put up at least 90% new work. Oh, did I write that rule for myself? Hmmm. I suppose I did. Maybe for the December show I can let up on that mostly new pieces rule. You think? You're right. Probably not.

There were four of us participating in this first show, and we had a marvelous weekend with fine turnouts both days. The owner of the winery seemed quite happy with the event and was happy to book us for December. Then, we take a break until next year and see what sort of trouble we can get ourselves into during 2012.

Just as it has been for any of these small shows that I have ever participated in, a number of lovely people attended, and I met more people in two days than I had met in the previous six months. Remember, my theme song is "Don't Get Around Much Anymore."

I sold two of the larger new pieces and have a special order for a Christmas gift. Not a bad weekend at all, in my little world. Thanks to two different chairs that were dragged along and lots of Advil, I managed to walk out each evening all in one piece and even got a full night's sleep, last night. Hey, things are looking good. I will be in touch more in the next few weeks, now that we have one under our belts and I have some fun stories to share about doing a small art show in between a very small mountain town and a mostly-sleepy, mostly-retirement community.

Telling Stories With Images

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I enjoyed the responses to my last post and probably will post similar questions in the future. A great big thank-you to all who participated in the conversation. I appreciate the time taken to share your stories and each comment left me with something interesting to contemplate.

The story elements that evolved in my mind as that recent image emerged were rather dark. There was a sense of being lost in a forlorn and harsh environment—a cold, brutal wind stung my eyes. Even though there seemed to be vast open spaces around me, I was hemmed in by something I couldn't see. Everytime I felt I was about to gain control over events, I was faced with a dark and unexpected turn. The mountains were a challenge that I somehow had to reach, for the only hope lay on the other side.

I am intrigued by the connection between the elements in a picture and the properties of the story that emerges. For me, it isn't a clean and linear line. It is as if the image whispers stories to life and the stories then play on me as I process the image. I have come to think of that interplay as a kind of a dance. The intellect is in charge, then yields to the heart. I know precisely where I am going and how to get there.... Then, I lose my way and stumble about taking cues from what?  A dream, a memory?

When I stop molding an image—when I am ready to share it and say "This is it—for now", the result sometimes feels like something that is not really my own. There is no one or thing to blame, of course, but neither can I claim full credit—if, indeed, any is due. I led during parts of the process, but there were moments when it felt more like following. It was a process that took me to a discovery.

There is another aspect of images and communication that intrigues me. I have noticed that some people seem to think that if the image is made well enough it will say the same thing to all viewers. Wouldn't that turn the entire communication experience into a guessing game? "Guess what story I meant to convey with this image." That sounds like a really lame parlor game.

We all bring our unique life experience to every contemporary experience. We, each, arrive at any given moment with our particular baggage and that baggage will affect what we read into the story before us. Just as you and I would visit the same spot, but return home with different photographs, shown the same image we will read different stories featuring our particular characters and playing off our personal history.

The responses to my invitation for your stories gave me a good taste of what I was craving—some conversation about personal emotional responses to an image. What more could I have asked? The photo here was taken on that same stretch of highway as the last picture. This one calls to my mind very different stories, even though the setting is similar and the characters in the image certainly look similar. I hope this one suggests stories that speak to you.

Creative Minds and Crash Landings

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Do you frequently come crashing to earth after completing a challenge? That is typical for me. During the last hours—even days in some cases—before crossing the finish line, I am frequently running on fumes and lose sight of how much real energy I can afford to expend. After the excitement is over, I discover that I was dipping into the reserves. It took time to store those reserves, I am reminded. Deplete them and you need time to restore.

That sums up fairly well where I am now. I have big plans for this next project that is already begun, plenty of enthusiasm, some work done, and ideas galore; but, the engine isn't turning over.  I know that the problem is exacerbated by the spectre of The Husband's surgery that is just days away. I try my best to put those family concerns in that folder for all the things that I can't do anything about.  You know. We try to sort out what we can fix, what we can improve on, what we can prepare for, and mark clearly the things that are out of our control.

For years, I have been on a mission to get better at sorting things into those neat little piles. But, sometimes it's like trying to sort feathers, outside, on a windy day. Things keep ending up in the wrong darned pile.

Getting back to creative matters—oops, that was a strong gust of wind—I am quite taken with the metallic paper prints from Bay Photo Lab. Seeing those prints up at the show Saturday and hearing the responses caused me to look at some things differently. Now, as part of my next project, I find myself inspired to tinker with some old favorites and rework them in a way to (I hope) maximize the appeal of that paper. The sad news is that I finished re-working one piece Monday, and that is as far as I've gotten with revisions for metallic paper. Running on two cylinders for a few days. No point in fighting it.

The image above is the piece in the show that was printed on metal. Since I got a code for a discount on metal prints, I suppose I will replace the sold one and take advantage of the offer.

Reflections on the BVS Annual Art Show

(The "bigger, better" version, in this case, has a haloing and banding that stinks and wasn't on the print. If you can overlook that, you will have an idea of what the print looked like)

Saturday's forecast had called for a high of 69 degrees—balmy by our recent standards, and no rain in sight. That was promising. It was looking as if we would have a great day for a party and an art show. Sure enough the sun come came out bright and clear—not one of those gray mornings that have been the norm lately.

