Slow Photography Movement

Let me start with a story of how this idea came to me.

Scrolling through the blog of one my favorite local photographers (&person) she had posted this photo.

When I look at this photograph I often wish I had the opportunity to take this photo.

I do not know how this particular photo was taken. I can’t even venture a guess, at least not a good one...yet. It has me thinking….maddening yet wonderful thought about how I can do this.

I am not looking to plagiarize Joanne's work but I desperately want to be a chameleon to it…

Joanne's photo paired with my recent workshops, photo walks, conversations and e-mail discussions has me thinking about what is a complete photograph?

For me the least important thing to a great photos is the snap of the shutter; I am most interested in what happens before capture.

Composition, environment, emotions & inspiration…

The things that I do not care to know: Type of camera, camera setting, what lens, software, and post-production work was done.

If I can make an artistic guess it would be that this photo was completed in Joanne’s mind's eye long before it was captured in camera.

This photo brings me back full circle to a question that I asked on Facebook last week: What is the “Right” problem to fix in photo-education?

Thank you to all who answered. Your responses were remarkable, appreciated and the foundation for this article.

The feedback I gained can be listed in three categories/problems that need to be addressed.

Ethics, Ego & Stuff

A photograph is none of these things. A photograph begins with a thought.

A photograph is not: an obsession with equipment, an ability to purchase gear, it is not biz skills nor people skills, it is not using auto-canned-modes on your camera, hell it's not even about being able to shoot in Manual mode. (Manual mode is super important…. it’s your foundation)

I would ask photographers to think about their craft as:

Art, Morals and Truth

Tackling the right problem, that is struggle. Expanding your range of options rather than narrowing your perspective. A photograph is about YOU, not buying into someone else’s techniques or tips. It is about you developing and eye and situational problem skills.

Joanne's photograph has me thinking about how to weave patterns to discover interesting stories. And to question the purpose of how it was imagined. And doing all this while removing boundaries of what my conception of visual art is.

For a good two weeks I have been thinking about this photo and never once have I picked up my camera to try to replicate it. I can honestly tell you that I am a better photographer today than I was two weeks due to this process.

Slow Photography Movement…what is it????

It a philosophy about photography on how to transform and include yesterday's foundation of photography with the technologies that photography has to offer today. It is about the all-encompassing topics of art, morals and truth.

This is the start of a conversation; join in…more to come on this topic.

Let’s discuss….

Slow Photography Movement

Let me start with a story of how this idea came to me.

Scrolling through the blog of one my favorite local photographers (&person) she had posted this photo.

When I look at this photograph I often wish I had the opportunity to take this photo.

I do not know how this particular photo was taken. I can’t even venture a guess, at least not a good one...yet. It has me thinking….maddening yet wonderful thought about how I can do this.

I am not looking to plagiarize Joanne's work but I desperately want to be a chameleon to it…

Joanne's photo paired with my recent workshops, photo walks, conversations and e-mail discussions has me thinking about what is a complete photograph?

For me the least important thing to a great photos is the snap of the shutter; I am most interested in what happens before capture.

Composition, environment, emotions & inspiration…

The things that I do not care to know: Type of camera, camera setting, what lens, software, and post-production work was done.

If I can make an artistic guess it would be that this photo was completed in Joanne’s mind's eye long before it was captured in camera.

This photo brings me back full circle to a question that I asked on Facebook last week: What is the “Right” problem to fix in photo-education?

Thank you to all who answered. Your responses were remarkable, appreciated and the foundation for this article.

The feedback I gained can be listed in three categories/problems that need to be addressed.

Ethics, Ego & Stuff

A photograph is none of these things. A photograph begins with a thought.

A photograph is not: an obsession with equipment, an ability to purchase gear, it is not biz skills nor people skills, it is not using auto-canned-modes on your camera, hell it's not even about being able to shoot in Manual mode. (Manual mode is super important…. it’s your foundation)

I would ask photographers to think about their craft as:

Art, Morals and Truth

Tackling the right problem, that is struggle. Expanding your range of options rather than narrowing your perspective. A photograph is about YOU, not buying into someone else’s techniques or tips. It is about you developing and eye and situational problem skills.

Joanne's photograph has me thinking about how to weave patterns to discover interesting stories. And to question the purpose of how it was imagined. And doing all this while removing boundaries of what my conception of visual art is.

For a good two weeks I have been thinking about this photo and never once have I picked up my camera to try to replicate it. I can honestly tell you that I am a better photographer today than I was two weeks due to this process.

Slow Photography Movement…what is it????

It a philosophy about photography on how to transform and include yesterday's foundation of photography with the technologies that photography has to offer today. It is about the all-encompassing topics of art, morals and truth.

