The Sound of the SoFoBoMo Starting Gun

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I had intended to sleep in today and save what little energy I expected to have for taxes after a tiring day yesterday. However, the SoFoBoMo starting gun woke me at 6:30 AM, and I couldn’t go back to sleep. It seems I have changed my mind yet again and decided to start my project today, after all. It will be just a toe-dip in the pond, but I will officially start my photobook. I had thought I would be logical and do some catching up first, but all the exciting new things I have learned in the last couple of weeks have me itching to get going.

The last few days had gotten a little crazy. Last week ended with jack hammers at the front of the house and tar paper at the rear. The plumbers were destroying the sidewalk and half the driveway, while the roofing contractor and his crew got rid of damaged rafter tails (almost sounds like I know what I’m talking about, doesn’t it?) and repaired a portion of the roof that might have aroused the interest of an inspector. The Husband had taken repairs as far as his skills, tools and, most of all, time would allow. It was time to bring in a team of pros.

Before the dust had cleared, we ran away on Saturday to Bear Valley to recharge the batteries. Part of the plan was to take a break before grappling with the final stages of filing taxes. That would clear the decks for me to plunge into SoFoBoMo. However, a funny thing happened on the way to the starting gate. Last Friday, my doctor instructed me that a first test checking my gall bladder raised questions and I was set for a CT Scan for Monday (yesterday). Have you ever had one of those delicious barium shakes? Oh, yum. To make a long, very boring story short, I spent most of yesterday fighting the typical nausea and headache after-effects.

I did manage a few meager accomplishments other than processing a few shots from our weekend getaway. I discovered that the reason I was no longer able to print a PDF out of Pagemaker was one of one of those all-too-common-for-me operator errors (Distiller offers way too many choices for novices like me.) One more problem solved. Yesterday morning before I got away for my rendezvous with foul liquids, my Shutterfly book arrived. Speedy service. I placed the order late afternoon Tuesday, March 25, and the book arrived Monday around 10:00 AM. Another question answered. It's “no” to Shutterfly.

The biggest problem with Shutterfly is that this service offers no profile and I have never run across one. (I will ask Mark Hobson about this. He mentioned using Shutterfly and liking the results.) In the case of some photos, I was quite disappointed. Obviously, their lab tweaks the exposure to “help out the photographer”. In the case of one highly stylized shot (posted here Saturday, March 8, 2008), they had brightened the shot to bring back much of the detail they assumed I had lost by mistake. In the case of another shot that I had liked for its subtle tones (Tuesday, January 29, 2008), they blasted it with color and turned it into something quite garish. I certainly can’t complain since I threw this book together pretty fast and, after all, it was free. (Without the freebie, the 8x8 book would have cost $29.99). Next time I will try Blurb.

The accompanying photo was taken on Highway 223 on the eastern edge of the San Joaquin Valley just as you come down the western side of the Sierra Nevada mountain range. This spot is about forty-five minutes away from our place in Bear Valley. No doubt, I will be making multiple visits.

SoFoBoMo Early Lessons

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In the process of collecting on my free Shutterfly book, I learned a few things. Filling in the provided template is simple. Inserting your own pages created in Photoshop is no fun at all. Working in Blurb, on the other hand, makes inserting those pages produced in Photosop quite doable. I may not make my final decision based on this single piece of information, but for me, it puts Blurb way ahead in the race for POD.

Trying to Get Off the Roller-Coaster

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I have been pretty busy this past week just hanging on through a dizzying ride of ups and downs. Within two and half weeks of our first open house, we had two excellent offers. Pretty amazing for this lousy market. We were giddy. Then we crashed to earth. One offer could still come through, the other may have gone forever. At one point, we had a schedule set up that would have had us here through April—meaning I would have done my SoFoBoMo project here and then dealt with moving in May, but that plan went south and now there are just more question marks. I got a surprise present from good old Shutterfly (I had tested their service a couple of years ago) offering me a free 8x8 photo book. Hooray! A great practice run in case I decided to go that route for printing. My deadline was March 26. Meantime, I pounced on the wonderful information Gordon McGregor posted regarding printing at Blurb and began burning some midnight oil. I collected a batch of images and, with my newly installed profile, I tweaked them to match the profile. Whoa talk about out of gamut colors—not a pretty sight! Of course, it was the perfect time for a glitch in a hard drive. I won’t start talking about how much I lost, because if I do I will cry and we all know that you don’t want to get a keyboard wet. Not a good thing.

