"It's not personal, Sonny. It's strictly business."

Movie still - The Godfather

It's not personal, Sonny. It's strictly business. - Michael Corleone to Sonny - The Godfather (see movie clip below)

When in doubt, take it personally - Ollie

Nobody really gives a fuck about you, it is up to you to make your art important.
Don't go against your intuition.
Two choices in life - doing it or becoming bullshit.
 - Duane Michals

I need to tip-toe around this topic since some of the parties involved may read this.  I recently heard of a photo project that some acquaintances completed. A few of the key people in it knew I had a strong history with very similar projects, especially with this subject, material and theme.  I know they've seen my work and it is as good as the stuff I've seen from the project.  For some reason though no one thought to tell me about it or ask me to join.

At first I was furious.  How dare they do something they know I have done in the past and have very strong work to contribute.  Are they running a good old boys/girls club on this?  Did I alienate myself from their group?  How could they forget me?

After stewing on this perceived slight, I went to the final meeting of my NYC travel group to choose the final photos for our book and exhibition/gallery showing.  We each put up our top two or three dozen images and had to narrow it down to six for the book and three for the exhibit (the book and exhibit could overlap).  I had four themes for my photos, Sex in the City, On the Sidewalks, In the Museums, and The Usual Suspects (The usual sights of the city.)  Our instructor, Ron, facilitated the redaction exercise.  We went as a group and chose the final six and three for each person.  The individual photographer had a major say concerning his/her own choices, but we had to look at it as a complete book of 16 photographers and how all the photos would work together.

We came to my images second and they were ruthless.  Ron and others were saying things like:
"This one doesn't interest me. "
"Cliche."
"No point to this photo"
"This doesn't say anything about NYC."

I got quiet and softly said, "Ouch."  Ron then said, "Look, we want the best book we can make.  The critique and selection process is hard, but that is how it is.  If you ever hear art and photo directors for magazines and books during their selection process, it is ruthless.  If you are looking at getting an MFA, you had better get used to this type of moment, because it will be 100 times tougher and happen all the time."

We got down to my final six images.  I was hurt that a few others were not selected, but see how these six work together and were actually some of my favorites from the beginning.  It hurt, but it worked.  From that moment on though, I chose to be ruthless in my opinions of the others' work if I felt it did not live up to what should be their six best.  It's strictly business getting the best book.  It isn't personal.

That is the rub though.  Art is personal.  When others critique and pull out my favorite photos, it feels like they are ripping a part of me out as well.  In my cold rational mind, I understand appreciate the role of redaction in selecting a body of work.  I wrote two long posts about it in July.

In that instant, I learned two things that lead to a tie-in to the original issue.

1. Redaction is crucial.  Only the best should be shown.
2. If I am going to go into this for a new career, I need to get a thicker skin and be able to defend my work better when presenting it.

Movie Videos & Movie Scenes at MOVIECLIPS.com 
After thinking about those two lessons, I looked at our group photo from the trip taken with the great photographer Duane Michals and I remembered his wise words.
 
Nobody really gives a fuck about you, it is up to you to make your art important.
This quote truly applies to the art world and business.  No one gives a fuck about me, my work, and how I feel about it.  We wanted the best book.  The images chosen from my group may not be all my best, but they work best for the book.

The same goes true for the acquaintance who did not bother to ask me to participate in her project.  In all likelihood, she forgot about me or if she had thought of me, I didn't have the cache, history, portfolio, and prior body of work to part of her project.   It probably was business on that decision, and personal friendships should not have any part of business.  She and her peers are not in business to do me a favor unless I can offer them something back of value as well.   In other words, they really don't give a fuck about me.

Now what I have to figure out is how I can be included in the next project and find out why I wasn't considered for this one.  From that I will learn and be ready for future opportunities.  It may not be with them, and it may be a better one.

Don't go against your intuition.
I had obviously chosen the final 6 photos as part of the larger group I presented.  Some part of me told me to include them and the rational part of me knew that any 6 could have been chosen.  The final 6 are good and I am proud of them.  My intuition was right.


My intuition about my work that is very similar, and probably in the same league or better than the stuff I've seen in the project I was not included in tells me they missed an opportunity for some great stuff of mine.  That is my fault for not putting myself out their more, not theirs.   In a way, it is their loss, but not really.   My work is probably meant to be somewhere else and they got what they wanted.

I know what is good of my work.  Nobody else gives a fuck about it or me, unless I get out there with it and force them to look at it.  Most will say no.  A few will say yes.  The important thing to remember is: It's not personal, [Karl]. It's strictly business.  That is how I will view your role with my work as well.  You are just business when it comes to my art.



Two choices in life - doing it or becoming bullshit.
That pretty much sums up the other two quotes.  I just have to do it.  Everything else is bullshit.

SPECIAL NOTE: Thanks to Ron and crew for the great trip, experiences and for the creative project.  We created some good stuff.  By the way, I do give a fuck about your stuff.

Misery in the dream.

Valya 1

Misery is a match that never goes out.  - Thomas Huxley

Moon 1

Here are some of my dark images from my sessions with Moon and Valya.  Tough to look at, work with, or even title.  Interesting how Valya and Moon took their feelings and emotions into different areas.  Thanks to both for your hard work on this hard subject.

These images represent the crepitus aesthetic of my night terrors.  In them, they are how I see and sense these horror dream.  Sometimes I am the observer, the victim, and on rare occasions, the persecutor.  With all, the grisly feel in the dreams are close to the content of these photos.