This is the start of a conversation; join in…more to come on this topic.

Let’s discuss….

Music

Wednesday evening I watched The Music Instinct: Science and Song. Next week I will watch The Musical Mind hosted by Oliver Sacks. The effect that music has on man is a wondrous marvel. I have read numerous books on the subject asking myself, why seek an answer when the answer is not needed? Music is good. Music heals. Music is purposeful. Why seek a deeper understanding? I do, no idea why but I search for a deeper understanding of music.

The world is divided in different ways – we are either born to the west or to the east. Our politics either lean left or to the right, we either follow the teachings of evolution or the faith of creation and in the end we all sing, dance and celebrate life with music.

Man was the last thing to appear on this Earth. First there was land, then plants then animals. Then man was created to complete the natural world. Music was last. Gary Snyder writes – “we are here to entertain the rest of nature”. I think he is right. In times of war send the musicians in first. I like that.

With music I can condition myself on multiple levels. This morning I was up at 6am, showered, yoga and then practicing Bach. I listen to music while doing yoga to focus my breath and lower my hear rate. I pick up my guitar and practice Bach because I am compelled to. I get in my car and listen to the music of Edgar Meyer while driving to relax my mind.

My daughter dances, she listens intensely to music at the age of 3 ½. It is part of who she is. My wife sings lullabies to calm her, songs to get her to pick up her toys, songs of play and songs of time to eat. My daughter will ask me to play my guitar fast then slow then “let me try” as she bangs and strums.

Music is good.

Music

Wednesday evening I watched The Music Instinct: Science and Song. Next week I will watch The Musical Mind hosted by Oliver Sacks. The effect that music has on man is a wondrous marvel. I have read numerous books on the subject asking myself, why seek an answer when the answer is not needed? Music is good. Music heals. Music is purposeful. Why seek a deeper understanding? I do, no idea why but I search for a deeper understanding of music.

The world is divided in different ways – we are either born to the west or to the east. Our politics either lean left or to the right, we either follow the teachings of evolution or the faith of creation and in the end we all sing, dance and celebrate life with music.

Man was the last thing to appear on this Earth. First there was land, then plants then animals. Then man was created to complete the natural world. Music was last. Gary Snyder writes – “we are here to entertain the rest of nature”. I think he is right. In times of war send the musicians in first. I like that.

With music I can condition myself on multiple levels. This morning I was up at 6am, showered, yoga and then practicing Bach. I listen to music while doing yoga to focus my breath and lower my hear rate. I pick up my guitar and practice Bach because I am compelled to. I get in my car and listen to the music of Edgar Meyer while driving to relax my mind.

My daughter dances, she listens intensely to music at the age of 3 ½. It is part of who she is. My wife sings lullabies to calm her, songs to get her to pick up her toys, songs of play and songs of time to eat. My daughter will ask me to play my guitar fast then slow then “let me try” as she bangs and strums.

Music is good.

On God - Deism ???

A comment was recently left on a posting of mine titled “On Being an Artist”. In that essay there is a paragraph where I compare man’s art creations to God’s creations, neither one have power over created work once released to the world.

Commenter wrote, “Your simplified version of 18th century deism displays much inconsistency of thought.” Commenter also wrote “One has to look no further than your own website to see that men obsess over their creations.” For the record I love both of these comments and I responded back to the commenter thanking him for his thought-provoking comments.

What follows is the thought-provoking stuff inspired by the commenter.

It’s true that man (especially me) obsesses over their creations…does God? I don’t know but my heart tells me that s/he does.

After reading the original comment the first thing I did was to look up the word “Deism”.

Deism – (per Wikipedia) God does not intervene with the functions of the natural world.

I am ok with that…is it true? I do not know nor care. Am I a hypocrite? Most likely, I practice meditation and believe in the power of prayer. Buddha spoke of being comfortable with your contradictions. I am.

I no longer wrestle with existential questions or feel guided by a transcendental purpose but I do miss walking in the woods.

Walking in the woods is the only place that I felt guided by my inner voice and felt the presence of God. It was never a radically transforming experience, but it was enough for me to stop seeking answers about God and to start experiencing God’s creations.

For me it does not matter if God only created DNA and then became a spectator of her/his creation leaving evolution to dispose through benevolent acts.

It does not matter to me if God hand-created each and every one of us. Or if s/he only hand picks a chosen few to communicate through.

It does not matter to me if God is a dormant muscle or gene that is held deep inside of us waiting to be developed through spiritual practice and exercises.

God could be: law, grace, art, three persons making up a single body, all of Gaia or the single heartbeat inside your chest…I am ok with that.