Well, on the roller coaster, the thrills never end. Ultimately, I had to look at the realties of the timing on our house sale and the rigors of a 30 day escrow that could start any day. The SoFoBoMo project appears to be out of reach. (For one day, I considered going to Pope Paul (that’s Butzi, of course, whom I have named The Instigator) for special dispensation on the start date, but after reading his post today on “Jumping the Gun”, I’m glad I didn’t. Whew! He’s tough. (Only kidding, Paul) Seriously, I know I can always do this solo once we are finally settled and I know where I will be the following week. However, Paul is so right about the value of doing this along with the group. For today—don’t even ask how many times I have come up with a different scenario—I plan to begin my project April 1 and face the fact that I will likely have to suspend work if we go into escrow. I will almost certainly miss the deadline. At some point when this is all over, I will finish the project. I can limit myself to a total thirty days spent on the project and celebrate the learning experience, then look forward to next year—that is if anyone is left standing and foolish enough to sign up again. Meanwhile, I can work like mad to learn as much as possible, do what I can, and celebrate the efforts of other participants.

It has been an intense week filled with growth opportunities. (Sometimes, don’t you just hate growing?) I have learned more than I ever wanted to know about the vagaries of the real estate game. I threw together a twenty page book for the free Shutterfly offer (hey, it gives me an opportunity to see how my normal editing holds up for their printing process). I experimented with a couple of cover designs and got past some of the intimidation posed by that job. I bought two new 500 gig hard drives and vowed to never trust another drive (I know, I know. It was only a matter of time) and to stop forever using Lightroom as a primary storage system. Details would only put my keyboard at risk. (I can’t say I wasn’t warned about Lightroom’s quirky and proprietary storage either.) I familiarized myself with the frustrations of adjusting to the Blurb profile and survived the shock. On the real estate front, we continue showing the house to a few prospects, while I strip more and more of the things from the house that make it warm, cozy, and mine.

Do they have a merry-go-round at this carnival?

Neither Here Nor There

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The Husband and I are in waiting mode. Certainly, it isn’t as if I have hours on my hands to spend sitting around waiting or fretting. I have errands to run and all those pesky household chores—nowadays “company”, meaning prospects to buy our house, might pop up at any time (I can’t remember ever doing this much housework). There are meetings, Open Houses, boxes being delivered to Bear Valley, and endless forms to complete. I am having a wonderful time experimenting with camera and lenses as well as working out software issues I will need to produce the “evidence” that I complete a photo book within the time allowed. I am seeking a balance between packing things I will need at the last minute and leaving too much to pack until the last minute. We have even found time recently for some socializing.

Still, the overall mode is waiting. Waiting to see if any of the offers on our house will result in a final sale, waiting to see if more offers are made, waiting to move, waiting to fully engage in the SoFoBoMo project, waiting to move and begin this big life-adventure as a yikes—a retiree, shudder—some days that seems a dreadful mistake, others an enormous relief. When I meet strangers now, I am not so comfortable when the conversation turns, inevitably, to “What do you do?” After all, for decades, I had an answer and it didn’t fluctuate. Suddenly, the old answer doesn’t apply. To complicate matters, even “where do you live” triggers a bit of disorientation. We are headed there, but most of our things are still here. We still are not able to say that we are even in the process of moving. The answer to both questions could be, “Can I get back to you on that?”

Waiting isn’t a painful state or a negative one in any way. It’s just an unfamiliar one for me. I have been so busy going and doing for years that waiting is requiring some adjustments. It’s a good time for reflection and evaluation—a time for gathering thoughts and storing ideas for future projects.

Macro Misses

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Up until a few days ago, the Canon100mm macro I got at the first of the year has been sitting in the bag. This past week I have finally had some time for photography again, now that we have our house on the market and I am making the most of this breather. Not surprisingly, I am running smack up against the demands of macro photography. I am developing a closer relationship with my tripod and thinking about buying some knee pads. I certainly am getting more familiar with deleting images, but I am having a great time experimenting.

Software Puzzles

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This past week, I celebrated having survived our first Open House and spent some time exploring the possibilities of laying out the photo book in my creaky old Pagemaker. I have an early version of InDesign, but just never could get anywhere with it—not that I had ever become a power user of Pagemaker. To complicate matters, I have seldom opened that program during the last three or four years. Furthermore, I decided that I had better learn to compress a PDF for posting on the web—another new skill. Not surprisingly, I stumbled about quite a bit.

For some reason, I couldn’t remember how to number the blasted pages in Pagemaker and floundered around in Help before finally solving the mystery. I had only ever used Adobe Acrobat for the purpose of creating simple PDF's limited to two or three pages. Up until now, compression hadn’t been an issue. I still don’t know exactly what date I will begin my SoFoBoMo project, but these are the sort of things that I wanted to work out before April 1. I certainly won’t want to devote two out of my thirty allotted days to stumbling about in the Pagemaker and Acrobat Help sections. So far, so good. Pagemaker will never be my favorite program, but horses for courses, as the saying goes.

