Chicago: This trip happened on about 36 hours notice. It's short, only about three and a half days, and packed fairly full. I didn't expect to have time to shoot. But just hours before leaving for the airport, Claudine e-mailed and offered to shoot. I called her after arriving, we talked this morning, and squeezed in a shoot early this evening.
It was cool and rainy all day, so we shot in her lakefront apartment. It's well lit, windows on two sides, sparsely furnished, even minimalist. And it's... white. White walls, white ceiling, white drapes. There are three B&W prints in white frames and white mats, shots that Ralph Gibson took of Claudine. I'm flattered that she's asked me for two prints from our first shoot, to hang alongside those prints already on her wall.
Toward the end of the shoot we pulled back the drapes, shot with the adjacent high rises in the background. Since it was still light out, I'm not sure if anyone was able to see well enough to enjoy the show... they would have needed to look in exactly the right place at exactly the right time. We didn't care.
I shot enough digital to know I've got plenty of keepers; the black & white should be even better. The light was a little tricky, but worth the effort. More importantly, after the ambivalent feelings of recent weeks, this was a fun shoot. There wasn't much conversation while we worked, because there didn't need to be. Things flowed effortlessly.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
in the headlights
I'm in discussions with two models at the moment about local shoots. Kind of surprising really, because I've made no attempt whatsoever to pursue anything recently. But they've been persistent, one of them may happen later this week, and the other is tentatively about 10 days out.
Neither model is very experienced, but they're both tall and thin, each with an interesting face. The first one, I think she knows what she wants, I'm feeling pretty good about that opportunity. The second one I haven't been talking with long enough to be sure.
But today, when I read her latest message and then clicked through her portfolio again, there were some new images. That's good I guess, because the others were basically consumer-level digital snapshots. The new ones are technically sort-of-OK but far from great, slightly washed out, some cheap zoom lens flare, but just at the minor-problem level.
What really strikes me is that while the newer images are marginally better than the older ones in a technical sense... she's far more expressive in those earlier snapshots. Maybe a better way to put it is that she's more natural, more relaxed.
The new shots are mostly implied nudes... that is, she's wearing nothing, but nothing shows. Hands, objects, etc. are strategically placed.
And she's obviously not having fun. She looks almost scared... what I call the "are we done yet" look. She's rigid, tense. She isn't ready for this. She's been pushed, or has pushed herself, right up to her limits.
The photos aren't credited, but I can guess who did them, and I know for sure who didn't. There aren't very many photographers who do people here. I'm looking forward to meeting her in person just so I can ask a few questions about that shoot.
Thinking about it a little, it's become plain that while at a basic level the photos could have been things of beauty, they aren't. It's not really about the technical things; it's more the intent, I think. My sense is that either consciously or unconsciously, the photographer was so fixated on seeing the girl naked that he forgot about taking the pictures, that became secondary. The resulting energy exchange was of course a less than positive thing. The connection isn't there.
It amazes me that so few photographers understand this... except that there was a time when I'm not sure I did, either. I was fortunate to shoot with some pretty talented people early, and my lapses into "photo-lust" were, I think, brief and widely scattered, so mostly it didn't slow me down. But so many fall into this trap of not thinking, creating superficial images that are about nothing but their own ego.
It makes me want to slap these guys. It's just so selfish, and in the end, such a waste of everyones time. Of course there are too many of them. Educate one, three more buy cameras. It's a losing battle if fought at an individual level. It's the social and cultural context that's messed up, the photographers are victims as much as the models are.
There's more I want to say on this, but it would mean straying way into conjecture and speculation. Better to wait a while and learn more first.
Neither model is very experienced, but they're both tall and thin, each with an interesting face. The first one, I think she knows what she wants, I'm feeling pretty good about that opportunity. The second one I haven't been talking with long enough to be sure.
But today, when I read her latest message and then clicked through her portfolio again, there were some new images. That's good I guess, because the others were basically consumer-level digital snapshots. The new ones are technically sort-of-OK but far from great, slightly washed out, some cheap zoom lens flare, but just at the minor-problem level.
What really strikes me is that while the newer images are marginally better than the older ones in a technical sense... she's far more expressive in those earlier snapshots. Maybe a better way to put it is that she's more natural, more relaxed.
The new shots are mostly implied nudes... that is, she's wearing nothing, but nothing shows. Hands, objects, etc. are strategically placed.
And she's obviously not having fun. She looks almost scared... what I call the "are we done yet" look. She's rigid, tense. She isn't ready for this. She's been pushed, or has pushed herself, right up to her limits.
The photos aren't credited, but I can guess who did them, and I know for sure who didn't. There aren't very many photographers who do people here. I'm looking forward to meeting her in person just so I can ask a few questions about that shoot.
Thinking about it a little, it's become plain that while at a basic level the photos could have been things of beauty, they aren't. It's not really about the technical things; it's more the intent, I think. My sense is that either consciously or unconsciously, the photographer was so fixated on seeing the girl naked that he forgot about taking the pictures, that became secondary. The resulting energy exchange was of course a less than positive thing. The connection isn't there.