The Husband got ahead of me and placed all five of my pieces in the back of the car and we took off before 8:30 AM to deliver everything to the country club. Before we could get everything out of the back of the car, there was a friendly greeter out to meet us and offering to carry anything inside for us. Our greeter was a friendly face from two years ago, a fellow photographer who had been extremely kind and encouraging to me. Another good sign for the occasion. 

Inside, all was abuzz with activity. There were stations for checking in where workers attached official labels to the bottoms of the art, then "hangers" who quickly and efficiently grabbed up the work to hang it on available wall space. Everything appeared to be humming along smoothly.

My work aroused a bit of curiosity at the check-in area. That's not surprising, since there are far more painters involved in the event than photographers, my process as well as mediums evoked a few questions. The pieces all looked sort of like photographs, but not exactly, and that brought up a number of inquiries. The metal, canvas, and metallic paper brought up questions about "how I did it". The piece that garnered the most questions, not surprisingly, was the one on metal. I was told that one of the men working the show commented, "If that one doesn't sell, I'll eat my hat." Goodness knows, I didn't want the man eating a hat! I needed a sale.

After a brief visit with a few people we recognized and some embarrassingly lame attempts on my part to answer questions, we left the working staff to finish their job and headed back home. There was a nice break for a rest, lunch, and then time to get back for the reception. I didn't want to miss a moment of the party.

We got there about five minutes after the doors were to officially open, but there was already quite a crowd munching on hors d'oeuvres and sipping wine. I collected my name tag. It announced "Artist" in bold letters under my name and made me feel a bit self-conscious. Maybe "Contributor" would have been easier to handle, I thought to myself. But there wasn't time for reflection. The big lobby was already noisy, there was a constant hum of chatter and people moving about. As time went on, I heard more than once that some of the missing husbands were "in the bar, having a 'real' drink." Perhaps the getting dressed up had been a bit too much for a few of the guys. The mood was upbeat and the energy level was high. 

The walls of the club lobby were covered with art work. I know I will have to go back one day this week to really take it all in. Yesterday there was simply too much noise and too many people to really see more than a handful of pieces.

Wherever I was I could see that there were usually two to six people looking at my little portion of the east wall. That east wall placement proved to be a major asset. Early on, I was at the back of the hall encouraging a bright-eyed young woman who enthusiastically confided that she was participating in her very first show ever. Later, making my way back toward the entrance, I stopped off to admire the drawings of a new friend. While she complained that she didn't have any really new work for this show, I marveled at her skill in depicting the life in her subjects' eyes.

As I had begun my return from the back of the hall, I had noticed a middle-aged blond woman accompanied by an older woman looking at my work. By the time I left my friend, still unconvinced that her gift is in capturing eyes, I registered that those two women were still in that same spot and became curious about their interest in my pieces. 

It turned out the younger woman had fallen for the largest print in my group—the photo of our chestnut, Lancer (the picture above, but without that nasty banding you will see in the larger jpeg). They asked questions about creative process that I didn't have good answers for. I felt more stupid than ever. How do I know why I added the golden glow to the dust at the horse's feet in that one image? In spite of my lame answers, the daughter was convinced that she had to have the 20x26 framed piece. The mother, however, was certain that her daughter didn't have room. I could feel a potential sale slipping away.

While I caught a glimpse now and then of "the one that got away", M (the artist who knows how to draw eyes) began selling my piece on metal. I was amazed. I couldn't have hired a better advocate. She was collaring friends and acquaintances and dragging them to vantage points to take in the effect of late afternoon light bouncing off the metal. Before I knew what hit me, M had sold the piece and the red dot denoting "sold" went up on the label for that piece. Whew! She was a force to be reckoned with. I want to take her with me every time I try to sell anything!

By the time that sale was concluded, I was feeling pretty good about the show—except for my back and feet, that is. Then, I got a new burst of energy. The woman with the blond braid down her back who had been admiring my large print was back, standing in her place once again, square in front of the piece, no one else around her, and glued to that image.  Maybe..., I thought, just maybe, and made a beeline for her. I wanted to be nearby in case she had any questions, and I guess my timing was good. She turned to me as soon as I neared and said, "I'm going to buy your horse!" Well, that was fine by me.

I left the club exhausted, hungry, and elated. But the best part was still to come. My back had barely survived the test and when home, I took time out only for a greeting for Galen then headed for my closet to change into pj's. I knew I was done for the day. Yes, I would be sitting upright for a while, but I would be totally useless the rest of the evening. When I emerged from the closet, comfy, and ready for relaxation, something out of place caught my eye. While I was in my exhausted stupor, The Husband had snagged my "Artist" label off my sweater and stuck it at eye level on the mirror above my sink. See why I think he's so special? I couldn't have asked for anything sweeter to wrap up the day. 