Sofobomo – The Next Chapter

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Tuesday I was so relieved to have settled on a theme for my SoFoBoMo project that I couldn’t get to my camera fast enough. For most of that day, I shot as though my hair was on fire. Yesterday, I was exhausted from the adrenalin high and only experimented a bit with a different lens. I have spent much of today agonizing over a book cover. Of course all this activity, is the result of my struggle to refine both my theme and my plan for execution.

I have these recurring visions of someone viewing my book and asking, “Why did you make this book? What is it about.” “Because a bunch of other people signed up for a a challenge and I thought I would give it a go” isn’t an acceptable answer. That’s what has had me stewing. Okay, I’m making a photo book. What is it about? Will I produce a collection of thirty-five mediocre images that collectively scream—these photographs were taken for no other reason than to get to the magic number of thirty-five. For at least a week, I felt the title of my book should be “Sharp Images of Fuzzy Concepts”, because I was haunted by the famous Ansel Adams quote. Can I clearly define what this book is about—why it should be made? Am I clear enough about what I want to say? And, just as importantly, can I say it well?

While Paul Butzi has laid claim to “the stupidest idea ever beheld”, I may have to challenge him on that when all is said and done. After much agonizing, I have committed to a theme that has some emotional heat for me; now, I wonder whether I can come close to making pictures that will convey some of the very feelings that have produced the heat. My subject is saying goodbye to a place that has been my home for twenty years. I will make my thirty-five pictures within a radius of about five miles of our home here in the San Fernando Valley in California. This is the very small world where I spend most of my time—our house, the yard, the barn area where the horses are stabled a couple of miles away, and an area along the Little Tujunga Wash, between the stable and our house. So, I finally know what I want to photograph and why. Now, comes the issue of successful execution. Can I bring a viewer into my simple little universe—the places where I spend, by far, most of my time—and put across some of the feelings of melancholy I am already experiencing at the prospect of leaving it behind? Or, will the passion be strong, yet the craft weak?

I confess that I had not wanted to immerse myself in these feelings about another ending. But, here I am plunging into the abyss. There is no easy way out of this. The feelings will supply the energy and inform the work. To deny the feelings is to turn off the energy supply. Best to not snuff out the flame. Predictably, I will waste some time trying to worm my way out of the pain that goes with the experience and rely on the “understanding” of purpose to get the job done. Nope. It doesn’t work that way. Red Smith’s observation on the ease of writing included in William Bronaugh’s book, “Just Open a Vein” says it all. “All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein.” If we set out to create—regardless of the medium—there is no getting around the struggle. What SoFoBoMo amounts to is that a whole gang of us have elected to—if I may paraphrase Red Smith—pick up a camera and open a vein. I suppose the only sensible course is to take comfort in the observation made by more than one participant that it won't last forever. They are right, of course. A month will fly by. No, wait. That last part isn't comforting, at all.

The Gate Dilemma

After we get moved to Bear Valley Springs and settled in—I figure that will happen sometime around 2012 judging by our current pace—one of my projects is working out what type of gate we can put up at our drive. Then, naturally, the gate will have to have a sign with a name on it. I am big on naming things. Since I was a little girl, one of my primary preoccupations was naming things I had, and I even devoted a great deal of time to naming things I didn’t have, but fantasized about having someday. At one point, I named an entire stable of stunning Arabian horses I just knew I would have when I was all grown up. I winced when others in my family named a pet. One of our dogs was named Skippy and that was a serious affront to my delicate young sensibilities. I adored that dog, but always lamented the fact that such a superior creature should be saddled with a name so pedestrian.

Indeed, decades ago, when I was first getting to know the man who became The Husband, I was shaken to learn that, when he was young, his family had three dogs in a row named George. Now you need to know that this was a gorgeous, sexy, gentle man and I knew I was falling hard. Still, how could I link my life to a man who came from such stock? Was there no one in his family with the imagination to come up with another name? Why did no one intervene? Yes, there had been some embarrassingly uninspired names given to animals by my family. But, at least the insult had not been mindlessly repeated! Sure, the man came from a good New England family and his father was a prominent Boston surgeon. But, please. George?! And, three times in a row! It was a hurdle for me. Until I met them all, of course and found they were absolutely wonderful—the family that is. (By the way, The Husband most often leaves naming chores to me. I think it’s a wise choice. I may not be great at naming, but I care and I try, for Pete's sake.)

Anyway, about the gate. From those early years, while I was naming those Arabian steeds, I dreamed of living on a ranch, or least a horse farm. The ranch fantasy was the first choice for me, with my Texas upbringing and all. Now, finally, I will be be living on something other than a postage-sized lot, and I have to admit that I am mightily tempted to finally hang a sign with a ranch-type name. (You know something like the Rockin’ J Ranch, or the BV2 Ranch.) But, again, it’s about that Texas thing. Now, anyone who grew up in Texas ought to know that a ranch in Texas means several hundred acres—at least, preferably a few thousand. If you call your place “a ranch” and it’s less than that, you brand yourself a city slicker, or a drugstore cowboy. (In Texas, they say, you are the type who is "all hat and no cattle".)