I want to say it was my direct intent to make these photos with Valya and Moon as a concept photo of my nightmares.  It wasn't.   I was hesitant at first to use the projected image because it looked disturbing.  After talking with both models, we decided to work with it.

The Original

I chose this image a while ago as one I could project onto them.  You may recognize it as one I took at a local abandoned building on a closed naval base.  The look and feel of that environment has a creepy sense of familiarity and closeness to me.  Something has made me return to that location four times to photograph in it, including once with Mollee.

Valya 2

Maybe my subconscious mind made the connections for me to use that image and project it onto the models.  Once I saw how both reacted and worked with it, I knew I was discovering something important.  It wasn't until I started working on the images did I begin to realize why this was important. 

The first time I looked at these photos in their raw form, I was disturbed.  I even looked away a few times and closed Lightroom.  I felt a personal connection to the models, the scene and the disturbing concepts of the captured moments.  After working with the images, I gave up hopes of beauty and decided to make them convey misery and other dark emotions.  I soon discovered that what made these feel personal and connected was that I live this type of scene almost every night.

Moon 3

In these dreams I usually feel helpless and at the mercy of others, or helplessly watching others go through the same misery.  These dreams have deep colors, gore, guts, and sound.  I hear joints popping and grinding (crepitus) and the soft moans and sobs of despair.  In all of them, the dream keeps progressing so slowly until a semi-conscious part of my mind tells me to wake up and say, "Get the fuck out of my dreams."  I usually fall asleep again and the cycle repeats, but is shorter as I make the same realization.  After a few repetitions, it goes away and I either dream about pleasant things, unimportant things, or they are completely forgotten for the rest of the night.

Moon 2

Valya 3

I am starting to honor these dark patches of my psyche and try not to bury them as the tortures of the night and only the night.  They are a part of me.  My subconscious is trying to tell me that I need to do something with them.  Maybe it will help heal me.  Maybe it will make some ugly art.


 PHOTOS NOTE:  I left these as large "clickable" links for now so you can see them big.  Please look at both models' eyes.  They tell volumes.

Post Script - Ok -- I guess they were too much. Tuesday (090710)

Valya 4

Moon 4

Boredom and lust

Valya - 080710

Boredom: the desire for desires - Tolstoy

Ever notice how similar the body feels when overwhelmingly bored or full of lust?  You can feel both burning through your body and hear the crackle of electricity in your head.  The tingling static charge desiring to do something, whether a new adventure or sex consumes all you think about.  All you know while existing in either states is that something had better happen... now.  True hell is living in both simultaneously.

Lust is the craving for salt of a man who is dying of thirst - Frederick Buechner

Of all the worldly passions, lust is the most intense. All other worldly passions seem to follow in its train. - Buddha

Nudophobia - another story

 The Quiet Times

I read an interesting article over at What We Saw Today about the conservative fear of nude art aptly named by Dr. L as "nudophobia."   It made me think of my own experiences exhibiting nude photos.


As I've mentioned in past articles, I had a business.  It was half high-end hair salon and half art gallery.  I was in charge of the art gallery, one of my partners who was a stylist managed the salon, and her boyfriend/other partner managed the business end.

Every month we would switch out the art and have an artist's reception.  In February, we decided to have a mixed media show (paintings, sculptures, glass work and photos) of nudes to coincide with Valentine's day.  None were explicit, some were erotic and all were good art.

I posted three of my nudes and sold one and traded one.  A number of the other artists sold pieces as well.  It was the second best money making exhibit for our little gallery.  The customers liked it, the stylists liked it and I never heard a complaint.  We decided we would do the same thing next year.

A few months later, the local artists community organization sponsored their annual event called "open studios."  Every participating artist put one piece up at the organization's gallery as a token of their work and then held a show at their own studio.  My business offered to host three artists plus myself since we did not have studios to exhibit in.  Two of us had nude works along with non-nudes to show.  I was in charge of hanging all the work which took seven hours.

Lines to Her Heart

The next day I came in and all the nude works were down and a few pieces were haphazardly shifted so that the whole flow of the exhibit was ruined.  I was fucking furious.  I went to my partners and asked,"What the fuck did you do?"

The stylist partner said a couple of the other stylists complained about the nudes and she felt they were not appropriate pieces.  I countered with the fact that the nudes were less risque than the ones we had at the Valentine's exhibit and they had no problems with them.  She then said, "Yeah, but that was a special Valentine's show.  This show is supposed to be about the local art community.  We don't want to offend our staff and customers."  I asked who complained and she would not tell me.

I was so mad at her for undoing my area of ownership and responsibility  at her whim.  I never told her how to run the salon,  how dare she change my work without consulting with me first.  I told her all that.  She said  she had to work there all day and did not want to have to deal with comments.  What comments?  At that moment, I knew the partnership was mortally wounded.  I told her that I relinquished all artistic choice for future shows and would only hang work and sell art.  She said that wasn't fair.

Just typing all this makes me mad about it again.  This time though it makes me mad that the belief by her and others was nude art is only acceptable around a holiday that celebrates erotic love.  Once again, nudity equals sex.

Look at the photo I posted of Candace Nirvana yesterday titled Holding the Moment.  Candace is beautiful.  She is nude.  That photo is not erotic.  It is actually tough for me to look at and I love it for that.  I feel pain when I see it.

