It is late on Sunday night as I write this, moments before midnight. I am tired. A creative tired from the past seven days of work. In the past forty-eight hours Elizabeth & I had two days of non-stop shooting. As I type these words it still feels like I have a camera pressed up against my left eye and the feel of the indent in my right hand from holding on to the camera for an extended period. The work was good; the light over the past 2 days was good. At times too bright and hazy, but all light is good.
Monday thru Friday of last week I wrote...a lot. I stepped away from my desk and wrote. I find it hard to sit at my desk and write. For me my desk is for editing photos, updating this blog and responding to e-mails. Off to write, to create (either with a pen or camera) I need to leave the desk. I sat in the library and wrote, I sat in coffee house and wrote, even ventured to my back porch and wrote. I wrote.
Filling up a journal is a good feeling. An addictive feeling and if you have ever filled up a journal there is a good chance that you will continue to fill up journals. Seeing a small stack of moleskin journals accumulating on a bookshelf is good (also scary, hoping that nobody but you ever reads them).
I walked last week. I walked as much as I could. The weather was nice so I did my best to stay out of my car as much as possible. On Thursday I had a networking meeting on the South Side of Pittsburgh at nine. Not wanting to use my car nor sit in traffic I decided to get up early and walk to the “T” (PGH subway/train hybrid). Forty minutes to get to the station, 15 minutes on the “T” and then another twenty minute walk to the appointment. The second half of the walk was a great experience. I walked down a street that I have driven on many, many times over the past twenty years.
Thursday I saw the street for the very first time.
I am going to finish my beer and go to bed. Will organize my writing projects in the days to come.
P.S. Wednesday I will be taking photos for Pittsburgh Parks Conservancy – they hold a “walks in the woods” every Wednesday evening (6:30) between the months of June through September. Bring your camera & I will do my best to help answer any of your questions (mini Photo-Walk).
Info about “Walks in the Woods” can be found here :
http://www.pittsburghparks.org/walks-in-the-woods
Showing posts with label Compositions. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Compositions. Show all posts
Walk, Faith, Creativity
Wednesday, May 12, 2010 | By General Bobo
I was out for a long walk this morning after dropping my daughter off at school.
The air smelled sweet from the rain that has been falling for the better part of the last forty-eight hours. The air was cold with a heavy humidity to it, never thought that humidity could exist in cold air, but it did. The sky, gray-white, overcast, thick clouds blanketing the horizon.
I have taken this same walk twice before. I call it my urban sprawl walk. It is a walk that takes me through a couple of different neighborhoods, small biz districts where I can stop at the post office, bank and the drug store. I like that. The walk ends on a long busy stretch of road, (noise) that leads back to my neighborhood.
I have a “thing” (thing is a poor choice of word as it is more like an obsession) about the creative benefits of taking a walk to clear the mind. It’s meditation and exercise at the same time. One activity with multiple outcomes. Not a bad way to increase productivity and turn over thoughts in your mind.
For years I have taken walks as I did today. This morning's walk was an odd thing for me. Usually my walks are in the woods where I can feel all Henry-David-Thoreau-like and get a sense of a connection to the divine. (Thoreau nor the Divine show up on busy roadways, it's just not safe.)
Walking on sidewalks, inhaling bus fumes while trying to block out the noise of…well everything. I miss the woods, but the urban sprawl is new, different and unexplored on foot. For years I drove to the woods for moments of quiet, never learning the landscape that I was driving on. Change brings creativity. That is why I was out walking in the first place. To think about creating something new; project, thought, idea. I get this feeling inside of me that I need to have a creative release to give quiet back to my mind.
Walking in silence when the world is erupting is an act of surrender. Quietness brings out answers to the seeking questions that I have been asking myself.
There is only one giant problem; I have no way of recording these thoughts in my head because I am out walking in all this noise.
Odd isn’t it – people have creative important epiphanies when they are nowhere close to being able to write them down (some magical curse from the Muse of creativity). Whatever fragmented thoughts make it all the way home must have been the finest ones. The Muse must send out the leftover mini-epiphanies to somebody else pondering in the streets, actually, most likely the woods. (Do you think people get these experiences when golfing??)
The reason for this specific walk: over the past couple of months I have been taking a class on spiritual journaling. Truthfully, I have not been journaling on my spiritual pursuits. I have been journaling, just not while asking God to speak to me through pen and paper.
Nonetheless, this class stays present in my mind, just sitting there begging me to write it out (not down, but out as in a release).
Faith & Creativity ~ this is one constant, recurring, ever-present thought that I should write about.
I need to figure out how to write down my story of faith and creativity and the effect it has guided my life.
By the time most of you have read this post I will have had my first conversation/meeting to bring this subject to life.
Is creating something enough to build your spiritual faith on?
Yes…
It is not the starting or ending point - it is the realization of the experience.
The air smelled sweet from the rain that has been falling for the better part of the last forty-eight hours. The air was cold with a heavy humidity to it, never thought that humidity could exist in cold air, but it did. The sky, gray-white, overcast, thick clouds blanketing the horizon.
I have taken this same walk twice before. I call it my urban sprawl walk. It is a walk that takes me through a couple of different neighborhoods, small biz districts where I can stop at the post office, bank and the drug store. I like that. The walk ends on a long busy stretch of road, (noise) that leads back to my neighborhood.
I have a “thing” (thing is a poor choice of word as it is more like an obsession) about the creative benefits of taking a walk to clear the mind. It’s meditation and exercise at the same time. One activity with multiple outcomes. Not a bad way to increase productivity and turn over thoughts in your mind.
For years I have taken walks as I did today. This morning's walk was an odd thing for me. Usually my walks are in the woods where I can feel all Henry-David-Thoreau-like and get a sense of a connection to the divine. (Thoreau nor the Divine show up on busy roadways, it's just not safe.)
Walking on sidewalks, inhaling bus fumes while trying to block out the noise of…well everything. I miss the woods, but the urban sprawl is new, different and unexplored on foot. For years I drove to the woods for moments of quiet, never learning the landscape that I was driving on. Change brings creativity. That is why I was out walking in the first place. To think about creating something new; project, thought, idea. I get this feeling inside of me that I need to have a creative release to give quiet back to my mind.
Walking in silence when the world is erupting is an act of surrender. Quietness brings out answers to the seeking questions that I have been asking myself.