Well, I have lived with the hat and without the cattle all my life and while there still are no cattle in my future, at least I will not be living in a big city, and I will have a view of a barn (eventually) and horses in the pasture. Besides, I do live in California now, and in California—especially anywhere near Tinsel Town—you will see signs for the “whatever ranch” on properties that are half an acre at best. But, I know better! For me, there is no excuse. I suppose it comes down to whether or not I have been Californified enough to risk humiliation in front of any red-blooded Texan and put a name on the gate that says "ranch", thus feeding my childhood fantasy.

I have a feeling this major life issue will take some deep study and genuine soul-searching. Whew! It’s a good thing I don’t have to make a decision immediately.

Lessons, Angels, and Sandbars

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For several days, I felt that if Paul Butzi was “becalmed”, I had run my vessel aground. I couldn’t have been more stuck. I vacillated between panic and despondency over my lack of a theme for the SoFoBoMo project. For a few hours, I was comforted by having reading Paul’s post, “Art, Scope, and Comparisons”. His thoughtful essay reminded me to stop comparing myself to others and simply make the most of my own talents—regardless of how meager they may be. Within a day, I had lost the thread of that thought and sunk back into despair. Over the past few weeks, I had come up with a few vague ideas and briefly committed to a couple of them, but nothing motivated me for more than a day or two. I beat myself up because everyone else seemed to have the question settled. Everyone else was busy planning and adding new skills so they could more fully realize their project. They all seemed to be sailing along compared to where I was.

Mark Hobson dropped by my blog and left a bombshell of an idea. He suggested that moving should be my theme. I was horrified and told him so. Dwell on this miserable experience? Are you crazy? Not a chance. I put that idea out of my mind. Yechh. Goodbye and good riddance. Yesterday, I was certain there was absolutely nothing worthwhile I was capable of photographing with my limited skills, and that I was bound to humiliate myself with my puny effort. This morning, I read Paul Lester’s post referencing my frequent use of Photoshop to work through rough emotional patches. His calm and focus served to highlight my own confusion. Furthermore, he mentioned that sometimes he “shoots” his way through a problem. And then, this morning, I read Doug Stockdale’s post describing the change that his job has dictated for his plans. Doug sounded unflustered in spite of the fact that his work had forced him to abandon his chosen theme—it appeared that he simply embraced the altered plan and found the positive aspects of it.

Perhaps it was the intense embarrassment I experienced when reading Doug’s post that finally shook things loose for me. While he had accepted the facts of his situation and moved on, I had been in a constant “tizzy”—entirely of my own making. Within hours, I felt the shift beginning and I had my theme. Finally, I was once again looking forward to this insane thirty day challenge.

Your mother was right. It pays to “hang out” with the right kind of people. All those posts I read sat brewing in my subconscious, and finally I was shifting off that sandbar. Mark was right. It revolves around the move. Paul B was right. I was paying to much attention to how clever and talented everyone else is. Paul L was right: shoot your way through it. Doug was right. Put your head down, tack, and stay with it.

April 1, I'm ready.

One of Those Photoshop Days

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A few days ago when I was attempting to process one of those rough passages, I lost myself in a photo of our two silly boys roughhousing in the turn-out ring. I can get lost, for hours, painting and tweaking an image that I enjoy staring at. In these situations, there is, for me, a distinct correlation between the emotional processing and the photo processing—each seems to feed the other. I lose myself in the Photoshop mechanics of sliders, layers, curves, channels, and masks. I don't have any plug-ins and use only a few actions that I create for adding basic adjustment layers. It isn't just about being frugal. I truly enjoy the act of applying the steps and the making of the image-by-image, element-by-element, moment-by-moment choices. And, as I confront the light and shadow on the monitor and explore the direction I want to take it (and hope we are dancing in sync), my unconscious picks at the sliders, layers, curves, etc. of the event that I am attempting to digest. Internally and externally, I attempt to resolve chaos and establish order.

It's cheaper (arguably) and healthier than most therapies and, sometimes, when I have ended my "meditation" I am willing to share the final product before I put it away for a while. (The putting-away allows me to step away from the moment and return when I can more effectively separate the final image from the emotional journey that produced it.) Sometimes I struggle with whether showing work that comes from such a process is a bit like inviting a friend to your group therapy session to observe the proceedings. Still, all our images, after all, reflect who we are, on some level or the other. We can share the work or hide it in a shoebox. My shoebox is already full.