A Long Weekend

What a weekend. Sometimes I can’t imagine what other folks do with Saturdays and Sundays—watch television, sleep in, or play with their cat. I can't remember the last time I went out on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon to play golf. And at times like this afternoon, I envy them the moments of rest or solitude.

This past week, I picked up an unexpected wedding to photograph. That was a pleasant surprise, but nerve wracking considering I didn’t meet the bride until Friday night at the rehearsal. So after consulting with the bride and watching the rehearsal Friday, I spent most of the evening packing up my gear. Saturday , I spent six hours shooting the wedding, rushed to the wedding of a friend’s daughter, and then played with the band for the wedding reception. Thirteen hours in dress shoes. Four hours in a tux. Three hours playing trombone. And six hours with two Nikons hanging around my neck. By ten o'clock Saturday night, I could barely walk.

Sunday brought no rest. I spent the morning playing keyboard at church and then rushed off to a luncheon. Then I spent two more hours on stage with the Grapevine. But I did get some time to play with a fisheye lens and get some shots of the band for the Website. Oh, and did I mention that it rained?

So why do I do it? Why do I spend so much time chasing hobbies—probably because they are passions. They bring an outlet for creativity. And maybe because they take me to a place I can’t otherwise find in the reality of everyday life. Sometime soon I need some downtime, a chance to shut down and contemplate a few of those realities. But for now, it’s time to hit Photoshop.

Dipping A Brush in My Soul

Duke Ellington once said, “I merely took the energy it takes to pout and wrote some blues.” To me, that’s a pretty powerful statement of the channeling of hope, frustration, love, anger, and fear into an artistic endeavor. Be it performed on an instrument or painted on a canvas, art serves as a window to our souls.

On a recent Saturday morning, I ventured into McDonalds for breakfast. It was raining hard outside, and the restaurant was filled with very noisy customers. At a booth off to one side, I noticed an older man with papers spread out across a table. He was writing in a notebook in longhand. One of several books beside him was titled The Screenwriter’s Handbook.

Here among the pancakes and Egg McMuffins was a guy writing a screenplay in a spiral-bound notebook. Many questions came to mind... what was he writing about, why was he writing in this cacophony of distraction, why was he writing in longhand instead of on a computer, and most importantly, would his work ever see the big screen? Truthfully, the odds are against it. Regardless, I couldn’t help but be inspired.

This past Saturday, I photographed a “Meet Authors and Artists” event in my town of Gray. Two local businesses hosted cartoonists, painters, a photographer, and a number of authors. Save the cartoonist, who worked on Spiderman comicbooks, most of these artists had no chance of making a career from their art. But they shared their work with the world. And once again, I was inspired.

It was Henry Ward Beecher who in 1887 said, “Every artist dips his brush in his own soul, and paints his own nature into his pictures.” Likewise, I feel that the stolen moments I have captured through my lens are both scenes of the unique way I see the world and also windows into my own soul.I don’t know how many of my images will be seen by the world. I don’t know that I will ever reach a point where I can pay all the bills with my art. And I don’t know that this is a worthy goal in the grand scheme of life. But like the Duke, I hope every day to turn the energy of the emotions of my life into an art of my own.

Edging Nearer the Deep End

So I got my hair cut today by someone different. Seems the lady who usually cuts it is out following surgery. So at the recommendation of a friend, I tried someone new. We talked a little bit about me, about how much I hate my hair and some ideas about what to do with it. She processed that info for a few seconds and then asked, “Are you having a midlife crisis?” How could she say that? Does she think I’m forty? Heck, I’ve got six months until I hit forty.

As I sat down to contemplate this observation from a learned source—let’s face it, hair stylists and bartenders are experienced therapists—I thought of Jimmy Buffet and A Pirate Looks at Forty. I’ve not lived the colorful life he describes. In fact, I think my life has been quite the opposite, void of risk, and I have come to wonder if that is an entirely good thing.

Photography is a passion for me. Seeing my world through a lens—capturing a moment— is therapeutic. That didn’t happen overnight. But in a few short years, it has come to consume much of my imagination, my creativity, and my dreams. And one of those dreams is to find success as a photographer.

Ironically, in the last two weeks, I have had been asked to shoot images for a local magazine, a book cover, and a wedding. My stock photography has done extremely well. Yet, the thought of really sticking my neck out there, of buying new equipment, insurance, and all the other things that come with owning a business sends butterflies rocketing around my belly. Why is it so hard to jump into the deep end of the pool? And in how many other areas in my life have I been cowering near the shallow end where it’s nice and safe—where I can’t get hurt?

A journalist and author from Chicago, Sydney Harris, once wrote. “Regret for the things we did can be tempered by time; it is regret for the things we did not do that is inconsolable.”

For what it’s worth, I’ve got a new hair style today. And I recently bought some new bootcut jeans that I think look quite good on me, especially for someone 39 years old. And I’ve been hanging out near the deep water, wondering if I can see the bottom—or if that matters.

A Blank Page

Much longer ago than I would readily admit to close friends or passing strangers, I sat in a creative writing class at Mercer University starring at a blank page. To a writer, a painter, a photographer, or a musician, the notion of a blank page is terrifying. A complete void of words, a new canvas, or silence. But that's where I find myself, encouraged by friends to start a blog, yet having no idea what to contribute the this blog world.

But with an unabashed admission that I may be nearing middle age and that I may by seeking change, I plow onward with some trepidation and a strange curiosity of where this experiment goes. So join me back here periodically to see where this will lead.