Our spiritual history can be flawed and layered with imperfections and still have deep impactful meaning in which to live your life by. I am ok with that.

God is a mystery and I am ok with that. Never fight the oblivious…never - and I am ok with that.

I do miss walking in woods.

On God - Deism ???

A comment was recently left on a posting of mine titled “On Being an Artist”. In that essay there is a paragraph where I compare man’s art creations to God’s creations, neither one have power over created work once released to the world.

Commenter wrote, “Your simplified version of 18th century deism displays much inconsistency of thought.” Commenter also wrote “One has to look no further than your own website to see that men obsess over their creations.” For the record I love both of these comments and I responded back to the commenter thanking him for his thought-provoking comments.

What follows is the thought-provoking stuff inspired by the commenter.

It’s true that man (especially me) obsesses over their creations…does God? I don’t know but my heart tells me that s/he does.

After reading the original comment the first thing I did was to look up the word “Deism”.

Deism – (per Wikipedia) God does not intervene with the functions of the natural world.

I am ok with that…is it true? I do not know nor care. Am I a hypocrite? Most likely, I practice meditation and believe in the power of prayer. Buddha spoke of being comfortable with your contradictions. I am.

I no longer wrestle with existential questions or feel guided by a transcendental purpose but I do miss walking in the woods.

Walking in the woods is the only place that I felt guided by my inner voice and felt the presence of God. It was never a radically transforming experience, but it was enough for me to stop seeking answers about God and to start experiencing God’s creations.

For me it does not matter if God only created DNA and then became a spectator of her/his creation leaving evolution to dispose through benevolent acts.

It does not matter to me if God hand-created each and every one of us. Or if s/he only hand picks a chosen few to communicate through.

It does not matter to me if God is a dormant muscle or gene that is held deep inside of us waiting to be developed through spiritual practice and exercises.

God could be: law, grace, art, three persons making up a single body, all of Gaia or the single heartbeat inside your chest…I am ok with that.

Our spiritual history can be flawed and layered with imperfections and still have deep impactful meaning in which to live your life by. I am ok with that.

God is a mystery and I am ok with that. Never fight the oblivious…never - and I am ok with that.

I do miss walking in woods.

The Soloist & My Room

I finished reading “The Soloist” today at lunch. It was odd reading a book about the powers of music without actually listening to music. I wish I would have seen the movie first and then read the book to have the soundtrack playing in mind while reading.

The copy of the book I was reading was on loan from my local library. This copy had hand written notes throughout the book. It was interesting to read somebody else’s thoughts about the story. The writer of the notes seemed to have a person living in their life that is also suffering from schizophrenia.

Pages of the book read “homeless, living without a view of a horizon, no greens, no blues just city”. The note writer adds in the margins of that page “schizophrenia leads to introspection – thoughts in my mind. I stand next to a life that is better than mine.” I have no idea what to make of the handwritten notes. The word introspection and life leads me to guess that there is redemption of hope found in the pages of this book.

I have this extra room in my house which has become “my room” (all other rooms are “E’s, but I do get a pillow and I am re-invited every night to share the bed). It’s a room where I workout and store my photo gear. Last night I set up a practice area: music stand, chair and guitar. I keep guitars tossed throughout the house. For the most part anywhere I typically sit there is a guitar close by. Keeping a true practice workout regime for guitar has been calling me for a long time.

The music of Bach is otherworldly to me. Many times when I play Bach I cannot tell you what I am playing (theory, chord structure). At times it feels like fingers on strings and a piece of wood in my hands making sounds that I have no control over or understating of. I have been playing guitar for three decades, in that time I have recorded a couple of cd’s and have played countless shows. Nothing can compete with the moments of fluidly playing Bach.

I live with a quiet inner fear if that I do not keep growing as a musician I will not grow as a photographer. Music helps me to see the world.

“May the concert never stop” - Nathaniel Ayers

The Soloist & My Room

I finished reading “The Soloist” today at lunch. It was odd reading a book about the powers of music without actually listening to music. I wish I would have seen the movie first and then read the book to have the soundtrack playing in mind while reading.

The copy of the book I was reading was on loan from my local library. This copy had hand written notes throughout the book. It was interesting to read somebody else’s thoughts about the story. The writer of the notes seemed to have a person living in their life that is also suffering from schizophrenia.

Pages of the book read “homeless, living without a view of a horizon, no greens, no blues just city”. The note writer adds in the margins of that page “schizophrenia leads to introspection – thoughts in my mind. I stand next to a life that is better than mine.” I have no idea what to make of the handwritten notes. The word introspection and life leads me to guess that there is redemption of hope found in the pages of this book.