Dali and Nirvana 4

With all that bitching out now, I have to share a glimmer of hope.  I've talked about the photography classes I took at the local public community college.  In the studio course, a number of photographers experimented working with nude models.  I had the honor of having the photo of Candace below titled Dali and Nirvana 4 hung in the department's gallery and then in the college library's gallery, where it is currently exhibited.  I am proud to have my name and the title on a little card stuck under it.  I am proud of that little college and its acceptance of nudity and art.


Photo note - I feel this photo from the Dali and Nirvana series is erotic and is art.  I doubt my former partner would have wanted that one hanging in our business either.  The nude photos I wanted to exhibit, but were removed, are the two above - Lines to Her Heart, and The Quiet Times.

Part 1 - The Rights of the Model Part 2 - The Rights of Subjects?

 My Little Lady

Very interesting series of posts written by Dr. L and Alex over at What We Saw Today concerning the rights of the model and the acknowledgment they deserve.  While I think both parties need to be fairly acknowledged, will this push move beyond models?

Part 1 

Without the hard work and gifts of the models I've worked with, my photos would be nothing.  I greatly appreciate them and give them the credit I can.  Along with paying their modeling fees, I also send them a cd with the images I find good enough for their own promotional use.  If I ever make a great amount of money off of an image, I will share a fair portion with the model since we made the art

As I wrote in my comments to one of the posts, 

"While sharing the credit for the contributions of both the model and photographer to the final piece is crucial, it must also be decided upon before the art is created. Both sides need to stop making assumptions on where the credit of the creativity belongs. It is important to decide these issues in the planning discussions before the first click of the camera shutter."

Two of the models I've worked with have specified in writing in the model release they want to know where I will exhibit, post or publish any images of the images they appear in.  Neither stated they would limit the usage of the images, just wanted awareness of their placement.  I've always honored their requests because it was the right thing to do and was in the contract.  One thing I suggest to all models and photographers is to make these decisions before the shoot, not after.  To be honest, I would be upset if a model wanted to add restricting or additional rights sharing clauses after the photo shoot.  That is why I will from now on send future models I work with my model release before the session so we can negotiate language changes.

Alex made an interesting comment about painting versus photographing a model.

Let's go back to the world of photography. Most nude photographers regard themselves as artists, and indeed they are, but photography is a very different art form from painting or sculpting. It really relies heavily on the active participation of another person, the model - unless of course the photographer only shoots landscapes or objects or is a street photographer, shooting subjects rather than models.

The input of the model is much more significantly tangible in an art photograph than it is in a painting. The photographic model has every right to be acknowledged, i.e., named. And yes, s/he should be entitled to share the copyright of the image and have rights to its reproduction. All sorts of restrictions can be put in place, of course, so that the image is not further processed or manipulated by anyone else once it is finalised, but share of copyright simply means that the authorship is shared.

There is a part of this I agree with concerning the art model's role in creating the image.  To paraphrase my statement above, my photographs with models would be empty without them and have no meaning or purpose.  They added crucial and very necessary contributions to the shared creation of those pieces

I am not sure how I feel about some of the subtle subtext in this statement that I am reading into it. This statement makes me think that Alex has a different opinion on the artistic contribution, creativity and role of the photographer in creating an image compared to a painter or sculptor.  I could photograph a nude and make a beautiful print of it or I could create a painting from the image, yet it feels like I am judged more as an artist by picking up the brush, not loading the image into the enlarger.  Maybe I am being defensive, but I feel the battle for recognition of photographer as artist is still not over.  Is it because of the ultra-realism of photography? 

I have a question about the rights of models who work with painters and sculptors.  What if a painter created a piece that was nothing like the model posed for, but was a graphic sexually explicit crotch shot painting with the model's face clearly visible and identifiable.  Does the model have a right to recourse?  I think the painter broke the trust of the relationship, but since the artist created a visual moment that did not exist, what can the model do?


Part 2

"... It really relies heavily on the active participation of another person, the model - unless of course the photographer only shoots landscapes or objects or is a street photographer, shooting subjects rather than models."  Alex from What We Saw Today

With the recent technology enabling everybody to take photos, people are taking more snaps of everything, everywhere, at all times.  Will subjects (or the owners of) soon be demanding profits and rights for the images?

I found this page at the National Park Service website about photography permits for professional photographers.  I can understand wanting a permit system if the park will have to provide extra personnel and/or will need to clean up or fix things after a photo shoot.  I am troubled that I  need to get the permit even if I am not requiring any more park resources compared to amateur photographers.  What is interesting that painters do not need these permits.

The most disturbing line (to me) at the website is:

In addition, the National Park Service has been directed by Congress to collect a fee to provide a fair return to the United States for the use of park lands.

I may be getting paranoid and probably will need to move back to Montana and live in the middle of nowhere worrying about black helicopters, but I am starting to think everybody is going to want a cut on anything produced by anybody.  Will there be a time when I will either have to pay a fee to San Francisco for photographing the Golden Gate Bridge, Alcatraz, or Coit Tower because I may make money with them?  Will I have to pay Yosemite National Park royalties on images of Half Dome that I sell?

At this point I have to ask, will painters, poets, sculptors, musicians, mixed media artists have to go through the same hoops?

