Sky, Lark, Ing
Worked 8 hours, drove four hours, then saw Roger Bryan and the Orphans and Muler at Skylark Bar in Rochester. Consumed a couple Genny Lites to keep it real. I was told RBATO were named the Old Sweethearts back in the day and they played with Hinkley. I must have seen them. Brain’s a bit fuzzy, though. Today, just for good measure, I’m seeing both bands again in Buffalo with Brendan. Tugboat Annie too. We’ll be on our best behavior to keep the fuzz and ambulances away. I’ll be more ambitious with the camera, though. That’s what you do when you go to Buffalo.
Spring, Fever
I have nothing brilliant to say, especially here. Even if I did, I prefer to keep it to myself. Spring has been fun. Walking, biking, reading, planning First Friday events, attending baseball games, playing records on the radio, going to the dentist, biting my tongue. You know, hanging on for dear life in this mess of a world. I made a lot photographs during and in between all of this. Here’s some of them.
See, Different
In which I try to see different.
As easy as it began, the thrill of the fog has quickly passed. There have been so many good shots popping up from last night I am surprised I didn’t bump into anyone. Also, those shots make me feel what I got less interesting. After work, I took an hour nap then made myself a dinner of scrambled eggs, peas and carrots (sorry, no photo). Deciding a coffee would taste good, I walked over to Java’s for a cup and brought The Stories of Breece D'J Pancake along to read.
I went for a 10 minute walk today after lunch. It all looks the same to me. I’m taking that as a challenge to see it all differently. That’s all I have time to do from 9 to 5 on weekdays. See things differently. When I stopped to look at the building we used to live in, I had trouble seeing it differently. I guess I need more practice.
Finding inspiration tonight, I came across Larissa Sansour and her husband Søren Lind.
Will anyone read this?
In which I meet with a friend, have a chat with said friend, have a beer, watch a movie, then make photos … then try to make sense of it all.
Probably not. It matters, but it doesn’t. Beyond myself, I may not know who the intended target of this blog would be? Aside from my wife and kittens, you may have found out because you chose to clink on some links here and there.
I went to Fattey Beer tonight to meet Dan Witkowski about his upcoming First Friday show. One brief chat, one beer and a brief viewing of My Man Godfrey, we left each other’s presence and went on our seperate ways. Well intending to go home, I found myself not so coincidently influenced by the movie. And the fog. I made photos until my camera’s battery died.
It was on my way home when my photographic guardian angel zapped me with some curious spirit. Let’s face it, I’ve been having a rough go of it lately. Life’s not been too friendly and I’ve been feeling pretty lonely. So it was nice having a moment of freedom, photographing something so close to home, that you see everyday, in a sense of admiration and in a different light.
I was cautiously needling in between side walks and driveways like a poor man’s Lemmy Caution, thinking for sure some poor security would have been told to not let me be there. That never happened though. When I know I am going to be out making photos, I allow myself a reflection shot, as some sort of time stamp.
In the fog, the city can be as equally magical as it is scary. Some dimly lit walls with questionable marks (if you have a wild imagination) paired with the sound of glass violently shattering away, some 50 yards away. Or experiencing the moment of one other stranger. I hope they sent that photo to someone they are thinking about.
I’m admittedly having trouble people to collaborate with. So far, very few people inquire about my ideas and follow through. That’s devastating to a person like me. Some people, instead of just telling me “no,” ghost me. A local bookstore I inquired about selling zines at, got some free zines and never got back to me. I know I am not owed a response, but still. A simple “no” is way more respectful. I thought I would give this store, one last try. I inquired if they knew about anyone local who would like to write about skiing for a zine I have laid out. Their reply was” “I'm not sure off the top of my head but if you find a book we can try to get it in for you!”
Is finding an artistic collaborator that hard? There has to some other middle aged weirdo who wants spend some time creating around mutual interests? I’m in awe of people who get to have communities or collectives to creatively roam freely with someone. I’m a coward, though, I’d never ask to be in one.
In the end, I know no one is stopping me from doing any of the crazy ideas. I can learn to write about skiing for the zine. I can create with the idea that I will edit everything one day or just leave it someone to do it for me long after I pass. And that’s even assuming my work will be worth saving or thrown into a trash bin.
At the end of the day, I’m starting to accept my insecurities and loneliness in the photo and art community. I’m going to try to embrace it, instead of trying to fix it.
Nothing is original. Steal from anywhere that resonates with inspiration or fuels your imagination. Devour old films, new films, music, books, paintings, photographs, poems, dreams, random conversations, architecture, bridges, street signs, trees, clouds, bodies of water, light and shadows. Select only things to steal from that speak directly to your soul. If you do this, your work (and theft) will be authentic. Authenticity is invaluable; originality is nonexistent. And don't bother concealing your thievery - celebrate it if you feel like it. In any case, always remember what Jean-Luc Godard said: "It's not where you take things from - it's where you take them to."
- Jim Jarmusch
