BEGINNINGS
At the age of ten, I won a trip to California. The politically incorrect contest was called Believe in a Boy, and was sponsored by a local grocery store chain. I had never been away from home, or flown on an airplane.
My excitement for that cross-country voyage was off the charts. With six other mouths to feed, my parents showed zero hesitation sending me off alone with the other contest winners and unknown chaperones.
My father worked in advertising and knew the value of images. He was a skilled photographer and showed me how to load film into my new Kodak Hawkeye Instamatic X, a small box camera. Square flashbulbs went on top. Dad gave me simple instructions for operating the contraption: “Go have fun and show us what you see on your trip.” No lessons on composition or a lecture on picking suitable subjects. Essentially, he told me to point and shoot, wonderful advice.
As I boarded the jetliner, I was too young to be nervous or scared. Luckily, I was assigned a window seat. The drive to Baltimore’s airport had been foggy with poor visibility, and when the plane took off, that dense vapor lingered.
As we ascended, the view out my oval window was a boring blank canvas, gray with specks of white. I figured that drab vista would hold for the entire flight. As a first-time flyer, I had no expectations for anything more.
Then later, like magic, the plane broke through the dense cloud cover and an azure sky was revealed. Tops of clouds resembling cotton balls floated below me like a dreamy blanket. I had never witnessed such a spectacular sight. Sunshine poured into my window. I pulled out the Kodak and clicked the shutter. The film lever was wound, and I took several more views.
I immediately broke a cardinal rule of photography: don’t shoot into the sun. I didn’t know any better and those resulting pictures, five miles high, were dotted with halos and lens flare. Still, they were spiritual and peaceful photographs- mimicking how I felt at the time.
I returned home with a story and pictures. In my immature brain I learned a valuable first lesson about travel. A single experience can change a life; that California trip changed mine. Sharing epic travel memories with others was a blast. An adventurer was born.
Fast forward fifty years, and I’m writing my first blog post. I admit I’m not a fan of social media or promoting myself online. Making connections in my personal and professional life was always done the old-fashioned way- a phone call- a letter, or in the best scenario, a face-to-face chat. Being an outgoing person, those types of interactions worked well for me.
During my thirty years as a professional photographer and writer I kept my circle small, with a faithful pod of long-term clients. So, I come from a world many younger people would not recognize: the realm of photo film and manual typewriters. It’s difficult to imagine a current planet without the wonders of digital cameras or laptops, but that is where my creative life began.
As a creature from that prehistoric era, I managed to hold on to those first lessons on my maiden flight. Three concepts have stuck with me and guided me throughout my adult life. Live simply. Act spiritually. Practice soulfulness. This trio leads me forward like the North Star. There was a time when I thought creativity was an avocation best pursued in solitude.
But now tapping into the infinite resources of kindred spirits around the world, I feel I can become a more complete citizen, writer, photographer, friend, and human. My intention is not to preach views of an artistic mindset, but to share ideas and concepts that might improve my existence, as well as others. I still have much to learn.
It will take all my resolve to avoid going off-topic as I write about creative musings. I’m curious about the world. My zest for knowledge has been a never-ending source of fun and adventure, but it would be a stretch to write about everything. I will strive to keep my posts in the vicinity of writing, photography, and travel. Related to that sacred trinity are my love of art, nature, history, food, and architecture. I have photographed and written about them all, and so those subjects will fit in this forum. A touch of humor will also be added when needed.
Thousands of blogs discuss which camera lens to buy, what editing software to use, or a step-by-step process to write a novel or screenplay. This will not be one of them. I will rarely mention brands I use to perform my work. For me, the end result is more important.
But I will respect all reader’s opinions, and hope to receive the same courtesy in return. I will focus on the experiences that can be found in an artistic life; a pursuit that is simple, spiritual, and soulful. I seek to learn from my fellow creatives and make new friends. I want to improve my work, be inspired by others, and maybe spread some joy and kindness along the path.
Like a ten-year-old boy on a first flight, I don’t know what happens next, but I’m certain it will be a journey worth taking.
FEBRUARY 2023
MAKING CHILI WHILE WRITING A FIRST DRAFT
You find it pleasing to cook for others, but you also like to eat yourself. Not in a cannibalistic way; you’re just omitting a comma.
A favorite culinary challenge is making chili. Before you begin, put the competitive cooking world out of mind. Somewhere, a reality show host wearing a bolo tie is telling a trio of nervous contestants: “We’re supplying you with three basic ingredients: garbanzo beans, chicken gizzards, and crushed almonds. You have free range with the spice rack. Now make chili. You have eighteen minutes. Go!”