I Died vs. I am Dead - Mini-Deaths -Part 1

Well Played
Photo by SB

I've written about my nightmares before. In many of them I am killed. The most graphic dream of this sort was when I am unlocking my car door in broad day light. I take my keys out of the lock and in my peripheral vision I turn and suddenly there is a guy one foot from me who stabs me in the heart. He kills me instantly, dream flicks to black and I awaken hyperventilating.

I've died in many dreams from accidents, murder, and other nasty endings. Each one ends with the suddenness and finality of a song stopped mid beat. My light is turned off. Each is terrifying in its finality and instant switch from living to empty black void of nothing.

Last night I had a new dream. Not only did I die, but I was dead. In this dream I was in a room at a construction site with a group of people. My dog was there and suddenly I see a flash. A second later a narrator says, "You will notice no gore or pain. All fifteen of you were electrocuted and died instantly. " All of us in the room look at each other confused and then suddenly we see the images of us leading up to it and again, flash. We know we are all dead and having to see our last moments replay again and again. No gore, just seeing our last five seconds happen over and over. At one point we wonder if we can change the scenario by avoiding the situation that caused the electrocution. Nope, we are all dead and this is our eternity.

On my drive in today, I thought about this dream. It wasn't scary. I realized this was first time that I knew I was dead in a dream. I wondered if my Christian upbringing affected my interpretation of death and how this dream played. I thought about what death must be like. I do not know how to interpret this dream. This was the first time I internally learned the difference between died vs. dead. Died is the instant when life ceased. Dead is the result and lasts forever. That seems obvious, but I had never felt it in my core being. To die in a dream is scary, to know you are dead will make you think a bit.

After crossing the Bay Bridge, I switched mind gears and thought about moments in our lives when we have mini-deaths. These are moments when time has no meaning and we are out of existence. I came up with at least four instances this has happened and will write more on each over the next few days. Next will be human administered mini-death.

A New Type of Censorship - Personal Intimidation

My friend UL over at What We Saw Today shared a traumatic story about being stalked and threatened on the Deviant Art website. Please read her post to get the full back story.

Many of us have shared our fears and concerns about legal and corporate censorship of our art. We've mentioned the slippery slope (sorry for the cliche) of censorship and where it can lead to. During those writings, I never thought of a new type of censorship that became apparent in UL's post - personal threats and intimidation.

After reading about the stalker that threatened UL physically, I have now seen the most personally damaging form of censorship. This is not a government, corporation, or conservative sect going after her, it is a fucked-up individual. This individual could not argue or debate the point logically so she had to resort to violent threats and insults. She made it personal.

As a result of that and the refusal of dA to support its positive members by following its own rules, UL is taking her art down from dA. I don't blame her. I am going to cancel my four-day old membership today ( I have not posted a single photo yet) .

This violent story shows the deep divide that is tearing our culture and country apart. We can no longer civilly debate issues anymore. We have to shout at each other until one submits. You may have seen this during the recent health care town hall meetings where the opposition yells so loud, no debate can come from it. They don't want us to speak. They censor us.

I am proud of my home state of Montana. When the President visited it last week to hold a health care town hall meeting, opposing views were expressed, debate and dialogue were encouraged. Outside, the protesters, both pro and con, were civil. No gun nuts came armed to show their stupidity. My hope out of this is that the extreme fringes will be shown as dangerous ideologues over time as our "not-perfect, but a damn big improvement" President shows what true compromise and respect, though not agreeing, tactics can accomplish.

Sadly though, that is on the national level. So many of the freedoms of art, expression, and thought are being torn apart by individuals who can not tolerate opposing views. I am a progressive libertarian. I believe gun owner's have a right to own firearms, yet we need gun regulations. I am pro-choice, but I respect pro-life advocates who believe in the sanctity of life and are opposed to the death penalty as well. I have some issues that are absolutes for me and will not budge on them, but I will not go and shout someone down or violentlythreaten those opposing me over these issues.

Dr. L. I have two messages for you. First, both you and your art are important, timely, beautiful, erotic, relevant,sexy and needed in these dark times. Second, keep doing it and screw the narrow-minded fuck-ups that have shown their lack of honor and credibility. You are above them.

When in Doubt...

When in doubt, take it personally. Lee O.R.

I had a colleague and friend I used to work with in my company before I moved into my current role. This weekend, I washed my hands of him.

Lee is a hip forty-something who plays guitar, writes music, and thinks more of himself than his talents can carry. He has some good self-preservation traits and is very charming. As I slowly learned over the past year, he also uses people at their own cost.

Lee taught me the quote above. I don't know if he invented it though. With Lee, you can not be sure.

Lee used me for ideas and was a master at subtly changing things so he would get the credit and not appear to have stolen them. At work, he took my ideas for projects that I had talked with him in confidence about to get feedback and he would propose them to the boss before I could. He used me as a photographer for his promotional materials pro-bono.. and even uses the photos on Facebook and Myspace. No credit.

The final straw came last Friday. He stopped by my office to say "hi" and see if I wanted to go to lunch. As is natural with him, he is unhappy where he is living and wants to move to Marin with his family. He wants the musical opportunities available there. He thinks Marin is his where he will break through.

A few minutes later I told him I went to a conference in Washington DC in April and met a few high-up folks at a Marin-based corporation and one of them was recruiting me to come work for them. Lee told me he had applied for a position at that company. He asked me the guy's name wondering if he had chatted with him. I dug up the business card and handed it to him before going to the bathroom.