I have this extra room in my house which has become “my room” (all other rooms are “E’s, but I do get a pillow and I am re-invited every night to share the bed). It’s a room where I workout and store my photo gear. Last night I set up a practice area: music stand, chair and guitar. I keep guitars tossed throughout the house. For the most part anywhere I typically sit there is a guitar close by. Keeping a true practice workout regime for guitar has been calling me for a long time.

The music of Bach is otherworldly to me. Many times when I play Bach I cannot tell you what I am playing (theory, chord structure). At times it feels like fingers on strings and a piece of wood in my hands making sounds that I have no control over or understating of. I have been playing guitar for three decades, in that time I have recorded a couple of cd’s and have played countless shows. Nothing can compete with the moments of fluidly playing Bach.

I live with a quiet inner fear if that I do not keep growing as a musician I will not grow as a photographer. Music helps me to see the world.

“May the concert never stop” - Nathaniel Ayers

40 in 30

Reflective, that is how I feel about turning 40 years old 30 days from today.

Looking back what progress have I made? I can honestly say that I am beginning to be “ok” with who I am. It seems that I have gotten a lot more things right then wrong in my life at 40. I have a wife and daughter that are better than I deserve. I share a business with my wife and daily I work with a purpose. I live in a home that is warm and filled with light and love (with a whole bunch of great photos, guitars, aromas from the kitchen and pitter patter of little feet.)

The greatest lesson that I have learned “so-far” is that having parents in your life as an adult is important. The first twenty years of a child’s life is dedicated to keeping your child alive and well. My parents did that, thanks mom & dad for that. Adults need parents. That is the lesson learned. I still need to be parented too. Advice, structure, wisdom, time, conversation, understanding and all the whatnot’s of a life is needed. Now that I am the father of a 3yr old I understand the importance of being a son at 40 yrs old.

At 40 I believe my work and artistic life have progressed. I am happy about that. I have honed my crafts and cultivated my skills, read books, kept journals, said my prayers and eaten my vegetables. I have played music, taken photos, gotten in shape, written stories, essays and rants even occasionally been published. I have walked in the woods, traveled abroad; I have climbed rocks, drunk wine, ate countless numbers of pizza slices and have kept my dog by my side for the past 16 years.

Perennial work in progress is the who, what and why of my zeal for life. To the next idea, know how much I looking forward to discovering you. The fear of stopping to develop in mind, body and spirit is my muse.

The second 40 years holds the divine mystery in front of me. Raising a daughter to be kind and intelligent, sustaining a business that can be passed down to the next generation, being a good husband, father, son and citizen to the life that has been given to me.

Simple, purposeful and with rhythm - those are the words to describe how I will live out the second set of 40 years to come.

In my eighties I hope I am in the last 20 plus yrs of my life, if I am so blessed. Sharing this journey with my wife I will learn how to oil paint, tinker in my woodshop, enjoy grandchildren and do whatever my wife wants to do, probably travel…nonetheless, if I pick up my dirty socks and place the dirty dishes in the dishwasher I think she will keep me around.

To all the angels, geniuses and genies in a bottle that have guided my way on this journey…thank you, deep bows of gratitude to you.

40 in 30

Reflective, that is how I feel about turning 40 years old 30 days from today.

Looking back what progress have I made? I can honestly say that I am beginning to be “ok” with who I am. It seems that I have gotten a lot more things right then wrong in my life at 40. I have a wife and daughter that are better than I deserve. I share a business with my wife and daily I work with a purpose. I live in a home that is warm and filled with light and love (with a whole bunch of great photos, guitars, aromas from the kitchen and pitter patter of little feet.)

The greatest lesson that I have learned “so-far” is that having parents in your life as an adult is important. The first twenty years of a child’s life is dedicated to keeping your child alive and well. My parents did that, thanks mom & dad for that. Adults need parents. That is the lesson learned. I still need to be parented too. Advice, structure, wisdom, time, conversation, understanding and all the whatnot’s of a life is needed. Now that I am the father of a 3yr old I understand the importance of being a son at 40 yrs old.

At 40 I believe my work and artistic life have progressed. I am happy about that. I have honed my crafts and cultivated my skills, read books, kept journals, said my prayers and eaten my vegetables. I have played music, taken photos, gotten in shape, written stories, essays and rants even occasionally been published. I have walked in the woods, traveled abroad; I have climbed rocks, drunk wine, ate countless numbers of pizza slices and have kept my dog by my side for the past 16 years.

Perennial work in progress is the who, what and why of my zeal for life. To the next idea, know how much I looking forward to discovering you. The fear of stopping to develop in mind, body and spirit is my muse.