There is only one giant problem; I have no way of recording these thoughts in my head because I am out walking in all this noise.
Odd isn’t it – people have creative important epiphanies when they are nowhere close to being able to write them down (some magical curse from the Muse of creativity). Whatever fragmented thoughts make it all the way home must have been the finest ones. The Muse must send out the leftover mini-epiphanies to somebody else pondering in the streets, actually, most likely the woods. (Do you think people get these experiences when golfing??)
The reason for this specific walk: over the past couple of months I have been taking a class on spiritual journaling. Truthfully, I have not been journaling on my spiritual pursuits. I have been journaling, just not while asking God to speak to me through pen and paper.
Nonetheless, this class stays present in my mind, just sitting there begging me to write it out (not down, but out as in a release).
Faith & Creativity ~ this is one constant, recurring, ever-present thought that I should write about.
I need to figure out how to write down my story of faith and creativity and the effect it has guided my life.
By the time most of you have read this post I will have had my first conversation/meeting to bring this subject to life.
Is creating something enough to build your spiritual faith on?
Yes…
It is not the starting or ending point - it is the realization of the experience.
Brazilian girl & Chinese Lady
Tuesday, May 11, 2010 | By General Bobo
I see a Brazilian chick wearing a short black skirt just long (or short) enough to cover her girlie parts, canvas-hiking boots that are well past worn out, a beat up gray sweater that she could have borrowed from her Grandmother or purchased for five hundred dollars at Anthropologie. Wild, nappy hair, as if she used to have dreadlocks and has tried to comb them out, clumps of hair that are dyed platinum white and some that are died blond to give depth and texture to her brunette quaff.
She carries a persona that she is trying to pull off, defiantly an urban city girl with a love for punk edge – I bet she can hold her own. The only thing that is odd about her is her hands. Her hands look much older than the rest of her. The Brazilian chick is thin, young, olive skinned, 20ish, with style, but her hands look as if to belong to a woman in her seventies; a woman who has worked a lifetime with those hands.
Small, round red glasses perched on the edge of her nose while she sits with good posture having a video-chat on her laptop with a lady that is obviously Chinese speaking Mandarin.
A Brazilian chick speaking Portuguese to a Chinese lady speaking Mandarin and it is quite clear that they both understand each other just by all the laughter they are sharing.
As for me, OK, yes I do feel a little guilty eves-dropping on them but neither of them knows it. I am sitting in a coffeehouse on the upper east side of Pittsburgh, one table behind her and a row of tables separating us. It’s hard not to notice a crazy (but cool) looking Brazilian chick speaking Portuguese and laughing out loud while having a v-chat with a Chinese lady speaking Mandarin…Ok, I am not eves-dropping, just witnessing the spectacle.
Brazilian chick and the Chinese lady both start dancing to the Humpty dance song that has started playing over the coffeehouse stereo system.
The Chinese lady just kissed her monitor and pressed her breast to the screen while dancing to the music. Both start laughing painfully louder than before ~ they’re probably making fun of the creepy guy at the corner table eves-dropping while writing in his journal.
She carries a persona that she is trying to pull off, defiantly an urban city girl with a love for punk edge – I bet she can hold her own. The only thing that is odd about her is her hands. Her hands look much older than the rest of her. The Brazilian chick is thin, young, olive skinned, 20ish, with style, but her hands look as if to belong to a woman in her seventies; a woman who has worked a lifetime with those hands.
Small, round red glasses perched on the edge of her nose while she sits with good posture having a video-chat on her laptop with a lady that is obviously Chinese speaking Mandarin.
A Brazilian chick speaking Portuguese to a Chinese lady speaking Mandarin and it is quite clear that they both understand each other just by all the laughter they are sharing.
As for me, OK, yes I do feel a little guilty eves-dropping on them but neither of them knows it. I am sitting in a coffeehouse on the upper east side of Pittsburgh, one table behind her and a row of tables separating us. It’s hard not to notice a crazy (but cool) looking Brazilian chick speaking Portuguese and laughing out loud while having a v-chat with a Chinese lady speaking Mandarin…Ok, I am not eves-dropping, just witnessing the spectacle.
Brazilian chick and the Chinese lady both start dancing to the Humpty dance song that has started playing over the coffeehouse stereo system.
The Chinese lady just kissed her monitor and pressed her breast to the screen while dancing to the music. Both start laughing painfully louder than before ~ they’re probably making fun of the creepy guy at the corner table eves-dropping while writing in his journal.
Educated by a Vagabond (myself)
Sunday, April 11, 2010 | By General Bobo
I went to college but that’s not where I was educated.
College for me was a time of creativity and having my papers proof read, edited and typed by my girlfriend. College was a time of failing accounting class and trying to earn some money (an artist should never-ever have to take accounting, ever).
The launch of my education started about two years after college. I started traveling, (a lot) for a photography company that I was working for. Sitting on long plane rides reading a variety of biz books, curbside philosophy and random novels. Kerouac, Henry Miller and Nietzsche…these guys spoke to me. They had been the teachers that I was searching for.
Food was an educational tool. I wish I could say it was being exposed to different cultures but it was the food that was the teaching means of experiential value. Dinner in San Francisco is much different than dinner in Kentucky. And dinner from a street vendor in New York...well there’s nothing like that, anywhere.
Walking has been a good educational tool. Walking in the woods or down a city sidewalk, strolling through a small town. Go for a walk, you will learn something new.
My Father has always said to me “you go to school to learn how to think”. I agree with that. Now that I am a parent I want to expand on the words of my father.
You go to school to discover the passion and effort of how to continually think, expand and grow for the rest of your life.
Simple concepts that deliver…
College for me was a time of creativity and having my papers proof read, edited and typed by my girlfriend. College was a time of failing accounting class and trying to earn some money (an artist should never-ever have to take accounting, ever).
The launch of my education started about two years after college. I started traveling, (a lot) for a photography company that I was working for. Sitting on long plane rides reading a variety of biz books, curbside philosophy and random novels. Kerouac, Henry Miller and Nietzsche…these guys spoke to me. They had been the teachers that I was searching for.
Food was an educational tool. I wish I could say it was being exposed to different cultures but it was the food that was the teaching means of experiential value. Dinner in San Francisco is much different than dinner in Kentucky. And dinner from a street vendor in New York...well there’s nothing like that, anywhere.