Pressure and Productivity

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There is nothing like facing a deadline to stimulate the creative juices. Of course, sometimes this works in reverse. Pressure also has the potential to shut me down. The alternative, then, to shut down mode is struggling with the other demon. The demon of unleashed possibilities. Suddenly, ideas come from anywhere and nowhere. The closer the time comes to "deliver the goods" the more possibilities pop into my head—all of them demanding attention—immediate attention, naturally.

I understand that this is mostly an escape mechanism. If I become immersed in a new project, how can I be expected to stay focused on meeting an approaching deadline? What a convenient excuse to postpone the less satisfying aspects of completing a job!

Most often I am able to maintain enough discipline to meet the requirements of a commitment, but it is often difficult to avoid the distractions. The deadline for the coming art show was no exception. I squeezed in work periods to finish the pieces for the show, but my heart was already in the next project.

What was demanding attention? Some things that I am not at all certain about. I don't have any fancy explanations for this exploration. Mostly, it boils down to the fact that there was a strong impulse, and I followed it. Obviously, it is quite different from what I have been doing for a very long time. Goodness, I rarely even experiment with monotones, color addict that I am. Furthermore, all my photography heroes (both famous and not so famous) inspire me with somewhat classic photography entailing a minimum of digital manipulation. Yes, I have made prodigious use of digital tricks to obscure distracting and downright ugly backgrounds in the case of equine photography. That large order completed recently included many examples of digitally altered backgrounds. Still, I have regarded those efforts, to some extent at least, as compromises.

Recently, I began looking at some old images in a completely different way. What I found myself wanting to explore was the full potential of using Photoshop techniques to strip out distractions and put the focus on what the image is about for me.  The image posted March 29 was the first piece that came out of this experiment. The resulting images are so different from my norm that I am not quite sure how I feel about them.

I enjoy honing my Photoshop skills, but I want even more to become a better photographer. In many ways, this feels like a detour. Yes, it is fed by some recurring back pain, nasty weather, and far too many health concerns at our house—all of which complicate photo shoots. Nevertheless, the real story is that the drive is there and I am going with the flow. I just get a bit nervous about being swept over the falls!

Oh, well, this is where I am and whether or not I am completely puzzled by the effort that went into all this work and end up tossing it out in a few months is beside the point. For now, this experiment pleases me, distracts me from all the nasty, nagging questions, and almost takes the place of my long hikes along the trail. It is another example of art as therapy. Besides, who knows where this exploration might be leading?

Photos to Share and Photos to Hide

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Several recent comments here, as well as posts by other bloggers, have caused me to think more about the decisions we make regarding the fate of our photographs. For me, at least, it's usually fairly simple to identify the bombs that I really don't want to be reminded of. Ever. Those are deleted during the first edit.

Then, there are the ones that may someday work—they aren't exactly singing to me, but seeing them the next time I open the folder won't send me into a fit of depression.  A few of those get processed, sometimes reworked a time or two, and sometimes shared. Periodically one of them even becomes a new favorite.

Rarely, there is a RAW file that fairly shouts, "Me. Me." When that happens the picture is usually shared in one form or another. Sometimes those get printed.

Now, if only all the pictures fell neatly into one of these three categories. Unfortunately, I end up with too many in the "What Now?" category. In this case, I find that the dialogue runs toward, "I like it. I think. But, I'm not sure why. Is it because this reminds me of something that I have previously admired? That's probably it. Mine is a lousy imitation of something good. Yeah. I hate it. I think." When that happens, I spend varying amounts of time weighing the risks of showing something that I am drawn to, but have absolutely no confidence in. (This scenario fits the photo I published on March 23.) Sometimes, I am in a what -the-heck mood. On other occasions, I cave and the photograph remains in the folder sinking further and further to the bottom of the black hole that is my old folders. Eventually, most of those images are lost and forgotten.

Lately, I have posted a great number of pictures from my "drive-by" folders. I don't prefer to shoot that way, but we seem to always be on the road these days to some appointment or the other, and the camera helps me make the trip with some degree of calm. You probably recognize the picture above as another from the series taken along Highway 58 on the way down to Bakersfield. I have become self-conscious about posting so many of these pictures taken on the fly with the G7, but this is mostly what is happening in my life at the moment.

Do you ever have discussions with yourself about whether to share a picture, or tuck it away in your "private file"?

Upgrades

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Most photographers enjoy gear talk and there is quite a bit of chatter online about upgrades to cameras and gear. I got to thinking. If there were ever to be an upgrade on Anita (you know, the Anita Jesse Mark II, let's say), I  just hope auto focus will be included on the next model. This old model is clunky to operate, at best.

Clunky in what ways, you ask. Well, you would think that I would be focused on the upcoming Art Show, since the work has to be hung April 16. Yet, here I am, not even close to wrapping all the work for the show, and I have veered off into yet other projects. Yesterday, I should have been clearing the studio of some of the junk that has accumulated in that room during the last several months. It is obvious that work space has to be cleared for the mounting and framing yet to be done. Still, was I focused on the show? No, of course not. I had the brilliant idea to try a new tutorial "just for a minutes of distraction and a bit of relaxation."

Well, one thing led to another and there went the day.  Sure, I had a great time following one idea to the next, and then another. Heck, I enjoy the journey, even though I sometimes end up in a familiar place with only a slight new twist. The image above is one of those cases. At the same time, this is one of those pieces that I have worked on two or three different times and had never discovered where it wanted to go.