It’s also wise to forget that outdoor chili cook-off you attended last summer. There, you dreamed of taking center-stage after the judging, and then basked in the glory of a grand-prize-winning entry. Don’t revisit the past. You’re only making a meal, not seeking a Pulitzer Prize.
Start with a favorite old pot. A red ceramic one is nice, stained with prior efforts colored into the porcelain. Gather your ingredients. Keep in mind these items will fluctuate with your mood. Sure, you’ll need some kind of meat; but your variety is kept secret from first-time diners- you don’t want to create a weird first impression about your chili’s essence. Dark red kidney beans are a staple. When you open those cans, the aroma might offend but don’t worry; they’ll fit in fine. Some form of tomatoes are required, sometimes crushed, other times diced. often both. The spice choices are wide open, but chili powder and red pepper flakes are trusty. Not much more is needed, remind yourself to keep it simple; you’re not Rachel Ray.
Mix your components joyfully. Your first essential task is to achieve the right thickness. Not too runny like soup, but not chunky like beef stew. You’ll know the proper viscosity instinctively after a hundred tries.
The first aroma wafting from the pot won’t impress, but you’re only getting started. Someone will inevitably waltz into the kitchen and ask a seemingly innocent question: “Chili tonight?” You will politely say no- not that evening. “But it smells yummy,” they’ll say, “Why can’t we eat it today?” Hold your ground; you are the chef; you pick the menu.
Don’t be in a hurry to bring your chili to a boil. Take the afternoon; you’ve got the whole day. What you’ve cooked in the past means nada. Be careful with the spices but don’t put them away too soon. Sample your masterpiece. You might think it too bland but will also worry about spicing it up too much for wimpy stomachs. Go slow; you’re in no rush. Let it simmer. Resist any urge to let your significant other taste it. Don’t allow anyone near your chili.
Wander around the house and listen to some music from your childhood. Marvel at how the instruments and voices blend to create that unique sound. Be inspired. Dance if no one is watching; then taste your evolving creation again. Ask yourself, am I feeling playful? Should I get out the nutmeg? Maybe not today, it is only day one.
Some days, the chili pot will sit on the stovetop for hours. Other days, you can’t be bothered babysitting it. That’s alright. Stir it when you feel motivated. The ingredients are already melding and working their magic. You’ll get distracted- you’re human. Don’t burn the chili; that is your sole concern.
The chili’s color will be comforting. Yours is the shade of a red-brick house in late afternoon sun. Kidney beans float peacefully like tiny canoes among blobs of cooked meat and melting tomatoes. Lose yourself in the ladle’s motion as it glides through steaming broth.
Later, turn off the burner. You’ve done enough for one day.
Ignore a temptation to taste your chili on last time as you place it in the fridge. Secure the lid and go about your life. You’ve probably created something extraordinary, but not sure if others will agree. Tomorrow is another day.
Feel free to pre-visualize your chili’s ultimate success as you snack on chips and guac. Whatever you do, don’t turn on the Food Network. Maybe sit and write a few new words for your novel’s first draft.
Perhaps you have a following that enjoys your cooking. Your chili often surprises them but retains a soothingly predictable base flavor. They want to know your secret. Invite your chili fan-club to dinner the next night. Don’t worry about displeasing them, even though you’ve risked your reputation with that pinch of nutmeg.
The next morning, stare at the chili pot as it sits on the second shelf next to leftover pork and sauerkraut. Don’t despair; that two-day-old German meal is securely stored in Tupperware and won’t contaminate your chili. It’s alright to take a cold taste of your first day’s work. It’s probably still undistinguished but heartier than yesterday. It always is. Bring the pot to a bubble in mid-afternoon and continue tinkering. Don’t go overboard; focus on spiciness and your flavor vision. Let the aroma drift around the house.
When dinnertime comes, pull out those rustic ceramic bowls an artist threw on his potter’s wheel. Retrieve the cloth napkins you brought back from Santa Fe for an added splash of southwest atmosphere. Some votive candles are an excellent accompaniment, and a bottle of red is always in order. Don’t expect your chili to be the lone star; make sure sour cream and shredded cheese are on hand.
As your diners arrive, don’t fight it- you’ll be nervous despite past praise. As foodies take their first bite, some of the more discriminating palates might taste your new spice. You serve more wine before you divulge your latest experiment. Your guests will be kind and offer accolades. You’ll secretly question their motivation for being so nice. You may also suspect you’ve gone too far with the red pepper, when water flows like wine.