Walking has been a good educational tool. Walking in the woods or down a city sidewalk, strolling through a small town. Go for a walk, you will learn something new.
My Father has always said to me “you go to school to learn how to think”. I agree with that. Now that I am a parent I want to expand on the words of my father.
You go to school to discover the passion and effort of how to continually think, expand and grow for the rest of your life.
Simple concepts that deliver…
Deliberate Living
Monday, March 29, 2010 | By General Bobo
Well over a year ago I had a conversation with David Burke about his travels through Africa. One sentence he said has sat with me but I have never written it down before.
“I went to Africa to photograph the poor…I photographed joy.”
~ David Burke (see photos here & here)
This is what I learned from that conversation:
There is no poverty when there is no consumerism to attach itself to. You only know that you’re poor when you know that the other person is rich. The notion of rich does not exist because the notion of poor does not exist.
This is not an anti-consumerism argument; it is a self-awareness discussion on deliberate living.
I do not want to idealize that the poverty of Africa is some un-recognized paradise. It’s not. Starvation, polluted water and death by mosquitoes is not paradise, it’s Hell.
“The poor shall inherit the earth” ~ Jesus
We live in a post-modern world. What does that mean? Our ideas and self-concepts are shaped by media exposure that we consume (or digest), not by deliberate living. We are who we are due to the fact that we like that movie, music, TV show, magazine or book we read.
Take away media (postmodernism) and you have the question “Who am I? Who am I left with? What do I attach my self-interest to? What’s left to influence me? Ourselves? That sucks I am boring without all my stuff.”
Consumption is not the answer to any problem.
Answer: your feet on the soil of the earth itself, your family, connection, conversation, community, food, the culture of our ancestors, communication of experiences, actually doing stuff. (Stuff can be an act of doing rather than an act of acquiring objects).
Taking a long walk to get water for drinking and cleaning for your family does not mean poverty; it means that you are a more extraordinary person than I am.
What do I do with what I just wrote down…no idea yet? But I hope you share in this conversation with me.
“I went to Africa to photograph the poor…I photographed joy.”
~ David Burke (see photos here & here)
This is what I learned from that conversation:
There is no poverty when there is no consumerism to attach itself to. You only know that you’re poor when you know that the other person is rich. The notion of rich does not exist because the notion of poor does not exist.
This is not an anti-consumerism argument; it is a self-awareness discussion on deliberate living.
I do not want to idealize that the poverty of Africa is some un-recognized paradise. It’s not. Starvation, polluted water and death by mosquitoes is not paradise, it’s Hell.
“The poor shall inherit the earth” ~ Jesus
We live in a post-modern world. What does that mean? Our ideas and self-concepts are shaped by media exposure that we consume (or digest), not by deliberate living. We are who we are due to the fact that we like that movie, music, TV show, magazine or book we read.
Take away media (postmodernism) and you have the question “Who am I? Who am I left with? What do I attach my self-interest to? What’s left to influence me? Ourselves? That sucks I am boring without all my stuff.”
Consumption is not the answer to any problem.
Answer: your feet on the soil of the earth itself, your family, connection, conversation, community, food, the culture of our ancestors, communication of experiences, actually doing stuff. (Stuff can be an act of doing rather than an act of acquiring objects).
Taking a long walk to get water for drinking and cleaning for your family does not mean poverty; it means that you are a more extraordinary person than I am.
What do I do with what I just wrote down…no idea yet? But I hope you share in this conversation with me.
Slow Photography Movement
Wednesday, October 21, 2009 | By General Bobo
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….
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….
4am & a Thought
Thursday, October 15, 2009 | By General Bobo
Woke up early, again, very early 4am. Coffee is extra good at 4am and the computer screen is bright at 4am, painfully bright.
Been thinking about getting a hand grinder for coffee beans. There is something about brewing a cup of coffee that appeals to me.
Finished reading “Change By Design” by Tim Brown last night. The book ended with a quote by Tom Kelly that has sparked a thought in me.
“Innovation begins with an eye.” ~ that is the photographers job; to create something new and different. A photograph starts with a thought.
For 17 years I have been working in photography and in that time I have never felt like an inclusive photographer. I am not techie, nor do I subscribe to any photo magazines and have no interest in the latest gear. For me, my passion and effort has been pulled towards the compositional aspects of art. I think of myself as “I create therefore I am”, type of artist….my ego just exploded, sorry for the mess.
Nature. I am drawn to nature as a teacher of the arts. I figure that nature has a 4.5 billion-year headstart; maybe there is something that nature can teach me.
This is my compositional process: read books and go for walks in the woods, feel philosophical about myself…good thing egos are self-regenerating; I am on my third one today. Is this the correct process for photographers? No idea but it is the correct process for me.
Working on a post for next week: “Slow Photography Movement”. Raining outside, going to read a book by the fire.
Been thinking about getting a hand grinder for coffee beans. There is something about brewing a cup of coffee that appeals to me.
Finished reading “Change By Design” by Tim Brown last night. The book ended with a quote by Tom Kelly that has sparked a thought in me.
“Innovation begins with an eye.” ~ that is the photographers job; to create something new and different. A photograph starts with a thought.
For 17 years I have been working in photography and in that time I have never felt like an inclusive photographer. I am not techie, nor do I subscribe to any photo magazines and have no interest in the latest gear. For me, my passion and effort has been pulled towards the compositional aspects of art. I think of myself as “I create therefore I am”, type of artist….my ego just exploded, sorry for the mess.
Nature. I am drawn to nature as a teacher of the arts. I figure that nature has a 4.5 billion-year headstart; maybe there is something that nature can teach me.
This is my compositional process: read books and go for walks in the woods, feel philosophical about myself…good thing egos are self-regenerating; I am on my third one today. Is this the correct process for photographers? No idea but it is the correct process for me.
Working on a post for next week: “Slow Photography Movement”. Raining outside, going to read a book by the fire.
30 Days, Updates & Social Corporatism
Monday, October 5, 2009 | By General Bobo
I have been walking a lot these past thirty days. I walk to the bank or to the post office or I’ll take the train into Pittsburgh and walk to my destinations. The purpose is to do creative thinking and see my surroundings in a different light. Driving at 65mph does not give you a clear view of your surroundings. Walking two to three miles at a time opens up the universe to you.