The second 40 years holds the divine mystery in front of me. Raising a daughter to be kind and intelligent, sustaining a business that can be passed down to the next generation, being a good husband, father, son and citizen to the life that has been given to me.

Simple, purposeful and with rhythm - those are the words to describe how I will live out the second set of 40 years to come.

In my eighties I hope I am in the last 20 plus yrs of my life, if I am so blessed. Sharing this journey with my wife I will learn how to oil paint, tinker in my woodshop, enjoy grandchildren and do whatever my wife wants to do, probably travel…nonetheless, if I pick up my dirty socks and place the dirty dishes in the dishwasher I think she will keep me around.

To all the angels, geniuses and genies in a bottle that have guided my way on this journey…thank you, deep bows of gratitude to you.

The World Must Be Ok

(48 hr of perspective)

3pm Election Day November 4, 2008 – I voted for the first time. No long lines, no lines at all, no campaign supporters pushing pamphlets at me and no protesting crowds. Only two college kids guiding me through the election process. Not sure if I feel a sense of pride or disbelief that my vote will effect change positively.

7pm sitting in a bar waiting on election results. I ordered a draft beer. The bartender places the mug in front of me with an orange wedge on the brim of the glass and charges me $4.80. The patrons are talking about the NFL, pizza, and cheap gas prices and I just ordered a five-dollar beer. The world must be ok.

Twenty-one months of following this election, I just acted on my civic duty and I sit alone in a bar drinking overpriced draft beer. Watching the lives of other people I open my journal to write. Loud crash of breaking dishes from the back of the bar kitchen bring the crowd to a hush. Smiles, giggles and a sense of – glad I didn’t do that to bring life back into the clientele. The TV channel is turned from election coverage to college football reruns – the world must be ok.

7:30 pm I write a letter in my journal to my daughter. I title it “Life”, it’s a love letter of sorts with lessons that I hope to teach her. A little boy runs into the table at which I sit. He and his family are sitting across the room from me eating pizza. He asks me “watch you doing?” “Killing time”, I told him. He responded, “ok” then he ran back to his family and his pizza. Left the bar to pick up my wife. She was at a coffee house attending a meeting. I walk to the coffeehouse and order peppermint tea.

8pm voting polls close on the East coast and the first election results are in.

11:01 pm Barack Hussein Obama is our new president elect. “We the People”, the ancestors of the founding fathers of the constitution chose hope and change for our country. It feels good. The world must be ok.

11:30 pm I check on our sleeping daughter; so cute. She rocks herself gently from shoulder to shoulder when she is sleeping and wiggles her bum sometimes. I smile and try not to giggle aloud. I stand over her crib and I think about how she will never have to understand that the world she fell asleep in is not the world she will awake to. The world has lost enough, for this brief moment the veil has been lifted.

6am Wednesday the 5th woke to a new world. The TV reports that the world likes us again, even the French. The planet celebrates the U.S. president elect. Russia moves their military forces towards Poland. Russian President Dmitry Medvedev delivered an aggressive speech against the US.

12 noon, lunchtime, decide to listen to conservative Rush Limbaugh right wing radio (the day after the election) for the first time. I thought it would be fun. I read The New York Times, The Economist, I listen to independent local radio and I am a fan of Al Gore. Basically I am the poster boy for all things tagged liberal fascist. Personally I always thought of myself as a conservative in lifestyle and liberal in my judgment towards others. I pay my taxes and if you want to marry a man, woman, dog or tree I do not care. Truth be told, I care if it is my dog but that’s it. After taking in some of their views you can call me a tree hugging liberal fascist. Upon my death I will stand in front of my God and let her/him/it judge me. Rush Limbaugh is loud and angry – we’re a socialist country now, shouts through my speakers. It amazes me how devoted his audience is when his job title is “On Air Personality”. Journalism is dead and we can’t even blame Rupert Murdock.

3pm listened to the Sean Hannity conservative right wing radio show. Hannity is hoping for the resurrection of Ronald Regan. Based on how the world has treated the teachings of the last successful resurrection I hope Regan stays dead; let him go the way of Buddha, his teachings have not been as badly distorted. This is what I learned from a couple of hours of conservative “entertainment” radio – if you want to be a Christian Cowboy listen in. The world must be ok.

8pm attended a lecture at Heinz Hall in downtown Pittsburgh with my father. Not sure why I always refer to Pittsburgh as downtown. The lecture is given by Paul Rusesabagina, the humanitarian of Hotel Rwanda. 6am I awoke to hope, 8pm I am listening to a talk about the genocide of Rwanda, Africa. I sit and take note of the living history in the flesh standing in front of me talking about the power of words and peaceful dialogue (to understand Hotel Rwanda read this…).