As always, it's the process that is exhilarating and satisfying. And, I won't kid you—I do enjoy the adrenalin high that comes with ideas popping. No doubt there is a downside for me. By the time I have worked until I'm bleary-eyed and there is no more adrenalin to pump, I am left worthless for about 48 hours. Only after I begin to recover can I fully enjoy the residual inspiration and sense of renewal.

Returning to the upgrade notion, maybe this Mark II version of Anita should have more power, as well. Longer-lasting batteries that don't wear out over the years, perhaps?  It wouldn't hurt to include more memory, definitely an improved sensor, and maybe....

Why I Love Drive-By Photography—Duds and All

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It's a fact that drive-by photography is guaranteed heartburn if you are hard on yourself. You have to have the stomach for stress, if you agonize over dud after dud when editing files.

I deleted most of the pictures from this session and almost dumped the one above. You may be wondering what changed my mind. It's more than a bit soft. (You bet that's what all that processing is about.) Furthermore, the framing is not what I had hoped for. When I began editing the files, the less than stellar results did not surprise me. Not only was there a distinct haze over the landscape that afternoon, I was in the passenger seat of a vehicle traveling 75 MPH when I took the photograph.  Under those conditions, I didn't have my heart set on a stack of outstanding images. But, I was going to be stuck in the passenger seat for at least an hour, and enjoying the feel of a camera in my hands made the trip more enjoyable. Later, when editing the folder I tried to pass by this photo, but something kept pulling me back. Will this one go in my top 10 for 2011? Goodness, I hope not. But, what the heck, it pleases me today, and I am my number one customer.

Regardless of the outcome of a photo-taking session, I enjoy the process from beginning to end. And, for me, that's what this is all about. The moment of seeing is the greatest joy. The sound of the shutter is profoundly satifying and marks the definitive moment of connection with my surroundings. (Yes, I am a simple person.) Just seeing the light on the subject and pressing the shutter fills my heart with joy, even if I format the card before I get home. If I end up with a photograph that I like from a drive-by session, I am always surprised and count it as a welcome bonus.

I once received a comment from someone who didn't see much point in what I call "drive-by photography". He felt that if the subject wasn't worth stopping for, getting out the tripod, and setting up the shot, why bother?

I "bother" for three reasons. One, I continue to learn by taking photographs. Yes, even bad photographs. Two, and more importantly, making pictures—even if I do not capture the feeling evoked by what I saw—the joy of seeing and shooting makes me happy. Three, I know that I have occasionally been ridiculously lucky in the worst of conditions and gotten a photograph that I quite like . And, even when a photo that I am drawn to calls for a major intervention, that's okay by me. I genuinely enjoy tinkering in Photoshop. Why post the picture? I enjoy the sharing aspect as well. Let's face it, life includes its share of disappointments, drudgery, and hardship. I relish all moments of delight, large and small.

Passion, Passion, Wherefore Art Thou?

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Had you suggested to me two months that I would be still be recovering from a routine surgery a full month after a straightforward procedure—one completed without complications, I would have laughed at you. Most likely, I would have retorted in my cockiest voice, “Heh! You don’t know me, very well!”

Hmmm. I suppose we are never too old to learn. I have healed quite effectively. I am able to eat with less pain than in the previous year. (What a relief it is to eat a meal and not wait, then, for the anvil to fall on my head.) Still, I don’t feel at all like myself. I look in the mirror and wonder, “Who is that listless person in front of me?” I read interesting material, there is a brief spark, then my eyelids get heavy, my mind wanders, and I stifle a yawn. The spark fades. Ultimately, I decide to postpone any action related to what I have read.

There has been one accomplishment. I have come up with a new theory. My listlessness started me thinking, and here is what I have come up with: I had always believed that passion, ambition, and creativity resided in the heart, mind, and soul. Now, I realize that they were to be found in the gall bladder, instead. Whuda thunk?!

How did I arrive at this startling discovery? Well, I am living example. I have almost no ambition and only occasionally get a glimpse of a creative urge, as it skitters away barely visible out of the corner of my eye. My passion for any endeavor lasts an embarrassingly brief period of time. Ods bodkins! I am, dare I say it, content to take life easy (easy is a gross understatement) and just allow myself to grow stronger. Meanwhile, I wait to rediscover passion and drive lurking somewhere else in my being. I still have most of my organs, so I suppose there is hope.

A Creative Itch

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Do you get little warnings before you about to enter a new phase of your art? In some instances, I experience signals that are difficult to describe, but I sense that something is coming ‘round the bend. It’s vaguely similar to that feeling when you are really busy, then become aware of your stomach even before you know you feel hungry. Or, maybe the instant you know you are going to sneeze before you actually do sneeze. Or, fragments of a dream that hover on the edge of your consciousness, just beyond reach. There, but not there. Promising to come within reach, even while fading.