I am thinking about buying an electric bike that has a small motor that kicks in when you need it. It would be nice not to have to use a car for short jaunts. I am lucky enough to be about five miles from everything I need. Which is food, books, wine, bank, post office and other random errands that my wife could send me on.
This week I will go out to do some scouting for nature and ambient photography. I’m looking forward to that. Thursday night I will be attending a book reading by a local writer. She is also the writer and teacher of a workshop I attended this past January that got me into short story writing.
As I am typing this my home is filling up with the aroma of butternut squash soup that “E” is making for us today. I will be cooking chili later in the week. There is something magical about aromas filling up a home. Slow cooking, slow walking, slow living; not a bad formula to be productive.
Current thoughts:
The term Social Corporatism has been swirling around in my head. Do we have choices? Is there competition in the marketplace today?
In Pittsburgh if you want to hire a photographer there are at least ten people that I could think of that would be our competition. And you know what? They’re good and they’re also our friends. That seems like a competitive marketplace; collectively you have to be good to stay in the game and your competitors, who are also your friends, help you grow and sustain a business.
I wish I could say that about my cable company or phone company or all of my utility companies that I pay monthly to.
In the healthcare debate the public option is good for the public and it is bad for those bigger than government, which is the Social Corporatism elite. We are a socialized nation. It is not controlled by the government, it is controlled by the corporations and that is not free market capitalism when there is no choice.
I am thinking about buying an electric bike that has a small motor that kicks in when you need it. It would be nice not to have to use a car for short jaunts. I am lucky enough to be about five miles from everything I need. Which is food, books, wine, bank, post office and other random errands that my wife could send me on.
This week I will go out to do some scouting for nature and ambient photography. I’m looking forward to that. Thursday night I will be attending a book reading by a local writer. She is also the writer and teacher of a workshop I attended this past January that got me into short story writing.
As I am typing this my home is filling up with the aroma of butternut squash soup that “E” is making for us today. I will be cooking chili later in the week. There is something magical about aromas filling up a home. Slow cooking, slow walking, slow living; not a bad formula to be productive.
Current thoughts:
The term Social Corporatism has been swirling around in my head. Do we have choices? Is there competition in the marketplace today?
In Pittsburgh if you want to hire a photographer there are at least ten people that I could think of that would be our competition. And you know what? They’re good and they’re also our friends. That seems like a competitive marketplace; collectively you have to be good to stay in the game and your competitors, who are also your friends, help you grow and sustain a business.
I wish I could say that about my cable company or phone company or all of my utility companies that I pay monthly to.
In the healthcare debate the public option is good for the public and it is bad for those bigger than government, which is the Social Corporatism elite. We are a socialized nation. It is not controlled by the government, it is controlled by the corporations and that is not free market capitalism when there is no choice.
G-20, No Zombies & Me
Monday, September 28, 2009 | By General Bobo
Walking across the Stanwick Street Bridge on the morning of the G-20 Summit in Pittsburgh had an eerie feeling to it.Getting off the “T” I walked through a military security post when two soldiers gave me a stern look, never saying a word and just watched me walk by. Eerie.
Military boats in the river, army helicopters above, all patrolling the city in preparation for a possible terrorist act and I am walking into town thinking “What in the hell am I doing here?”
Alone. I am alone. Walk into town and there is nothing; no life, all empty streets, no sound. It felt like a horror movie. I waited for a zombie to walk around the corner. I waited to see life.
By the time I hit Sixth Street I see life; people on bikes, people on foot and best of all no zombies, at least not yet.
The city had the police forces out in full… well for lack of a better word…force. There they were--thirty cops on one corner and the next street had another thirty police in full riot gear. No zombies, not many citizens and I am hearing the theme to Dark Vader in my head. This city is locked down and I am out for a photo-walk.
Two hours of walking through downtown and not much was happening yet. The city was peaceful. No protesters? Two weeks of media buildup and no hype. It’s just me and about a thousand cops, no zombies and the happiest bikers Pittsburgh has ever seen. People on two wheels owned the city for the day; barely any traffic and just pedestrians walking the streets.
At this time I was getting ready to call it quits for the day. The only thrill I had seen all day is a couple of people offering me salvation in Jesus Christ. One person explaining to me why Allah is the one true God, I was bored. Stop at a bar for a beer.
Insanely useful photography tip:
Here is a lesson learned that I feel the need to pass on. When having a discussion with police officers on the street choose your words carefully.
Me: “ Excuse me Mr. Police officer what are the chances of a riot breaking out today? “
Police officer: “We’re prepared and if anything happens I expect you to not get in the way.”
Me: “ Don’t worry officer if anything happens I will just sit back and shoot the crowed.”
Police office: “Son, you better choose your words carefully when speaking to me.”
At this time he stands back and places his hand on his gun and a second officers shifts his position to stand behind me.
“Open the bag son.”
Me: I open my camera bag slowly and let him look inside. “Lesson learned officer, have a nice day.”
I walk away thinking that this could have turned out a lot worse for me.
Next:
Chanting, I can hear chanting in the far off distance. This is it… the protest of the G-20 is happening now. A crowd gathers, police congregate….see my photo (HERE).
Book, Movie and My Ego
Wednesday, September 16, 2009 | By General Bobo
I watched the movie the “The Soloist” today. It is the first time that I have enjoyed a movie as much as reading the book. I read the book this past May and it has been five months of being disconnected with the story. The pairing of the movie with the book is a complimentary experience.
The obvious connection between the book and the movie would be hearing the music and the imagery to enhance the text. There was more; life…real life not played by actors in the movie. The homeless extras were all homeless…life; not art, but real.
I like giving money to the homeless on the street, probably for all the wrong reasons. I have that split notion that goes through my head every time I give a homeless person a dollar. Is it for drugs or food? I give it not matter what and then think to myself that I would rather give and be wrong than not to give at all. Then I think about how gigantic my ego is and that Jesus is smiling down upon me or condemning me to hell for this non-altruistic act that feels so altruistic to me.
Either way go with Jesus’ decision.
The obvious connection between the book and the movie would be hearing the music and the imagery to enhance the text. There was more; life…real life not played by actors in the movie. The homeless extras were all homeless…life; not art, but real.
I like giving money to the homeless on the street, probably for all the wrong reasons. I have that split notion that goes through my head every time I give a homeless person a dollar. Is it for drugs or food? I give it not matter what and then think to myself that I would rather give and be wrong than not to give at all. Then I think about how gigantic my ego is and that Jesus is smiling down upon me or condemning me to hell for this non-altruistic act that feels so altruistic to me.