It amazes me that so few photographers understand this... except that there was a time when I'm not sure I did, either. I was fortunate to shoot with some pretty talented people early, and my lapses into "photo-lust" were, I think, brief and widely scattered, so mostly it didn't slow me down. But so many fall into this trap of not thinking, creating superficial images that are about nothing but their own ego.
It makes me want to slap these guys. It's just so selfish, and in the end, such a waste of everyones time. Of course there are too many of them. Educate one, three more buy cameras. It's a losing battle if fought at an individual level. It's the social and cultural context that's messed up, the photographers are victims as much as the models are.
There's more I want to say on this, but it would mean straying way into conjecture and speculation. Better to wait a while and learn more first.
Monday, September 22, 2008
who
As I continue to compile images for my web site update, it's forced me to think about what my selection criteria are. In most subjects of course, it's about visually striking images which have something in common with the other images in the same series.
But putting together the portrait section, it occurs to me that it's not just the quality of the photo; or rather, it's partially about something that, within that genre, contributes a lot to the quality of the photos. And that, quite simply is: How interesting is this person?
I have an advantage, of course. I actually get to meet the subjects, I know more about them than most viewers will. Still, if I engage with the subject, if I find them interesting, that tends to come across in the photos.
I'm making a bit of a break from the recent past in that I'm thinking about posting a few images of fairly well-known people this time. Mostly, people from my punk years, people associated with infamous bands. Ironically, that was the first time I photographed people as art. I have lots of earlier photos of famous people from my photojournalist years, especially politicians, some of whom are still in the news. But those photos were taken as part of a job. I made no attempt to personally engage with the subject, even though I had opportunities. The most unusual example: Once, in (about) 1978, I was asked by a friend on a major campaign staff to escort Bob Dole (then a relatively young Senator) from a meeting to a press conference, because they were short on staffers that day. So I had five minutes all alone, including an elevator ride, to chat with him. Even though I disagree with him on lots of issues, did then and still do now, I came away from that meeting respecting his integrity. He clearly believed deeply in what he stood for, had thought it through. He just came from a different background, a different world, than I did. But the only photos I took of him were at the press conference, and they're bland and boring, not worth posting. It wasn't til a year or two later that I learned to wield my camera as more than a mindless literal recording device.
Of course it's usually difficult to guess, while we're still able to get close enough to someone to get a good photo of them, who will one day launch to worldwide name recognition. But what I've learned is that it's remarkably easy to get close enough to lots of interesting people, and then count on the fact that some of them, some small percentage, will eventually go places.
I thought of that tonight as I sat in a room full of people with some measure of local power and influence, people not now well known outside of Humboldt County. I looked around and wondered if someday I'd be reading about one of them in the national press; and realizing that I just need to keep taking photos of interesting people wherever I find them and whenever it's appropriate.
But putting together the portrait section, it occurs to me that it's not just the quality of the photo; or rather, it's partially about something that, within that genre, contributes a lot to the quality of the photos. And that, quite simply is: How interesting is this person?
I have an advantage, of course. I actually get to meet the subjects, I know more about them than most viewers will. Still, if I engage with the subject, if I find them interesting, that tends to come across in the photos.
I'm making a bit of a break from the recent past in that I'm thinking about posting a few images of fairly well-known people this time. Mostly, people from my punk years, people associated with infamous bands. Ironically, that was the first time I photographed people as art. I have lots of earlier photos of famous people from my photojournalist years, especially politicians, some of whom are still in the news. But those photos were taken as part of a job. I made no attempt to personally engage with the subject, even though I had opportunities. The most unusual example: Once, in (about) 1978, I was asked by a friend on a major campaign staff to escort Bob Dole (then a relatively young Senator) from a meeting to a press conference, because they were short on staffers that day. So I had five minutes all alone, including an elevator ride, to chat with him. Even though I disagree with him on lots of issues, did then and still do now, I came away from that meeting respecting his integrity. He clearly believed deeply in what he stood for, had thought it through. He just came from a different background, a different world, than I did. But the only photos I took of him were at the press conference, and they're bland and boring, not worth posting. It wasn't til a year or two later that I learned to wield my camera as more than a mindless literal recording device.
Of course it's usually difficult to guess, while we're still able to get close enough to someone to get a good photo of them, who will one day launch to worldwide name recognition. But what I've learned is that it's remarkably easy to get close enough to lots of interesting people, and then count on the fact that some of them, some small percentage, will eventually go places.
I thought of that tonight as I sat in a room full of people with some measure of local power and influence, people not now well known outside of Humboldt County. I looked around and wondered if someday I'd be reading about one of them in the national press; and realizing that I just need to keep taking photos of interesting people wherever I find them and whenever it's appropriate.
Friday, September 19, 2008
america
For about the third time in the past few months, I've started re-doing my web site. The previous couple of efforts died, because I just wasn't happy with the direction it was going. This latest effort is surviving so far, although I've still got plenty of work to do.