That’s where I am at the moment. There isn’t so much as a ripple on the surface yet, but underneath there is activity. There a change coming. I am not certain where I am going, much less why. It may be a move so subtle as to be almost imperceptible, or it may be an abrupt shift. It may arrive full-blown one day—a fait accompli, or it may emerge only as the germ of an idea that takes a months, or years, to mature. It might start strong in one direction, then suddenly veer off in another. Let’s face it, whatever this is, it could start as a blast out of the gate, only to fizzle out to a big, fat nothing. I have no clue where this is headed. But, something seems to be brewing.

I’m curious about others. Do you get these warning rumblings? Maybe you are more prone to sudden shifts that come out of the blue. Or, is slow steady growth more your style?

What Are Friends For?

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Recently, I whimpered in public about what I put myself through when faced with the challenge of completing a photography project. I admit that I sat on that post for some time, reluctant to share such personal doubts and the particular fears that I confessed. It turns out that it was one of the best things that I could have done for myself. Some bloggers left comments on my site and a number of others posted commentary on the topic at their blogs. All of it was incredibly helpful. This experience was another reminder that if you would like a little help, you might try asking for it.

Not surprisingly, the oft-repeated theme in the responses was “simply get on with the work.” I admit that it’s an annoyance to need reminders of this simple fact, but there we are. There are times, thank goodness, when I simply need to remind myself. Then again, there are times when the reminder has more impact coming from others. That’s especially true when colleagues share that they have occasionally needed to jog their memory, as well.

What I am celebrating is that this spilling of my doubts and admissions to getting blocked spurred even more than the invaluable reminders that there is no way around the wisdom of just doing the work. I got a welcome chorus of admonitions to “Buck up and get on with it”. (I felt a little like one of those characters in a movie who is falling apart and when slapped by the common-sense hero, the now clear-eyed fellow says, “Thanks, I needed that.”)

The bonus was that I got more in the way of coping techniques than I hoped for. A major contribution came in the form of an excellent and most helpful statement by Martin Doonan. I’ve pulled a few lines from his post, but you really need to read the entire thing (along with a number of other posts, by the way). Martin says that starting is never a problem for him and adds that like some others he likes to “get going, prove stuff can be done, extract the goodness and move on.” He goes so far as to say that he is “not a completer.” Then he pulls it all together with this first-class lesson.

"I've learnt that to complete stuff, I need to make the end run easy on myself. Line everything up ready for a quick blast for the finish line…
thus my key strategies for getting projects done: having confidence in my ability to do the thing and clearing the path for an easy finish." (emphasis, mine)

Bingo. The simple, and ever so smart strategy, of anticipating the potholes near the finish line is useful enough, but what had the most impact on me was that reminder that confidence plays a critical role.

Then, the full “Whack on the Side of the Head” came while chatting (in comments) with Niels Henriksen about his

February 17 post:

“I don't know why I tend to criticize myself for learning when I know that I am still a beginner and therefore I shouldn’t expect so much. Part maybe that in other activities I am better and therefore subconsciously I tend to think the next activity should go as well.”

Duh. I knew better than to compare myself to others. But, I have been making a mistake that is just as disastrous. While I haven’t done it consciously, on some level I have been measuring my skills as a photographer against my skills as an actor and teacher. Never mind that I had spent multiple decades honing those skills.

Now, thanks to Niels and Martin, I know that when I wrote (in that whine) about missing teaching, part of what I was missing. I craved that confidence that I had earned over decades while working in one field. Even though I continued to work hard at honing my skills as an actor, then teacher, I knew for a long time that I was building on a solid foundation. Of course, what’s most embarrassing is that I seem to remember giving advice very much like this to people I coached in the past. Lesson learned and re-learned.

After chewing on these revelations for a few days, I thought about the many books on productivity and creativity that I have consumed. Those books made a major difference in my teaching career and have thus far served me well in my new passion. But, this business of carrying on conversations with individuals who are currently more involved in doing the work rather than talking about the process from the position of the instructor have something to offer that is difficult to find in books. There is a freshness and rawness to these conversations that rarely makes its way into books. The book-editing process is a valuable one, but sometimes it sucks part of the energy and flavor out of the material. The academic voice often creeps in and stifles the humanity of the speaker. There are some amazing people writing on the web, and I am learning more than I ever expected to by following a few of the passionate photographers who are willing to write about their process.

Demons and Resistance

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How appropriate that after my whining and moaning a couple of days ago, I finally got around to watching Zack Arias’ video that he posted as guest blogger at Scott Kelby's Photoshop Insider. The introduction is silly. That’s fine and fun, at first, but it goes on a bit too long—to the point that I almost gave up. I’m glad I stuck with it. There is so much in the video that resonates with me.

For one thing, I typically struggle with deep and protracted funks in winter. To compound matters, this winter has been a long one for me. I don’t mean just in terms of this funk, but simply far more winter weather than I am accustomed to. Day after day of cold weather (cold to thin-blooded me, at least); too many days with gray, leaden skies; and, dull landscapes untouched by sunlight. We won’t even go into the infernal, inescapable wind. (Note to self: Learn, someday, about this irrational aversion to the wind. Why does it stir in me some mysterious sense of dread, some feeling of disconnected-ness? Why do I identify so much with the trees and the bushes that may manage to remain standing, but look so battered, as they bend and writhe from the incessant flogging? Okay, so I exaggerate for the drama, but we have a great deal more wind here than what I have ever experienced, and it’s not my favorite feature of nature.)