Rusesabagina talks about disturbing observers; people who only scrutinize the events but cause no change. Media, United Nations, Foreign Governments; none of them are peacekeepers or peacemakers. The phrase “never again” becomes again and again and again throughout history. In our current time we had the Holocaust of the Jewish people in Germany, the genocide of Rwanda and Darfur in Africa.

10:30 pm Walk out of the lecture hall never more aware of the birthright I have due to the soil I was born upon. Citizen responsibility towards a global perspective on civility, equality and human rights needs to be held by all.

11:30 pm flipping through late night news I hear the blurb “there is no more right wing politics, there is no more left wing politics, there is only forward or backward politics.” I like that.

1pm Thursday 6th I start writing this

3pm I complete writing: the world must be ok.

The World Must Be Ok

(48 hr of perspective)

3pm Election Day November 4, 2008 – I voted for the first time. No long lines, no lines at all, no campaign supporters pushing pamphlets at me and no protesting crowds. Only two college kids guiding me through the election process. Not sure if I feel a sense of pride or disbelief that my vote will effect change positively.

7pm sitting in a bar waiting on election results. I ordered a draft beer. The bartender places the mug in front of me with an orange wedge on the brim of the glass and charges me $4.80. The patrons are talking about the NFL, pizza, and cheap gas prices and I just ordered a five-dollar beer. The world must be ok.

Twenty-one months of following this election, I just acted on my civic duty and I sit alone in a bar drinking overpriced draft beer. Watching the lives of other people I open my journal to write. Loud crash of breaking dishes from the back of the bar kitchen bring the crowd to a hush. Smiles, giggles and a sense of – glad I didn’t do that to bring life back into the clientele. The TV channel is turned from election coverage to college football reruns – the world must be ok.

7:30 pm I write a letter in my journal to my daughter. I title it “Life”, it’s a love letter of sorts with lessons that I hope to teach her. A little boy runs into the table at which I sit. He and his family are sitting across the room from me eating pizza. He asks me “watch you doing?” “Killing time”, I told him. He responded, “ok” then he ran back to his family and his pizza. Left the bar to pick up my wife. She was at a coffee house attending a meeting. I walk to the coffeehouse and order peppermint tea.

8pm voting polls close on the East coast and the first election results are in.

11:01 pm Barack Hussein Obama is our new president elect. “We the People”, the ancestors of the founding fathers of the constitution chose hope and change for our country. It feels good. The world must be ok.

11:30 pm I check on our sleeping daughter; so cute. She rocks herself gently from shoulder to shoulder when she is sleeping and wiggles her bum sometimes. I smile and try not to giggle aloud. I stand over her crib and I think about how she will never have to understand that the world she fell asleep in is not the world she will awake to. The world has lost enough, for this brief moment the veil has been lifted.

6am Wednesday the 5th woke to a new world. The TV reports that the world likes us again, even the French. The planet celebrates the U.S. president elect. Russia moves their military forces towards Poland. Russian President Dmitry Medvedev delivered an aggressive speech against the US.

12 noon, lunchtime, decide to listen to conservative Rush Limbaugh right wing radio (the day after the election) for the first time. I thought it would be fun. I read The New York Times, The Economist, I listen to independent local radio and I am a fan of Al Gore. Basically I am the poster boy for all things tagged liberal fascist. Personally I always thought of myself as a conservative in lifestyle and liberal in my judgment towards others. I pay my taxes and if you want to marry a man, woman, dog or tree I do not care. Truth be told, I care if it is my dog but that’s it. After taking in some of their views you can call me a tree hugging liberal fascist. Upon my death I will stand in front of my God and let her/him/it judge me. Rush Limbaugh is loud and angry – we’re a socialist country now, shouts through my speakers. It amazes me how devoted his audience is when his job title is “On Air Personality”. Journalism is dead and we can’t even blame Rupert Murdock.

3pm listened to the Sean Hannity conservative right wing radio show. Hannity is hoping for the resurrection of Ronald Regan. Based on how the world has treated the teachings of the last successful resurrection I hope Regan stays dead; let him go the way of Buddha, his teachings have not been as badly distorted. This is what I learned from a couple of hours of conservative “entertainment” radio – if you want to be a Christian Cowboy listen in. The world must be ok.

8pm attended a lecture at Heinz Hall in downtown Pittsburgh with my father. Not sure why I always refer to Pittsburgh as downtown. The lecture is given by Paul Rusesabagina, the humanitarian of Hotel Rwanda. 6am I awoke to hope, 8pm I am listening to a talk about the genocide of Rwanda, Africa. I sit and take note of the living history in the flesh standing in front of me talking about the power of words and peaceful dialogue (to understand Hotel Rwanda read this…).