As I headed back to my office I saw Lee leaving the photocopier with a copy of the business card. He then said, "Maybe I should talk to this guy. Sounds like he has pull." I was speechless. I couldn't even say, "What the fuck?" He gathered up his computer bag and left saying, "Good to see you. Take care and let's do lunch again."

This time I took it personally.

Quantum of Solace

The Yawn
Photo by SB

I am not commenting about the latest Bond movie which I found very disappointing after the great Casino Royale. I am talking about what that term means. Quantum of solace = a measurement of comfort.

I am a bit worn out and stressed out. I am coming to the end of my photography class with all of the pressures of the final. I am not sure if I will have a job past August. My home life is in a tense state of eggshell, tip-toeing (from both parties) peace.

I want a quantum of solace, a moment of zen, a time of peace. Maybe this weekend I will go to the top of Mt. Diablo (Mount Devil, my favorite local mountain) and leave behind some of my personal diablitos.

Beacon on Mount D.
Photo by SB

Some in my family and circle of friends would say I need to get back to church. I am fortunate to attend (sporadically) a very liberal and open church, but the light from my personal connection to faith is about as bright as a dimmer switch set at it's lowest point before the light is extinguished (ever notice how loud a light hums when it is barely on?). One person asked me if I am having crisis of faith. I would have to feel pretty worked up about something to feel like it is a "crisis." I am not feeling much of anything about it.

I need to recharge the potential energy of my passions. Without that, it is difficult to convert it to kinetic energy and do something. As of this moment, I want to sit back on one of the dunes in the photo below from Death Valley and just watch the rest of the world go by for awhile with out my needing to be part of its movement.

Dunes
Photo by SB

On a side note, I just read an interesting article about a movie called Zabriskie Point that was recently released on DVD. It was released by director Michelangelo Antonioni to much criticism in 1970. It has been put in many "worst movies ever" lists.

Lines
Zabriskie Point - Death Valley Nation Park
Photo by SB

Zabriskie Point is a beautiful overlook in Death Valley National Park. A part of the movie takes place there. There is a sensual sex scene from it. It was very famous and scandalous and took place on the movie's namesakes location. It looks like it would have been fun to film and or act in the scene. Read the Slate article to learn more about it.

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The Sadist and the Masochist

Being Small
Photo by SB

The masochist was begging, "Please, PLEASE, hurt me. Beat me. Hit me. Degrade me. Use me. I need the pain to feel fulfillment! PLEEEASSSE. I only feel pleasure from your hurting me."

The sadist looked smugly and dismissively down on the masochist and simply replied, "No."

I never really understood the mind sets of these two sides of relationships until I heard that joke. I wonder in myself if I desire the pain and the desire to inflict it. Do we all have unconscious or even conscious needs and desires to feel and give pain? Many may feel they don't, but I wonder.

A few years ago I was very mad for months at a person close to me who had hurt me. I kept waiting and waiting for her to mention something about it and I had a response to it that would be devastating. I rehearsed it in my mind and crafted each word with the greatest delicacy and determination so it would not only hurt, but do both blunt and acute damage. One day, almost a year later, she asked why I no longer did a certain thing. At that moment I let go with my stored response. Her reaction was as pained as I had desired. The rush from the moment of it flowed through me filling me with righteous delight in the moment. She cried and went silent. I suddenly felt vindicated, but also an abuser. As time passed that moment, I've felt no pride in what I did. Our relationship was permanently hurt by it.

My family has a deep and dark history of sarcasm, judgment, and belittling. We are the masters of the passive-aggressive insult and attack. Any one statement is not a major issue, but the toll of absorbing (and giving) them is tearing the family apart. Last night I was chatting online with my 18 year old niece who was staying with my parents for a week. She was upset by the vitriolic dislike they have toward each other and the rest of the family. I hope she realizes now how much poison is in the family and finds a way to protect herself from becoming the werewolves we are after suffering the numerous bites of a lifetime.

Shut Out the Lights

Photo untitled and unattributed

As we are starting to see some of our troops come home, I wonder how they are doing. I know one soldier who went to Iraq twice and his transitions home have been very difficult. On this Independence Day, I want to reflect on the woman and men returning from horrors we can not imagine. I probably cant comprehend what they saw and what they may have had to do while over there. So sad.

I heard the song, Shut Out the Lights, by Bruce Springsteen on the way home from the mountains. Listening to the lyrics about pain of the main character of the song is hard. Listening to the words about the awkward pain of the family makes it even harder. No one knows how to be with him, including himself.

Shut Out the Lights
Bruce Springsteen

The runway rushed up at him as he felt the wheels touch down
He stood out on the blacktop and took a taxi into town
He got out down on Main Street and went into a local bar
He bought a drink and found a seat in a corner off the dark
Well she called up her mama to make sure the kids were out of the house
She checked herself out in the dining room mirror
And undid an extra button on her blouse
He felt her lying next to him, the clock said 4:00 am
He was staring at the ceiling
He couldn't move his hands

CHORUS
Oh mama mama mama come quick
I've got the shakes and I'm gonna be sick
Throw your arms around me in the cold dark night
Hey now mama don't shut out the light
Don't you shut out the light
Don't you shut out the light
Don't you shut out the light
Don't you shut out the light

Well on his porch they stretched a banner that said "Johnny Welcome Home"
Bobby pulled his Ford out of the garage and they polished up the chrome
His mama said "Johnny oh Johnny, I'm so glad to have you back with me"
His pa said he was sure they'd give him his job back down at the factory

CHORUS

Well deep in a dark forest, a forest filled with rain
Beyond a stretch of Maryland pines there's a river without a name
In the cold black water Johnson Lineir stands
He stares across the lights of the city and dreams of where he's been

Returning Coffins at Dover
Defense Department Photo

Nowhere Man

Top of the World

Photo by SB

This is the song I awoke to this morning. How fucking depressing to wake up and have this song shape your mental state for the day.