This year’s funk is compounded by the fact that I am still adjusting to not being who I was such a short time ago. I am no longer the passionate teacher who guided and nurtured actors while they engaged the gods of creativity. I no longer enjoy the deep satisfaction that comes from watching actors blossom as they smash through old blocks and soar into new territory. That’s not to say that I didn’t fight my own demons of creativity, as I worked hard to be a more effective teacher. But, I had grown accustomed to those demons. I had wrestled with them for thirty years by the time I retired. We had a decent relationship. They persisted in torturing me, and I never stopped punching back. I even came to know and respect the demons as my allies. They kept me sharp, and never let me even flirt with complacency. Still, every day when I opened my eyes, I knew exactly who I was, and why I was still here.

Now, I have a new collection of demons. I’m not the teacher. I am the student. Certainly, some of these little devils are from the same family as the aforementioned pack, and it’s not as if these fiends are strangers to me. Before I taught full time in Los Angeles, I had faced these critters as an actor. I am familiar with the battle plan. Furthermore, I am an old hand at identity crises. Going from being a strong, healthy, hyper-independent female to one severely limited and needing far more help than I was comfortable asking for—that was an identity crisis. But, that brings me back to another element of Zach’s video that hits a nerve. (Are you following? I know that I am zigging and zagging a lot here.) Way back then as a struggling actor—even after I took that tumble that changed my life, I was younger and stronger and life stretched ahead of me with no discernible end. I wallowed in the false comfort and certainty of unending opportunity to “get it right”. I had not yet begun to face my mortality. Now, there is a demon that will get your attention. This funk is a mean one, and it is attended by a horde of nasty and persistent questions.

Before I wrap up this will-it-ever-end post, I want to clarify that while I am writing about these questions from the perspective of someone engaging in the creative process, I firmly believe that many of these are life questions, human being questions, not just artist issues. I have no doubt that I would be agonizing over similar matters, regardless of how I spent my time. Many of my questions are given urgency for me because I am also going through the all too common dual identity crises of retiring and aging. I have compounded the questions by reengaging in the creative process from an old perspective, but one with which I had, over the years, lost some familiarity. Along with the spring in my step, I’m just plain missing a step or two when it comes to this still new to me dance.

While I am in this questioning phase, I have benefitted greatly by being part of a generous community, and I'm grateful for that. Paul Lester, for example, posted some wise and extremely helpful words on doing the work that attracted several more insightful comments. Gordon may get credit for reigniting this issue with a recent post. Paul was also thoughtful enough to leave some invaluable reminders in comments on my last post. He reminded me of an important lesson that I sometimes “forget to remember”. This battle against Resistance has reliable rules of engagement. As much as we aspire to finally wrestling the gods of creativity into submission, we will never succeed. For me that means that each time we confront the creative process, we find ourselves—consciously or unconsciously—grappling with ourselves and the questions inside us. Too often, the answers don't come easily. More significantly, the answers aren’t always ones that we like. I believe it was Jay Maisel who was asked by a young photographer how he could make his photos more interesting, and Jay responded, “Become a more interesting person.” Ouch. That one gets my attention.

Because we reveal ourselves in every act of creation—there is no place to hide—this is part of the risk, the struggle to create is about so much more than striving to meet technical standards. It’s about facing who we are, what we value, what we are doing, or have so far done with our lives, what we have seen and learned, what we have to say, and for some of us what we have to say, after being around this long. As the years go by, facing those questions shakes your branches and tests your roots with just a bit more fury.

Hmmm. It’s the wind thing again, isn’t it? I seem to have stumbled upon at least part of the answer to one of my questions.

Dumping

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Most of the time when I go out to shoot I simply photograph what I discover on a given day, rather than setting out determined to find something specific. I make a conscious decision to remain open to what presents itself rather than to work hard at fulfilling a particular agenda.

When I photograph horses—especially when I am shooting for a client, it’s a very different story. First, I normally spend considerable time scouting the location, interviewing the horse owner, and getting acquainted with the horse. The day before the shoot, I plan and dream some of the shots I would like to see. When the dreaming is over and the action begins, my goal is to remain open to surprises that exceed my imagination, and occasionally I am gifted with moments that I never would have hoped for.

Of course, there is a general plan even for my everyday shoots. Perhaps I have an idea of the type of location I am looking for, or I may choose a lens depending on whether I am seeking landscape shots or macro studies. The lens decision may be influenced—at least to some degree—by the time of day, the quality of light, and/or the number of clouds in the sky. Most of time I simply grab my walk-around lens (the 24-105mm f4) and set out to do a lot of seeing and to take pictures. Yesterday’s photo was an exception to the rule.

Early in the day, The Husband mentioned that Buck had just dumped a load of rock dust for the pad behind the house and would be returning soon with another load. The pad that is being put in place will provide a foundation for the mare motel. As I have mentioned once before, I won’t try to justify why the structure is called a mare motel. After all, they don’t vaguely resemble a motel, and there are just as many geldings and stallions using them for shelter as there are mares.