Rusesabagina talks about disturbing observers; people who only scrutinize the events but cause no change. Media, United Nations, Foreign Governments; none of them are peacekeepers or peacemakers. The phrase “never again” becomes again and again and again throughout history. In our current time we had the Holocaust of the Jewish people in Germany, the genocide of Rwanda and Darfur in Africa.

10:30 pm Walk out of the lecture hall never more aware of the birthright I have due to the soil I was born upon. Citizen responsibility towards a global perspective on civility, equality and human rights needs to be held by all.

11:30 pm flipping through late night news I hear the blurb “there is no more right wing politics, there is no more left wing politics, there is only forward or backward politics.” I like that.

1pm Thursday 6th I start writing this

3pm I complete writing: the world must be ok.

On Photography –

Perceptions, light, click of the shutter and then you’re done, that’s how you create a photograph.

Surrender to love without possessing. That is the first key to understanding what perception is. A photographer is not in control no matter what the subject or lack of subject is. A photographer is only a seer of light. The judgment of what you do with the click of the shutter is perception.

Second key is light: light is alive and stirring, light has sounds, scent, colors, patterns, textures, emotion and flow. To see the light you need to practice. Concede that you don’t know everything there is to know about light. Concede that you do not have to know everything about light. Know that you will have to be present and accountable for what you do with the light. Practice being a seer of the light. Be a poet of the light and enjoy this part.

Third key: be humble, uphold and a mind-set of gratitude. When people tell me that they are a photographer/artist my answer is always the same; already? My follow-up question is always “how do you know?”

Fourth Key: write your ideal moment. This is mine:

I raise the camera to my eye looking through the viewfinder. I go into a place of silence, a place of inner stillness. My environment could be filled with noise and rumblings of a passerby or I could be in the forest sitting next to a raging stream. At that instant of composition I go into stillness, simple mindfulness. My consciousness changes into the environment that surrounds me, moving into a moment of unearthing discovery. Looking to see the unseen to find the spark where God lives and art grows. Following that I move into the “yes of the blessing”, when I capture that sacred frame that lived only for that finite second of stillness. To conclude, I move into the point of celebrating the gift, that presence of grace that I alone was able to see, experience, document and share with the world.

Conclusion: the light is never the same twice, as it should be.

On Photography –

Perceptions, light, click of the shutter and then you’re done, that’s how you create a photograph.

Surrender to love without possessing. That is the first key to understanding what perception is. A photographer is not in control no matter what the subject or lack of subject is. A photographer is only a seer of light. The judgment of what you do with the click of the shutter is perception.

Second key is light: light is alive and stirring, light has sounds, scent, colors, patterns, textures, emotion and flow. To see the light you need to practice. Concede that you don’t know everything there is to know about light. Concede that you do not have to know everything about light. Know that you will have to be present and accountable for what you do with the light. Practice being a seer of the light. Be a poet of the light and enjoy this part.

Third key: be humble, uphold and a mind-set of gratitude. When people tell me that they are a photographer/artist my answer is always the same; already? My follow-up question is always “how do you know?”

Fourth Key: write your ideal moment. This is mine:

I raise the camera to my eye looking through the viewfinder. I go into a place of silence, a place of inner stillness. My environment could be filled with noise and rumblings of a passerby or I could be in the forest sitting next to a raging stream. At that instant of composition I go into stillness, simple mindfulness. My consciousness changes into the environment that surrounds me, moving into a moment of unearthing discovery. Looking to see the unseen to find the spark where God lives and art grows. Following that I move into the “yes of the blessing”, when I capture that sacred frame that lived only for that finite second of stillness. To conclude, I move into the point of celebrating the gift, that presence of grace that I alone was able to see, experience, document and share with the world.

Conclusion: the light is never the same twice, as it should be.

The Culture of my Youth

As a young boy I grew up in a small town that had its own spirit and culture. The town was a blend of old-world traditions mixed with the current happenings of present society. This memory, barely twenty years old for me, now feels more like an indigenous culture in a world that has gone away.

My friends were either one hundred percent Italian or one hundred percent Irish. I was a 50/50 split, mutt blend of sorts. I would grow up to like beer with my spaghetti. I yearned for my last name to end with a vowel or to have the double constant of “cC” at the start of my last name. For me, my last name was stuck with five non-repeating letters with the vowels placed properly in the middle.