Either way go with Jesus’ decision.
6,000 yr Old Solutions; 40 yrs to Learn
Friday, August 28, 2009 | By General Bobo
I have lived with two chronic problems for the better part of my life: back pain and sinus infections. These are not major ailments in the chronic pain world but daily suffering is only meant for the Buddha among us. I’m no Buddha. I will stand in line all day at the placebo store for relief, and have, often.
I’m sure I have spent my daughter’s future collage tuition three times over in the past few decades buying useless quick-relief products. I have taken more pills than I could ever count, shot disgusting sprays up my nose, preventive vaccinations that have never worked, homeopathic stuff like ear candles, herbs, teas, oils, vitamins, extracts, gave up on dairy products (that was a good move), CT scans, X-rays and finally painful surgery.
For my back I have gone the distance for a cure. Chiropractors, acupuncture, smelly creams, more pain pills, stronger pain pills, taken vitamins, seen specialists, X-rays, CAT scans, MRIs, bought a new bed, hung upside down, begged my wife for another massage, laid on planks of wood, had prayer “hands laid” on me, and stretched over a big giant red rubber ball, all to no avail.
Around ten years ago I got into yoga, meditation and proper diet. My new trinity of wellness; that was good (I highly recommend all three) but none of them were a solution.
My solution was simpler.
Water (click here) & Walking (click here)
Man is ever-evolving toward extinction. I believe this more and more to be true.
A sinus flush. F’ing water was my solution. Never in all those years did a doctor tell me to flush my sinuses clean. It is akin to a dentist never telling you about a toothbrush. It works, trust me.
Barefoot walking, my inner cave man must be hating me. If you rebuild your feet muscles you rebuild all your muscles. In turn walking and standing correctly, no back pain. Yes it was that simple. Good posture matters.
Past all the confusion lies simplicity,
~ Directly under your nose and in-between your toes ~
I’m sure I have spent my daughter’s future collage tuition three times over in the past few decades buying useless quick-relief products. I have taken more pills than I could ever count, shot disgusting sprays up my nose, preventive vaccinations that have never worked, homeopathic stuff like ear candles, herbs, teas, oils, vitamins, extracts, gave up on dairy products (that was a good move), CT scans, X-rays and finally painful surgery.
For my back I have gone the distance for a cure. Chiropractors, acupuncture, smelly creams, more pain pills, stronger pain pills, taken vitamins, seen specialists, X-rays, CAT scans, MRIs, bought a new bed, hung upside down, begged my wife for another massage, laid on planks of wood, had prayer “hands laid” on me, and stretched over a big giant red rubber ball, all to no avail.
Around ten years ago I got into yoga, meditation and proper diet. My new trinity of wellness; that was good (I highly recommend all three) but none of them were a solution.
My solution was simpler.
Water (click here) & Walking (click here)
Man is ever-evolving toward extinction. I believe this more and more to be true.
A sinus flush. F’ing water was my solution. Never in all those years did a doctor tell me to flush my sinuses clean. It is akin to a dentist never telling you about a toothbrush. It works, trust me.
Barefoot walking, my inner cave man must be hating me. If you rebuild your feet muscles you rebuild all your muscles. In turn walking and standing correctly, no back pain. Yes it was that simple. Good posture matters.
Past all the confusion lies simplicity,
~ Directly under your nose and in-between your toes ~
Woods, Walks & Economics
Friday, July 31, 2009 | By General Bobo
I am 40 years old and I walk in the woods everyday…my life is good.
I am convinced that the interesting connections between my walks in the woods and my personal creativity are enormous. I have been filling my journal up with all kinds of stuff after my walks.
Previously when I wrote about my new routine I had mixed feeling about giving up my quiet reading time of the day. I asked for help, suggestions and even asked to get connected with Oprah for guidance…to no avail.
What is clear to me is when art and commerce merge you live a life of economic-lifestyle. The word economics in Greek means “management of a household”. That is what being a working artist is: “management of your household”.
I am convinced that the interesting connections between my walks in the woods and my personal creativity are enormous. I have been filling my journal up with all kinds of stuff after my walks.
Previously when I wrote about my new routine I had mixed feeling about giving up my quiet reading time of the day. I asked for help, suggestions and even asked to get connected with Oprah for guidance…to no avail.
What is clear to me is when art and commerce merge you live a life of economic-lifestyle. The word economics in Greek means “management of a household”. That is what being a working artist is: “management of your household”.
There is no specific dollar amount to judge success by. The questions are: are you a creative thinker and is the organization of your life a benefit to you and your family? If you can answer yes to those two questions then you are living a life of good economics
How I got my PhD in the “How-To-Business” of Photography
Sunday, July 26, 2009 | By General Bobo
***New series every Monday for the next 5 weeks*** Part 2 of 5
read part 1 (HERE)
(without getting into debt or going to school and how you can do it to)
The next ten years I would rise in the rank of working crazy nonstop hours. Opportunities to teach, hire and fire other photographers became my education for professional development. The repetition of working in that small and defined studio space would enthrall me to do more creatively…daily. The lack of options became a force to push my thinking and composition forward. That phrase “think outside the box” means nothing to me today. Now I tell people to cut the box in half and then do something creative. That impresses me.
I worked with advertising for this company, wrote marketing and promotional materials, got on and off planes. I attended meeting after meeting and spent days listening to excuse after excuse about the “why and whatnots” of every situation.
It was a PhD in the “how-to-business” of photography.
This story is a culmination of what I learned that I carry with me today, twenty years later.
Forgive me for generalizing here, but in my experience 80% of the photographers I met hated working with people. They hated thinking that photography is a service industry equivalent to working at The Gap (P.S. no disrespect to The Gap, I love your chinos). They hated the compositional aspect of taking a photograph. They hated the effort it took to bring a great photograph out of someone. They loved the darkroom, post production and talking about the darkroom and post-production techniques. The smell of darkroom chemicals on an interviewee was not a good sign of a job offer coming your way.
Most of the photographers that I was interviewing were talented and educated with advanced degrees. I am only now getting to the technical level that those photographers were achieving and I was a good photographer back then.