At any rate, having previously watched Buck dump a couple of loads of rock, then road base, and part of the required rock dust, I started thinking that it would be fun to get a photo of the rock dust coming out of the dump truck. With that in mind, I stepped out my normal let’s-see-what-happens mode and began to plan the set-up.

Since I would be shooting in bright light, I would need my ND filter to give me the shutter speed that I needed. I had decided that I wanted to capture the sense of motion caused by the vibration in the back of the trunk, as well as the rock dust flowing toward the ground. The slow shutter speed I would have to use dictated use of my tripod, which I don’t use nearly as often as I should. It turned out that my ND filter was barely strong enough to balance the bright light and while I would have loved to have had one load to use as a test shoot that wasn’t in the plan. This delivery is meant to be the final load. Still, the shot turned out well enough to start me thinking about doing more planned shots. Besides, it was a great excuse to do something completely different and to see Buck’s work more clearly than before.

Ponderings

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My therapy yesterday included another session of combining camera movement with slow shutter speed. The more I explore this form of play, the more satisfying it is. While I have worked hard to more effectively control shutter speed for sharper images and to improve my compositions, now I am drawn more and more to these impressionistic images. I know it isn’t a surprising chain of events, but it is peculiar in a way and it amuses me.

During the part of the shoot when I took this photograph, I was enjoying the landscape with its layers, and wondering where time goes in such a hurry. The hours and days get away from me so quickly. Some days, I feel as though I were riding the rapids. While I try to hold on and stay upright, my raft continues to gather speed. The scenery along the bank is not much more than a blur. Meanwhile, I paddle like mad—just hoping that the waterfall isn’t around the next bend.

It’s all upside down. With age, time should slow down along with our bodies.

Theraphotography

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If you tried finding the title word in your dictionary or even with your trusty search engine, you didn’t find it, because the term comes from Amy Sakurai’s amazing mind. Amy was kind enough to share her brand-new word with me in her comment on my last post, and I have found that it suits my needs perfectly. Thanks, Amy.

Today, I devoted much of my day to theraphotography. I spend two or three hours out driving around and exploring some new sights. As usual, I have no original ideas—none. The day’s adventures were inspired by all the reading and exploring that has come before, but the four most immediate influences were: Amy’s addition to a photographer’s dictionary, Paul Butzi’s post on finding peace of mind with one’s camera, Paul Lester’s post re. Winter light, and Mark Graf’s post on tree hugging.


Lately, I have been sticking pretty close to home—with a brief foray or two down to Cub Lake which is all of a mile away. Today I definitely needed therapy, and, for me, that meant exploring with my camera. I can explore light without leaving our property, but the tree part definitely involves some travel. Although we have a beautiful view to the northeast, the thing we don’t have much of on our property is trees. I have been missing my ash tree—my twenty-year friend—and I definitely needed to go hug some trees. Anybody’s trees.

So, out I went. My intentions were simple: play with some old ideas, as well as some new ones ; chase some winter light; and lavish love on a few trees. As always, I can’t predict whether the photography part pleases anyone else but me. However, I am certain that the therap(y) part was totally successful.

Diversions, Discoveries, and Departures

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Here I am a week after my post mentioning my anxiety clog, a term brilliantly mocked by Gordon McGregor. (If you didn’t follow up on Gordon’s comment and link on that entry from last week, check it out for a great giggle.)

This was a peculiar creative block. Yes, there was some of the commonplace “Everything I am producing is junk, anyway, so why bother” mentality. But this time I continued to take pictures, and I continued to enjoy the process of photographing. I didn’t much like the results I got, but I just kept on shooting. (Where would I be without digital?)

Then, a few days after the creative system plugged up, we had a wonderful houseful of visiting family. On a couple of brief occasions during their stay, I took advantage of their good nature to practice taking some candid portraits. While there were a couple of other point-and-shoot cameras brought out for plenty of snaps, I lurked about taking some shots while people weren’t paying attention to me. Furthermore, since on one occasion we were in very low light, I had an excuse to experiment with bounce flash. I may not post the shots; but, the experience stirred a couple of interests that have been way down the list for me. I haven’t taken many shots of people (except when hired to do so) and I haven’t spent much time exploring the use of flash. I may make some changes in those areas.

There were more discoveries. Two of our visitors brought dogs and being around them reminded me again how much I long to finally have a fenced yard. One evening, everyone else went out for the evening and one of the dogs stayed with me. Having a dog follow me about and lie on the floor next to me, brought back memories—both sweet and sad. It’s time to make some new dog memories.

The more I look at this episode the more I realize it’s really about a number of things—none of them new, none of them simple or logical. On the other hand, not much about the creative journey is simple or logical, in my opinion.

Anxiety Clogs

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Is there any doubt that anxiety clogs up the arteries in the creative system? Recently, I have had something to say each day (not necessarily something that needed to be said, but something I was quite willing to prattle on about). Just a few hours of real world fears, and the system groans to a standstill. Now, the debris will have to make its way through, before ideas flow again.