Video

Video

He's a real nowhere man,
Sitting in his Nowhere Land,
Making all his nowhere plans
for nobody.

Doesn't have a point of view,
Knows not where he's going to,
Isn't he a bit like you and me?

Nowhere Man please listen,
You don't know what you're missing,
Nowhere Man,the world is at your command!

(lead guitar)

He's as blind as he can be,
Just sees what he wants to see,
Nowhere Man can you see me at all?

Nowhere Man, don't worry,
Take your time, don't hurry,
Leave it all till somebody else
lends you a hand!

Doesn't have a point of view,
Knows not where he's going to,
Isn't he a bit like you and me?

Nowhere Man please listen,
you don't know what your missing
Nowhere Man, the world is at your command!

He's a real Nowhere Man,
Sitting in his Nowhere Land,
Making all his nowhere plans
for nobody.
Making all his nowhere plans
for nobody.
Making all his nowhere plans
for nobody!

PHOTO NOTE: At the top of the Beartooth Pass on the Montana/Wyoming border. 10,900 feet above sea level.

Alas, Babylon

Front cover of the book, Alas Babylon, by Pat Frank.

I tried reading this book in high school, but stopped after 30 pages. I found a battered first edition paper back of it for 10 cents and am reading it now.

It was written in 1959 and tells of a group survivors after a nuclear war between the USSR and the USA. It has many interesting points on race, religion, humanity, and other issues. One quote I found very memorable is the one below. Randy, the protagonist is talking to a neighbor, a retired admiral, about how the USA could be in such ruin.

"There are odd similarities between the end of the Pax Romana and the end of the Pax Americana which inherited the Pax Britannica. For instance, the prices paid for high office. When it became common to spend a million dollars to elect senators from moderately populated states, I think that should have been a warning to us. For instance, free pap for the massess. Bread and circuses. Roman spectacles and our spectaculars. Largesse from concquering proconsuls and television giveaways from the successful lipstick kings. To understand the present, you must know the past, yet it is only part of the answer and I will never discover it all. I have not the years."

It is interesting that in 1959, the author was looking at the end of Pax Americana by comparing it to the end of Pax Romana. The mention of the cost of electing senators for $1,000,000 seemed absurd then. Think about how much the last set of elections cost. Over $60,000,000 combined was spent on both sides of the California PROP 8 ballot issue banning same-sex marriages.

Same-sex couple Amber Weiss hugs her partner Sharon Papo as they get married at San Francisco City Hall June 17, 2008, in San Francisco.
Justin Sullivan/Getty Images

I know I've preached on this before, but I feel it is a message needing to be heard again and again. Look at the crap, or pap, we are fed via tv and other media. We swallow with glee the seed of "Reality TV" thinking it is our life. We believe it is "real", or at least real important. When there was questioning over the validity in the recent American Idol voting, there was an uproar by the American swallowers that would overwhelm any squeak of discontent about recent supreme court decisions. "Roman spectacles and our spectaculars."

In the next few weeks, North Korea is probably going to launch a test missile toward Japan or Hawaii, oh wait, Michael Jackson died. That deserves 24 hour news coverage. We need Barbara Walters preempting all other evening programs with information on Jackson's early demise.
Our celebrity-obsessed culture takes another swallow. Jackson was influential in music. I understand radio stations suddenly playing a lot of his music. Did he deserve this much of our precious public attention at his death? He was not JFK or Abraham Lincoln.
If we are looking at the end of Pax Americana, there will be a vacuum to fill that space. Who will it be? Should we try to fight losing world dominance or is it our time to live in diminished importance?

I have one hope and he is our President. Obama is not a perfect president. He's pissed me off on a couple of his decisions. My hope stems from his greater candor and tranparency conpared to other administrations. He has already shared with us more information than Bush did in eight years.

Maybe we can learn that reality is not the show Top Model, but true things like: war, disease, economic ruin, humanitarian relief, nature, art, beauty, music, education, entertainment, pollution, sex, religioun, culture, violence, and what truly surrounds us. There is room for minor things like Hello Kitty and other fads. Fads should be a small side-show we mildly enjoy and not the all-consuming popular seed we swallow with a huge gratuitous smile, then wipe are lips and open our mouthes for the next.


NOTE: I do not have strong feeling about Michael Jackson. I liked some of his songs. I thought he was a bit of a freak at best. As for swallowing, I am using it as an analogy of our world's wanton consumption of gullability and pap. From a sexual point of view, swallowing is your personal preference. I think it is sexy, but if you don't like it, that is fine by me.

Pull

Faith in Bodie
Photo by SB

You pull me too close,
your lips brand their intent
into my soft neck

Your sultry hands pull
upon my reluctant needs, almost
shifting them to pull you back

Your eyes pull me into
your clouded world too close,
with animosity internal

I pull away too late
for our beings become polluted together
by a spreading stain

Six Word Stories

Woven
Photo by SB

Six Word Stories - each one an individual tale. There are also 6 word memoirs covering a whole life. Maybe I can figure that out some day. Learn more about six word stories here.