The ethnicity of our parents meant the customs of the old-world, “the mother land” as I would jokingly refer to it. Church, spaghetti dinners, team sports and yard work were the fundamentals of life. We were all Catholic with a large “C”. We listened to Springsteen, watched the Steelers and drank iced tea out of the cardboard box container, three for 97 cents from the corner store. This is when having a local economy and local store were a convenience of life. The 20 minute drive out of town to the Mall or the store was a waste of a good afternoon that could be better spent playing ball down at the field. The field was what we called the park that we would meet at everyday, I’m sure this field had a proper name but I never new it.

The seasons were marked by the change in the sports we played rather than the weather or the color of the leaves on the trees. Winter – football, spring – baseball, summer – basketball, autumn - more basketball and wiffle ball that was played on the basketball court after they took down the nets for the season. I never got good at basketball even though I have played more pick up games than most NBA players would dream of. I always thought if I ever wrote a book about my life I would title it, “Because I couldn’t make a jump shot”. Nonetheless poor basketball skills fueled my motivation for practicing guitar.

Sundays were blocked off for family dinners, watching football and sitting on the sofa. This was my town’s version of keeping the Sabbath. Commandments four and five were taken very seriously, sort of. Being of the large “C” Catholics that we were, keeping the remaining eight commandments were easy, no stealing, no murdering, no coveting all seems pretty simple not to break. Nobody was quite sure what “bearing false witness against your neighbor” was, so that one didn’t count if we broke it. Number three, not taking the Lord’s name in vain, was only a problem for the parents.

Grandparents lived within walking distance. Mine lived next door; great for getting an extra dish of late night ice cream, bad for sneaking girls into your house when your parents went away.

We were the sons of blue-collar fathers. We fixed our own cars, borrowed tools from our neighbors and mended fences. Truth be told, I never actually mended a fence but I am sure I painted one or two in my time. “Work with your back or work with your mind”, “bring the work to you instead of you going to the work”. That is what my Father ritually recited to me when working. Metaphors that turned out to be great advice for working in photography, blending your hands and mind worked out to be the perfect fit for me.

It is said that culture is watching the world construct itself before it goes, a gift from our imagination. My culture planted seeds.

The Culture of my Youth

As a young boy I grew up in a small town that had its own spirit and culture. The town was a blend of old-world traditions mixed with the current happenings of present society. This memory, barely twenty years old for me, now feels more like an indigenous culture in a world that has gone away.

My friends were either one hundred percent Italian or one hundred percent Irish. I was a 50/50 split, mutt blend of sorts. I would grow up to like beer with my spaghetti. I yearned for my last name to end with a vowel or to have the double constant of “cC” at the start of my last name. For me, my last name was stuck with five non-repeating letters with the vowels placed properly in the middle.

The ethnicity of our parents meant the customs of the old-world, “the mother land” as I would jokingly refer to it. Church, spaghetti dinners, team sports and yard work were the fundamentals of life. We were all Catholic with a large “C”. We listened to Springsteen, watched the Steelers and drank iced tea out of the cardboard box container, three for 97 cents from the corner store. This is when having a local economy and local store were a convenience of life. The 20 minute drive out of town to the Mall or the store was a waste of a good afternoon that could be better spent playing ball down at the field. The field was what we called the park that we would meet at everyday, I’m sure this field had a proper name but I never new it.

The seasons were marked by the change in the sports we played rather than the weather or the color of the leaves on the trees. Winter – football, spring – baseball, summer – basketball, autumn - more basketball and wiffle ball that was played on the basketball court after they took down the nets for the season. I never got good at basketball even though I have played more pick up games than most NBA players would dream of. I always thought if I ever wrote a book about my life I would title it, “Because I couldn’t make a jump shot”. Nonetheless poor basketball skills fueled my motivation for practicing guitar.

Sundays were blocked off for family dinners, watching football and sitting on the sofa. This was my town’s version of keeping the Sabbath. Commandments four and five were taken very seriously, sort of. Being of the large “C” Catholics that we were, keeping the remaining eight commandments were easy, no stealing, no murdering, no coveting all seems pretty simple not to break. Nobody was quite sure what “bearing false witness against your neighbor” was, so that one didn’t count if we broke it. Number three, not taking the Lord’s name in vain, was only a problem for the parents.

Grandparents lived within walking distance. Mine lived next door; great for getting an extra dish of late night ice cream, bad for sneaking girls into your house when your parents went away.

We were the sons of blue-collar fathers. We fixed our own cars, borrowed tools from our neighbors and mended fences. Truth be told, I never actually mended a fence but I am sure I painted one or two in my time. “Work with your back or work with your mind”, “bring the work to you instead of you going to the work”. That is what my Father ritually recited to me when working. Metaphors that turned out to be great advice for working in photography, blending your hands and mind worked out to be the perfect fit for me.

It is said that culture is watching the world construct itself before it goes, a gift from our imagination. My culture planted seeds.