They would humbly hang their heads in the interview, knowing that their professional life has sunken to the lowest level of photography. A paycheck is a paycheck and it’s nice to earn money when you’re selling out. Not a great attitude to have when you’re trying to earn a living.
Insanely useful photography tip #2: Composition, service and being nice trump tools and experience every time. (FYI: learn to use your tools)
During those ten years I talked and worked with a lot of photographers. I talked with even more photography customers. This is what I learned…
Photography clientele want the photos they want, they expect you to capture the moment and save the memory. Do your job. Create something. All photography clientele want this. They want the job done they way they want it, with a smile.
To be continued…
If you like this article please be sure to pass it on…friend me on Facebook, connect with me on Twitter and info on private consultations can be found here on Photographer's Corner.
Part 3 of 5 next Monday…
read part 1 (HERE)
(without getting into debt or going to school and how you can do it to)
The next ten years I would rise in the rank of working crazy nonstop hours. Opportunities to teach, hire and fire other photographers became my education for professional development. The repetition of working in that small and defined studio space would enthrall me to do more creatively…daily. The lack of options became a force to push my thinking and composition forward. That phrase “think outside the box” means nothing to me today. Now I tell people to cut the box in half and then do something creative. That impresses me.
I worked with advertising for this company, wrote marketing and promotional materials, got on and off planes. I attended meeting after meeting and spent days listening to excuse after excuse about the “why and whatnots” of every situation.
It was a PhD in the “how-to-business” of photography.
This story is a culmination of what I learned that I carry with me today, twenty years later.
Forgive me for generalizing here, but in my experience 80% of the photographers I met hated working with people. They hated thinking that photography is a service industry equivalent to working at The Gap (P.S. no disrespect to The Gap, I love your chinos). They hated the compositional aspect of taking a photograph. They hated the effort it took to bring a great photograph out of someone. They loved the darkroom, post production and talking about the darkroom and post-production techniques. The smell of darkroom chemicals on an interviewee was not a good sign of a job offer coming your way.
Most of the photographers that I was interviewing were talented and educated with advanced degrees. I am only now getting to the technical level that those photographers were achieving and I was a good photographer back then.
They would humbly hang their heads in the interview, knowing that their professional life has sunken to the lowest level of photography. A paycheck is a paycheck and it’s nice to earn money when you’re selling out. Not a great attitude to have when you’re trying to earn a living.
Insanely useful photography tip #2: Composition, service and being nice trump tools and experience every time. (FYI: learn to use your tools)
During those ten years I talked and worked with a lot of photographers. I talked with even more photography customers. This is what I learned…
Photography clientele want the photos they want, they expect you to capture the moment and save the memory. Do your job. Create something. All photography clientele want this. They want the job done they way they want it, with a smile.
To be continued…
If you like this article please be sure to pass it on…friend me on Facebook, connect with me on Twitter and info on private consultations can be found here on Photographer's Corner.
Part 3 of 5 next Monday…
How I got my PhD in “How-To-Business” of Photography
Monday, July 20, 2009 | By General Bobo
***New series every Monday for the next 5 weeks*** Part 1 of 5
In fall of 1991 I became a professional photographer…sort off. This all came about because of the frustration and annoyance with my current position, which was working for a small company writing ads. I created ads & brochures for a small company that quickly placed me in the sales department after I re-wrote all three of their brochures and two newspaper ads. I was not their best employee, nor their eighth best employee. You get the point…I was bad at my job. On an afternoon that I was supposed to be making a sales call at a local mall, instead of walking into my appointment, I just kept walking.
Here I am 21 or 22, soon to lose my job and thinking how amazing it is that I haven’t been fire yet.
Earning a living doing something that I love wasn’t even an option to me. I loved (& still do) writing, playing guitar and taking pictures. These skills are not profitable in a small middle class town. This is the same small town where I was raised to believe if you’re not the child of the rich and famous then don’t bother dreaming, at all. I was the child of an electrician and a baker. Good parents, bad dreamers.
After accepting my loss of the job I so loathed (and almost getting giddy over that acceptance), I kept walking through the mall. With a soft pretzel in one hand and an Icy in the other I scribbled through an application placed outside a photography studio on a small folding table for all to apply.
I like photography. I even have taken a couple of classes in photography in college. My friends consider me the artistic one. Why not apply; life can’t get worse. They hired me. I start in two weeks. I am photographer…sort of.
This was a retail franchise photography chain. Yes, the type of photography that true-purist photographers hate, detest and bastardize all things they hold scared. No control over your lighting, no control over you camera, zooming in and out and placing the subject on the “X” were your only options. Customers came in herds and management only cared about the sales average and bottom line.
Guess what? I loved it! I was good at it!
I took photographs that people bought. What made me good at my job? I enjoyed the experience of photographing people…that’s it. People enjoyed the experience of me photographing them…that’s it. People bought photographs from me to remember their experience of being photographed. They my have come to get senior photos or that gift for their boyfriend or husband but they bought the experience.
Insanely useful photography tip #1: Photography is an experience. Make it a good one for people.
To be continued…
If you like this article please be sure to pass it on…friend me on Facebook, connect with me on Twitter and info on private consultations can be found here on Photographer's Corner.
Part 2 of 5 next Monday…
Music
Friday, June 26, 2009 | By General Bobo
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.
I Live With a Demon - Short Story
Monday, June 8, 2009 | By General Bobo
I live with a demon.
Not an unkind demon, nonetheless a demon. Not a shadow, not a reflection, not a subconscious problem…it’s a demon. I have a dreadfully bona fide, in the flesh, ever-present demon that walks side by side with me through my life.
When I awake there is the demon sitting on the edge of my bed reading through my journal. When I brush my teeth the demon is sitting on the toilet watching me. When I am exercising there the demon is in the lotus pose in the corner of the room observing me. Across the breakfast table from me is a demon. On a train, in an elevator, at the coffee shop there is this omnipresent demon. As I write this the demon sits next to me.
The demon never speaks nor shows emotion. Simply observes me. I question if this is the demon’s Hell. Watching, studying me, never getting to be more than a silhouette. This could be the demon’s penance for past sins. Observing my life could be the demon’s purgatory. This demon might be putting in his time before reincarnation or salvation or whatever happens in a demon’s life, or un-life for the matter.
For years this demon has been by my side. A purposeless demon condemned to monitor, never to interact. This demon must be more depressed than me. I have scotch, red wine, books, and music all as my escape and company. The demon only has the all-pervading task of keeping an eye on me. The demon only has his omni-ever-present damned existence to keep himself occupied.