Shooting More – Posting Less

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We are up here in the clouds today. It’s cold, windy, and—for much of the morning—visibility has been only a memory.

Many photographers thrive on rainy days and can’t wait to get out and about with their cameras. I tend to get reflective. That has always been my pattern. I’m sure it has to do with having lived, all my life, in sunny climes with long stretches of rain being an anomaly, rather than the norm. Raindrops on my window pane make me want to sit quietly—maybe with a hot drink, to contemplate the light filtering through the water while allowing my mind to wander aimlessly about—picking up and discarding random threads of thought that meander into focus.

This morning I have been thinking about where I am with photography (as well as the election—well, who hasn’t been thinking about the latter.) Lately, I have been taking more pictures than I ever have. Rarely a day goes by that I don’t have my camera out and working, and could post a photo-a-day with only rare lapses. Yet, I am posting a smaller and smaller percentage of my shots. It’s partly about distractions and finding time to put up posts, but mostly it’s about my dissatisfaction with what I produce. Yes, I am slowly improving technically. I have fewer shots that are woefully under or over-exposed. My horizon lines are more consistently straight. Even though my progress is slow and frustrating, I see some small improvement in compositions. The problem is that my technical skills grow at a pace that lags woefully behind that of my ambitions. Shots that I would have happily posted even six months ago dishearten me now.

My choice is to continue posting images that I am not happy with, because I refuse to give myself permission to hide and wait, until I am ready before I post my photos. I know well that dark side of my nature—the part of me that wants to wait until I have something that I'm proud of, before I make it public. From the beginning, the reason for this blog was to thwart that dark side. Posting in spite of my disappointments with what I have shot is a form of discipline for me. It motivates me to take a closer look at the shots I take and short-circuits the impulse to dump the entire card in disgust and disappointment. Looking at the shots and forcing myself to choose the best of the sorry lot encourages me to acknowledge my small steps forward and that motivates me to keep trying.

Fortunately for me, while my resolve to persevere waivers, it shows no signs of a full breakdown. Continuing to post pictures that clearly reveal my work-in-progress standing is making me stronger.

More Thoughts on Audience

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We certainly don't get this sort of light show every evening, but we get our share. Still, each one fills me with awe and gratitude.

Meanwhile when I am not gawking at sunsets or sunrises, admiring swooping hawks, or laughing at ground squirrels (so long as they aren't eating my geraniums!), I digest and adjust. Along with settling in physically, I am still very much in a gathering mode—reading, looking, finally taking a few more pictures, and processing more ideas than photos. For one thing, I am chewing on a number of topics that have been much discussed recently by the bloggers that I follow. For example, several whose thinking has long inspired me are talking lately about audience—a topic that has long been fascinating for me.

From the time that I first picked up The Husband's new then, but now defunct Canon A70, I was clear about the attraction of photography. I had no intention of beginning, so late in life, a new career, nor did I imagine that I would burst on the art scene and create a sensation. Primarily making images was a tool for dealing with some old hurts and losses that had barely faded with time. I had no idea how effective making images would be in that healing role, much less what lay ahead on my journey. Ultimately, my still budding relationship with a small parade of cameras has begun to play an ever-increasing part in answering questions about still another me and who that is.

If I begin to fret about whether others will find meaning in my photographs or whether they will approve, I am almost instantly paralyzed. This is an exact parallel to acting (I am convinced that it holds true for any creative endeavor). Indeed, it holds true in the everyday business of relating to other human beings. We all know people who are so busy trying to appear confident, smart, and witty that whoever they may actually be is smothered by the phoniness and the desperate need to be admired. They are so busy trying to please their audience they can't simply be.

It was a struggle with most actors I taught to convince them that during execution it was only by letting go of the need to please that could they could be freed to thrill, delight, and entertain their audience. When we are consumed by the need for approval, that becomes the intention and the focus. Then, there is nothing to be said other than, "Look at me, I desperately want to please. Like me; please, please like me." While any artist must hone the basics of craft, inspiration and creativity do not succumb to commands and needs. Creativity flourishes only when we risk yawns of disinterest, even outright rejection.

Of course, I am keen to improve my skills, so I may make images that better capture what I saw. After all, as so many others have already pointed out, I may end up with an audience of one: me. Since that is the only audience I can be certain will "show up for the show", its the audience I had best connect with.

By the way, I don't see that my claiming I aim first and foremost to be clear in communicating what I saw and doing so in a way that delights me, negates in any way the satisfaction that comes in pleasing others along the way. I know some want to make this an either/or situation. In other words, you are dishonest if you claim to create for yourself, while also making your work public and taking enjoyment from knowing that others take pleasure in it as well. I don't see the conflict. For me, it is a simple fact and quite logical that I take the photos first for me. If I am not happy with them, I have failed in my intention. When the result pleases me, I feel the effort was well spent. Yet, there is an eager embrace of a further bonus, when the work connects with another person. It isn't a required validation, but more of a buzz that comes from having sent out a signal and then getting back a signal from a kindred spirit. It's a little like that satisfaction that comes from "Did you see that?!" "Yes, I saw it too. Wow."