In the end, it isn’t your chili that makes the meal memorable, but the fellowship and conversation it evokes. You discuss recipes and other topics, and one friend will admit he’s now lactose intolerant. There are plenty of leftovers, and most guests will take your chili home. You’re confident it will taste even better the next day. It always does.
Once everyone has gone, it’s time to clean up and envision your next batch. This wasn’t your perfect pot of chili, but more original than the last one. You dream the next version will be con carne nirvana, which you will share as the creative process begins anew. The first draft is only the beginning.
MARCH 2023
NOW YOU SEE IT
Back in photography’s infancy, circa 1860, a weird style emerged for images taken with the first crude cameras. The ghostly look was unmistakable; a thousand-yard stare in most human subject’s faces. The reason: film speeds were ultra-slow, sometimes as low as 6. This required people to sit or stand for long exposures while the photographer directed: “hold it, don’t blink, stay perfectly still.” At that time, the thought of shooting action of any sort- the Civil War a prime example- was unthinkable. Historical events were mostly recorded after they occurred.
A few years later, as technology advanced and cameras followed, there was still a symbiotic relationship between what a photographer and a camera could see. Human eyes could only observe a limited amount of detail in a fast-moving subject, which is still true today. A flash of lightning is seen as only a brief strobe of light, a jet zooming overhead a mere silhouette of shape and sound. At first, cameras recorded the same limited viewpoint. Then a photographer named Eadweard Muybridge changed the way we look at images.
During the 1870’s, a squabble surfaced about trotting racehorses. Some argued it was impossible for horses to run without at least one leg always being anchored to the ground. But others said it was likely all four legs left the earth simultaneously during a gallop- but they couldn’t prove it conclusively with the naked eye. The average camera exposure time for a single shutter release in that era: two seconds. The low-tech method to start and end that time period was removing, and then replacing, the lens cap. This primitive speed was too glacial to record stopped motion.
Enter Muybridge with his trusty camera. With its advanced mechanical shutter, Muybridge could photograph a horse in action and freeze its movement, thereby proving or disproving if an animal could run while all legs periodically floated in midair. In 1878, Muybridge’s ground-breaking images proved they could. The camera became a scientific tool capable of showing a world beyond what humans knew it to be.
The magic of an image’s frozen motion is still a powerful sight today. Muybridge captured those moving horses at about 1/1000th of a second, but today’s cameras go far beyond that capability. My Nikon has a max freeze-motion shutter speed of 1/8000th of a second, along with an absurd high-range ISO of 25600. This combination provides the capability to stop motion even in low light conditions, and I utilize them to hunt my favorite moving prey: birds.
Birds are a common sight, usually seen high above us and at a distance. As they flap their wings to stay airborne, they appear as a small blur of nervous energy. But if you arrest that action and zoom in closer, you’d see birds perform amazing feats with their wings, ones that would make a fighter pilot envious.
Like anything in nature, flying is a science-based phenomenon, and birds instinctively know all the aerodynamic moves that allow them to take off, gain flight, turn, glide, dive, or land. Some of these maneuvers are visible to average eyesight, but many are done in a such a sliver of time that the details are visible only through high-speed photography.
These moves are fascinating from a technical viewpoint, and also visually mesmerizing. The osprey pictured above illustrates this at 1/2500th of a second as it begins its dive to catch a fish. The bluebird shown below (at 1/2000th of a second) spreads its colorful wings as it ascends near a playful mate. Action you’d have trouble seeing with 20-20 vision, even aided by a pair of binoculars.
Birds in flight are normally going somewhere- they could be in the middle of a thousand-mile migration journey, but they also perform fast-paced local feats commonly viewed. They court, then mate- sometimes while flying. Birds quarrel. They often spar in midair dogfights- which conjures the question: why don’t fighter pilots call their deadly contests birdfights? Nature’s aviators play too, and some seemingly enjoy the simple act of soaring on a windy day.
For photographers and bird lovers, this gift of fast-action shutter speeds is an entry into an unknown world, hidden in plain sight. Recording a bird’s acrobatic moves, and then discovering them after the instant has passed, feels like a sacred peek into a bird’s life. It’s a moment we can never experience firsthand.
Birds show us the mysterious qualities of flight, with the freedom it allows, the wizardry of aerodynamics, and the beauty of a split-second frozen in time.