I am not sure if the demon is a he or she.
I have tried exorcism, taken pills, seen doctors, acupuncturists, chiropractors, vitamins, sweat lodges, prayer, meditation, walking in the woods, scream therapy, dropped acid, all efforts to rid myself of this demon to no avail.
The demon came into my life on my 40th birthday. That must mean something but after all these years that have past I have never figured it out.
My 40th birthday was a completely boring day. Just as everyday before that day, I got up at 6am, yoga, swimming then laid back on the sofa for two more hours of sleep before starting my day. I had a breakfast of fruit, pancakes and coffee then out the door. In my car I was listening to “The Best of George Harrison”, it was gift from a co-worker. At work that day filling my required eight hours was hellishly dull. Internet access to all non-related sites was prohibited and the coffee pot was broken. The only perk of my job is free coffee and hi-speed internet suffering all day long. For lunch that day I had to get out of the office and into a more crowded and noisy place, the local pub. After downing three beers and a tuna fish sandwich I headed back to work. Nobody cares if you have a couple of drinks at lunch, sometimes it even makes me think better. I am a Taming Complexity Designer. I create simplicity for everyday problems. We live in a world that is tech tired and I help to figure out how to take complexity and turn it into common sense.
Then it happened…
An electrical shock-like sensation started happening in my middle back, randomly and spontaneously. Imagine a mini-taser attached to your spine sending electrical zaps from the center of your backbone out towards your skin.
I blackout, actually I whited-out in a blaze of blinding white light. Wrecked my car. I blamed it on the alcohol. Lucky nobody was hurt, not even me. As I sit on the side of the road with the paramedic my mind’s clarity came back into focus and so did the demon sitting next me.
It appears that I am dead now, I say out loud. The paramedic assures me that I am alive and tells me to take it easy for the rest of the day. I go home with this ubiquitous demon by my side.
For the next sixty years I would live with a demon by my side. Because of this I would become a public celebrity, a public joke and a profit to some. People would mock me, others would ask for my autograph and some would pray at my feet thinking I could stave off the power of evil. I would make a fortune from the notoriety and become a hermit to the life.
All this time the world constantly encountered the demon standing next to me. The demon could not see the world around him. I was his existence.
Of the range of questions that would be asked of me over the sixty years only one ever gave me the answer of why. Why this demon is with me?
Question asked to me was…Did anything stranger than this ever happen to you? My answer…Yes. They even wrote a book about it many years ago. You may have read it in your Sunday Schools…. “The Story of Job”.
Not an unkind demon, nonetheless a demon. Not a shadow, not a reflection, not a subconscious problem…it’s a demon. I have a dreadfully bona fide, in the flesh, ever-present demon that walks side by side with me through my life.
When I awake there is the demon sitting on the edge of my bed reading through my journal. When I brush my teeth the demon is sitting on the toilet watching me. When I am exercising there the demon is in the lotus pose in the corner of the room observing me. Across the breakfast table from me is a demon. On a train, in an elevator, at the coffee shop there is this omnipresent demon. As I write this the demon sits next to me.
The demon never speaks nor shows emotion. Simply observes me. I question if this is the demon’s Hell. Watching, studying me, never getting to be more than a silhouette. This could be the demon’s penance for past sins. Observing my life could be the demon’s purgatory. This demon might be putting in his time before reincarnation or salvation or whatever happens in a demon’s life, or un-life for the matter.
For years this demon has been by my side. A purposeless demon condemned to monitor, never to interact. This demon must be more depressed than me. I have scotch, red wine, books, and music all as my escape and company. The demon only has the all-pervading task of keeping an eye on me. The demon only has his omni-ever-present damned existence to keep himself occupied.
I am not sure if the demon is a he or she.
I have tried exorcism, taken pills, seen doctors, acupuncturists, chiropractors, vitamins, sweat lodges, prayer, meditation, walking in the woods, scream therapy, dropped acid, all efforts to rid myself of this demon to no avail.
The demon came into my life on my 40th birthday. That must mean something but after all these years that have past I have never figured it out.
My 40th birthday was a completely boring day. Just as everyday before that day, I got up at 6am, yoga, swimming then laid back on the sofa for two more hours of sleep before starting my day. I had a breakfast of fruit, pancakes and coffee then out the door. In my car I was listening to “The Best of George Harrison”, it was gift from a co-worker. At work that day filling my required eight hours was hellishly dull. Internet access to all non-related sites was prohibited and the coffee pot was broken. The only perk of my job is free coffee and hi-speed internet suffering all day long. For lunch that day I had to get out of the office and into a more crowded and noisy place, the local pub. After downing three beers and a tuna fish sandwich I headed back to work. Nobody cares if you have a couple of drinks at lunch, sometimes it even makes me think better. I am a Taming Complexity Designer. I create simplicity for everyday problems. We live in a world that is tech tired and I help to figure out how to take complexity and turn it into common sense.
Then it happened…
An electrical shock-like sensation started happening in my middle back, randomly and spontaneously. Imagine a mini-taser attached to your spine sending electrical zaps from the center of your backbone out towards your skin.
I blackout, actually I whited-out in a blaze of blinding white light. Wrecked my car. I blamed it on the alcohol. Lucky nobody was hurt, not even me. As I sit on the side of the road with the paramedic my mind’s clarity came back into focus and so did the demon sitting next me.
It appears that I am dead now, I say out loud. The paramedic assures me that I am alive and tells me to take it easy for the rest of the day. I go home with this ubiquitous demon by my side.
For the next sixty years I would live with a demon by my side. Because of this I would become a public celebrity, a public joke and a profit to some. People would mock me, others would ask for my autograph and some would pray at my feet thinking I could stave off the power of evil. I would make a fortune from the notoriety and become a hermit to the life.
All this time the world constantly encountered the demon standing next to me. The demon could not see the world around him. I was his existence.
Of the range of questions that would be asked of me over the sixty years only one ever gave me the answer of why. Why this demon is with me?
Question asked to me was…Did anything stranger than this ever happen to you? My answer…Yes. They even wrote a book about it many years ago. You may have read it in your Sunday Schools…. “The Story of Job”.
The life of an artist is...