Forty, mortgage, balding, and taking photos.

First, second, third, fourth, downshift, third.

Why say "yes", you hate me?

You read it, can you handle?

Phone call, you flirt, not me.

You hang up fast, your hangup.

A thousand sticks of the needle.

First you screamed, then you threw.

You said you forgave, did you?

I talked, you said "fuck you."

She writes to her love again.

My fingers remember all of you.

They are secret for good reasons.

Who has ever loved others completely?

Faith no longer a loving passion.

You probably think this is personal.

Should've known better than to blog.

Six-word stories make weak blogs.



What are your six word stories?

Oh My God...

ZINC, Ark.—A child of members of the Knights Party, 2009

Photo by Bruce Gilden - Magnum Photos

...what people do in Your name.

I saw this photo essay. The first photo made me wonder where it was taken in the 1950s. It was taken in 2009.

This scares me more than 2257. I think 2257 and PROP8 are parts of the mentality shared by these "people" - intolerance, hate, and violence. There are shades of those characteristics all about in our culture and are growing like a slow malignancy, easy to ignore until you notice the lump.

Please view this Magnum Photo Essay - The Resurgence of Hate Groups in the United States.

David Found the Answers to Hamlet's Questions

I learned today of David Carradine's death. From early reports, it looks like it was suicide. Carradine was not the greatest actor, but he was one that I liked.

In a recent post I wrote about Hamlet's soliloquey "To be or not to be." If Carradine's death was by his own hands, then I guess he answered so many of the questions Hamlet pondered. He knows the undiscovered country.

"But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will..."

Here are a few quotes from an interview with Carradine in 2004.

"You're probably witnessing the last time I will ever answer those questions," Carradine said. "Because this is a regeneration. It is a renaissance. It is the start of a new career for me.

"It's time to do nothing but look forward."

I hope he is regenerating.

In my mind, his best work was this scene from Kill Bill 2. If you haven't noticed, my blog profile pic has always been a photo from this scene.

If you have not seen the movie, Uma's character (Beatrix Kiddo) was an assasin working for and the lover of David's character (Bill). She discovers she is pregnant with Bill's daughter and goes into hiding. This is the scene of her wedding rehearsal and where Bill finds her.

The cinematography is beautiful. Uma and David's chemistry are perfect.

To Be or Not To Be...

My Type of Place

Photo by SB

... that is the question.

Not long ago I quoted part of Hamlet’s famous “To be, or not to be” bit from Hamlet 3/1 written by William Shakespeare in a comment in Joe and Dr. L’s blog. Joe was writing about dreams and it made me think about the line.

To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub

I know Hamlet was contemplating the benefits of suicide at the moment, but I was not making a comment about suicide on the post. It was just a line I thought of for that moment. Since then I've read these famous lines over a dozen times. Each time I get something new from them.

I suffer from sleep walking and night terror dreams. Every night I sleep: perchance to dream. Many nights my dreams and sleep are peaceful, frivolous and sometimes fun. Other nights, not so great: ay, there’s the rub for me. Which will it be tonight?

It has been 23 years since I really looked at this famous speech, soliloquy, or whatever its literary term is. I was a junior in high school and had lived through a close friend’s suicide (you can read about Laura’s death here). I read this play in my humanities class. Back then, I didn’t see Laura’s death relating to these famous lines. Now that I’ve added some life experience to my mix, I still don’t know if these thoughts went through her head before she jumped off the cliff.

Occasionally, I contemplate suicide. I don’t think I suffer from depression, but sometimes I wonder if my existence needs to exist. As I read through Hamlet’s contemplation over the issue, I deeply understand his questions for I ask them of myself.

... To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd

The heartache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to. I wonder if my friend Laura felt this overwhelming need to end those thousand natural shocks.

To grunt and sweat under a weary life,

I don’t usually feel weary, but I feel life can be dreary and empty of fire and passion. When I feel this, I wonder if there is any worth or meaning in my efforts to accomplish anything. I question if my accomplishments even have meaning beyond my existence.

But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?

There is the ultimate question of faith. We fear that undiscovered country from whose bourn No traveller returns. This bit is the most powerful part of the whole soliloquy for me. Of course it applies to my fear of death and the unknown beyond it. Is there some spiritual afterlife or when my spark of life goes out, is it gone from the universe?

While that question of faith and the great beyond is there, I also see the last part of it as a test to my ambitions to try anything new while living.

And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?

Damn, that is a powerful sentiment. I am looking at one of those moments in my life. I am forty. I am doing well financially (not rich, but comfortable and protected). From the outside I have it all. Yet my heart yearns for things that “ ...makes us rather bear those ills we have than fly to others that we know not of.”

I want to dedicate myself to becoming an artist. The creation of art is a deep part of my soul. I don’t want to create it to admired or loved (although the praise is embarrassingly pleasing). I want to create something that shows my soul and how I see beauty. This is my “undiscovered country.” Why was it so much easier at 18 to go to college and start that life change than to do it at 40?

I look at my friends, family, and coworkers and see how this fear of the unknown paralyzes us. So many times I hear them (and me) say, “I wish I could (insert dream or passion of choice here).” We are afraid of that big step into the next part of life.