Thursday, June 4, 2009 | By General Bobo
I like talking with other artists, to share in conversation about their passion, views, and insecurities on art, truth, beauty, and life. You either come to life an artist or you don’t. More often than not I believe this.
The life of an artist is discipline, focus, purpose, raw skills, rhythm, tempo, and simplicity. Creativity for me is not about expression it is about the experiential process.
The life of an artist is discipline, focus, purpose, raw skills, rhythm, tempo, and simplicity. Creativity for me is not about expression it is about the experiential process.
My Writing on My Writing
Tuesday, June 2, 2009 | By General Bobo
Do you have to write in pain? The majority of great writers do. They suffer for their art; schizophrenia, addictions, temper-disorders, self-isolation and a general sense of plain not-niceness for most of them.
I do not suffer when writing. For that reason alone I will probably never be a great writer. I do not struggle over my writing or the re-writing process. Writing comes to me in a fluid stream of consciousness. I even find re-reading my past works to be quite enjoyable.
At this point I must apologize to you, the readers of this blog, for reading this not-so-great writing. You deserve better. Let me explain.
When writing this quick-witted piece of brilliance that you are currently reading I thoroughly took pleasure in the writing process, no suffering at all. I enjoyed myself to the point that I actually saw my own ego explode right in front of my waking self just to see it reincarnated back into its original self-obsessing glory. Yes, it was magnificent…
My solution to the creative agony: stop caring about great writing and enjoy the shitty first draft. Making a mess is the best way to find out who we are…just ask my three year old.
P.S. again sorry for all the non-greatness…enjoy the photos, I suffered over them.
I do not suffer when writing. For that reason alone I will probably never be a great writer. I do not struggle over my writing or the re-writing process. Writing comes to me in a fluid stream of consciousness. I even find re-reading my past works to be quite enjoyable.
At this point I must apologize to you, the readers of this blog, for reading this not-so-great writing. You deserve better. Let me explain.
When writing this quick-witted piece of brilliance that you are currently reading I thoroughly took pleasure in the writing process, no suffering at all. I enjoyed myself to the point that I actually saw my own ego explode right in front of my waking self just to see it reincarnated back into its original self-obsessing glory. Yes, it was magnificent…
My solution to the creative agony: stop caring about great writing and enjoy the shitty first draft. Making a mess is the best way to find out who we are…just ask my three year old.
P.S. again sorry for all the non-greatness…enjoy the photos, I suffered over them.
Elementary School Memories
Friday, May 29, 2009 | By General Bobo
Preschool – My first memories are of a teacher who yelled a lot, a very old, wrinkly, mean lady teacher who yelled a lot. I remember a very nice teacher’s aid that would take care of us (God bless her) from that wicked old witch. The trauma-highlight for me was on “bring your toy sailboat to school” day. My toy boat was too big for the plastic tub that the wicked-old -witch deemed for us to play in. She yelled at me “get that boat out of the water”. The nice teacher’s aid lady took me into the cafeteria to let me play with my-too-large for the group sailboat in the cafeteria sink.
Kindergarten – The year of eating paste…most likely. K-year is not much more than a blur. A crowded room, fighting for time at the block table, Legos all around. The constant yelling “Don’t eat the playdough” from some adult in the room.
1st grade – It was the year we invented crayon-football and nap time went away. I sat next to a child who was always getting in trouble. In today’s world he would be deemed hyperactive, at that time he was just bad. It was also the year of lots of snot, some girl whom I cannot remember her name was a faucet of snot.
2nd grade – Another mean teacher, probably the sister to the wicked witch of the west from preschool days. I had a music teacher who’s lesson I would never forget. Good rhythm and timing will get you through. The music teacher, actually a drum instructor, would always refer to us as girls during drum practice. The cafeteria lady was mean, wooden spoon, hair net and all. I think Adam Sandler found inspiration in her.
3rd grade – My teacher’s name was Ms. Wonder and she was not Wonder Woman. This always confused me. Started my first journal, it was a notebook full of jokes. I wrote this with a friend who kept the journal, 25 years later I got to read it. My penmanship has not improved much…or at all.
4th grade – Disinterested in all things, the year was a blur. I am either repressing something or was totally spaced out during my 4th grade year. The only memory I have is being kicked by a girl at the bus stop.
5th grade – My female teacher had big boobs and a pretty face. Unfortunately she had really, really, really bad breath from smoking. To me she was Jaclyn Smith from afar.
6th grade – Played kickball all the time. I think the teacher hated teaching and kept us out on the playground to kill time. The teacher would play center field, always catching our fly balls so nobody would get a home run.
The next six years of education would be focused on music, girls, sports, killing time and oh yeah…the occasional homework assignment…in that order.
Kindergarten – The year of eating paste…most likely. K-year is not much more than a blur. A crowded room, fighting for time at the block table, Legos all around. The constant yelling “Don’t eat the playdough” from some adult in the room.
1st grade – It was the year we invented crayon-football and nap time went away. I sat next to a child who was always getting in trouble. In today’s world he would be deemed hyperactive, at that time he was just bad. It was also the year of lots of snot, some girl whom I cannot remember her name was a faucet of snot.
2nd grade – Another mean teacher, probably the sister to the wicked witch of the west from preschool days. I had a music teacher who’s lesson I would never forget. Good rhythm and timing will get you through. The music teacher, actually a drum instructor, would always refer to us as girls during drum practice. The cafeteria lady was mean, wooden spoon, hair net and all. I think Adam Sandler found inspiration in her.
3rd grade – My teacher’s name was Ms. Wonder and she was not Wonder Woman. This always confused me. Started my first journal, it was a notebook full of jokes. I wrote this with a friend who kept the journal, 25 years later I got to read it. My penmanship has not improved much…or at all.
4th grade – Disinterested in all things, the year was a blur. I am either repressing something or was totally spaced out during my 4th grade year. The only memory I have is being kicked by a girl at the bus stop.
5th grade – My female teacher had big boobs and a pretty face. Unfortunately she had really, really, really bad breath from smoking. To me she was Jaclyn Smith from afar.
6th grade – Played kickball all the time. I think the teacher hated teaching and kept us out on the playground to kill time. The teacher would play center field, always catching our fly balls so nobody would get a home run.
The next six years of education would be focused on music, girls, sports, killing time and oh yeah…the occasional homework assignment…in that order.
On God - Deism ???
Wednesday, May 27, 2009 | By General Bobo
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.
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.