Some of my role models are Dr. L, Z, Stephen Haynes, Jim, and Joe. They all have made(or in the process of starting) huge life choices that followed closer to their heart’s desires. They took that plunge into the “undiscovered country.” I hope to join them soon because I am already looking back at my life and wonder why I haven’t done it yet.

Here are Hamlet’s famous lines.

To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action. - Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember'd.

Photo note. I love the empty decay of this room. One solitary bright chair in a dead place. I plan to try to get in there and work with a model in that simple setting.

And here is Kenneth Branagh’s take on it.

Boycott My State, Or At Least Parts of It

County Vote Tallies - LA Times

As you probably heard, the California Supreme Court upheld the constitutional amendment to ban same-sex marriages (PROP 8) that passed in the 2008 general election. They also ruled the ~18,000 gay marriages performed last year are valid.

I heard a lot of commentary on the decision. In ways the court was right because Prop 8 was passed and did not conflict, in its process, with the state's constitution. While the actual action of it is discriminatory, the way it was proposed and voted on was legal.

In the past few months, I wrote about my personal boycott of Utah because of the Mormon Church's heavy-handed influence on the PROP 8 issue. While I am still boycotting Utah, especially the Salt Lake City area, I must look inward to my own state.

I am going to boycott spending money (as much as possible) in any county that had a majority of "yes" votes for PROP 8. Here is how I plan to boycott it.

I will not do the following in these counties:

• Shop in stores or buy online from
  
• Buy gas
• Eat in restaurants
• Stay in hotels ( I will camp in them because the money goes to the state or the federal forest service. I will bring my own food.)

Since most of the food I eat comes from the central valley, I will have to buy eats from the "Yes" counties. My goal though will be to go to farmer's markets and buy from the farmers that produce in the "No" counties as much as possible.

In addition to my actions, I am going to write the appropriate chambers of commerce to tell them of my decisions. I doubt my few thousand dollars per year will mean much to them, but at least I can make sure my money is going into communities that did not support hate.

Here is a link from The LA Times that shows vote tallies for each county. If you support gay marriage and social liberty, please join me in my boycott. I would support your avoiding the "Yes" counties, or even avoiding the state. If you do participate in the boycott, please write to the appropriate chambers of commerce to tell them why.

I am thankful most of the great wine producing counties voted "NO."

World Hurt

Daisy
Photo by Dries Knapen

I've been behind in reading my friends' blogs. So many are feeling overwhelmed by life. Some are feeling marginalized, others are reflecting on their dreams. Some are looking for new opportunities. All feel some anguish and pain.

The first time I read The Hotel New Hampshire by John Irving, one German word from the whole book stood out to me; Weltschmerz. Here is a quote from the book.

Lilly's Weltschmerz, as Frank would come to call it. "The rest of us have anguish," Frank would say. "The rest of us merely suffer. But Lilly, "Frank would say, "Lilly has true Weltschmerz. It shouldn't be translated as 'world-weariness,'" Frank would lecture us, "that's much too mild for what Lilly's got. Lilly's Weltschmerz is like 'world-hurt,'" Frank would say "Literally 'world' - that the Welt part - and 'hurt,' because that's what the Schmerz part really is: pain, real ache. Lilly's got a case of world-hurt," Frank concluded proudly.

The weltschmerz my friends are living saddens me. Some feel it through the discrimination they are living, as they grow older than what culture deems as appropriate for their interests. Others are wondering if their lives are as fulfilled as they could have made it.

I think many are feeling the weltschmerz. The global economy is in the toilet as is the environment. We are barely getting by a pandemic by luck. American health care costs are growing faster than we can match with our decreasing salaries. Fundamentalism is growing both outside the US as well as next door.

There is a growing cultural divide that could tear our country apart. Civility is almost dead, replaced by fear, ignorance, and oppression. This entire calamity makes me wonder if the religious zealots are right with their predictions that we are approaching the end times… the apocalypse.

My parents were born during the depression. My mom was born and raised in Baltimore. Her mom went blind when my mom turned seven. Her dad left them soon after. Imagine being a blind, single mom trying to raise two children, seven and two.

My dad grew up in rural Pennsylvania, not far from Washington’s crossing. Like my mom, he has only one sibling. My grandfather was an artist. During the depression he took up woodworking and scratched out a living making cabinets and teaching art.

Neither of my parents talk much about the poor times or the war. They said though that it was a gradual day-to-day improvement over many years. Neither family became wealthy, but they recovered.

During those hard times, the government sponsored many important public works. These works included infrastructure construction, arts, music, education, and many other pursuits that are still helping us during our current rough times. I am hoping President Obama, and our nations public, private, academic, scientific, artistic, and theological leaders can help us do this again.

I may be an optimist, but I feel we are on the edge of a global renaissance. We are slowly learning how humanity has sullied the earth. How our greed has blinded us to core values of importance. How we have forgotten to help each other, even though we may be different. How beautiful the simple elegance of our creativity can open up our hearts, develop sciences that we never dreamed, and create art that will communicate both the pain and suffering and the beauty of our existence.

I may be a naïve idealist, but I must believe this or I will go mad. My hope and beliefs in the goodness of humanity are one of the few things I still have faith in. The thought of my faith being for naught makes me feel true weltschmerz.

We are going to continue to have suffering, hunger, war, poverty, censorship, environmental destruction, and other human-made disasters. This bright future will not happen tomorrow, next year, or maybe in the remainder of my days, but as my parents witnessed, through gradual, purposeful growth toward a new reality.