One of the dilemmas is always how to group the images. Usually I do it by concept, but this time I'm simplifying, just doing major subject groupings... portraits, nudes... and that's where I'd hit the latest snag.
I do a lot of street photography. I do a lot of cityscapes. I do a lot of natural landscapes, or at least mostly natural. Increasingly, I've not cropped out the signs of humanity, and sometimes I've made them the central element of the composition.
About 15 minutes ago, while doing a little minimal photoshop on the image above, I realized that it's impossible, at least for me, at least right now, to split those categories. They simply overlap too much.
As I've traveled across America on all these business and personal trips, I've looked at the beauty, the ugliness, the contradictions. I've thought about what de Toqueville wrote about this country, and what those who followed in his footsteps wrote. And I've documented.
The image above is of something I found last summer in Eagleville, California, on the return drive from Burning Man. It's a place of sharp transition. Look to the east, and see the browns and tans and grays of the desert, with Nevada literally visible about two miles away. Look north and south, see verdant green, where springs issue from the mountains and feed lush wetlands and an elongated, narrow strip of green pastureland. Look west, and cedar-covered mountains rise quickly to nearly 6,000 feet. And in this place, an abandoned lot, shadowy memories of games and laughter past.
I'll work on this particular gallery of images over the weekend, I've only chosen the first three so far but there a lot more to work with. If there aren't too many distractions, hopefully I'll get this selective tour of the national psyche uploaded before long.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
fire
I woke up this morning to smoke rising above Main Street. One of the old turn of the century redwood buildings was in flames. Quick work by the local volunteer firefighters may or may not have saved the shell, but for sure the inside is badly gutted. A restaurant is out of business for the near future, and 7 young guys living upstairs are essentially out on the street.
I saw the owner of the restaurant on the sidewalk, she was crying.
I couldn't stay very long, because I had a meeting in Weaverville today... only about 90 miles inland, but more than two hours driving time because of the winding nature of Rt. 299, and because of localized one-way controlled traffic related to cleanup efforts from the recent wildfires in Trinity County. Actually they're still burning, probably will be until the first rains in a few weeks, but things are pretty much under control for now. Unlike two weeks ago, I couldn't really see any smoke from the road today, just a few crews cutting up and hauling off burned trees which were in danger of falling onto the road. But at the meeting we learned that about 260,000 acres have burned since June in Trinity County alone. Blackened ground is visible more often than not from Big Bar to Weaverville. The cost of fighting those fires, both financially and in lives lost (at least 11 firefighters) and in health risk (from particulate matter, or PM 2.5) is mind-boggling.
We debated the fires at the NCUAQMD meeting; I agree with my counterpart from Trinity County that the Smoky-the-Bear mentality of the past 80 years, the conscious policy of suppressing fire, has been a slow-motion disaster. I strongly diisagree with my counterpart from DelNorte County, who thinks that salvage logging is the answer.
That's because dead down wood and standing dead wood (known as "snags" in forestry jargon) are essential habitat components for everything from bats to woodpeckers to salamanders, and they don't contribute all that much to the fuel load. Instead, it's the even-age structure of forests managed for logging that's the problem. They're much too dense relative to their pre-settlement condition, and mostly the same size. So if fire gets up one tree, it jumps to the next, and the next. Soon there's a raging crown fire. A few years ago when fires burned in Humboldt Redwoods State Park, the old growth... with its complex multi-layer canopy... escaped with little more than ground fires and an occasional charred trunk base. Adjacent second-growth stands of Douglas fir, even age, went up like an oversized bonfire. There wasn't a lot left in some places.
The inland forests are a lot more vulnerable than the stands in that park, because it's hotter and drier inland. I did see a few recovering stands today which looked healthy, widely spaced mature trees which had survived the fires, only grass below, all the once-dense saplings burned away. Run a nice safe controlled ground fire through there every few years, after the first fall rains when fire is easy to control, and it may be a very long time til catastrophic fire revisits those stands. But other areas are thickets of young shrubs and saplings, tinderboxes waiting for a flame. These are areas where fires were so hot that even the big trees died; now young vegetation fights for space, crowded shoulder to shoulder.
In even age stands, selective cutting may be a good thing. Take half the trees, or even more, out of there, leave the biggest trees and a few smaller ones, and then follow up a few years later with fire, and there's hope for those stands.
Fire is an essential part of the equation, for the simple reason that for thousands of years Native Americans burned the woods. Fire was frequent and of low intensity, and the ecosystem is adapted to that fire. Ironically, in that time before subdivisions, there is evidence that in southern Oregon fires were set by a lone woman as she harvested seeds from last years fire-dependent plants (the guys were probably waiting downwind, bow at the ready for that deer about to flee the fire... but that part is speculation).
Burn enough times, over enough years, and the presettlement open woodlands would eventually return. But modern humans are impatient creatures, unwilling to wait for the sapling that survives every 20th year when it's too wet to burn, unwilling to wait another 70 years for it to grow to maturity. Old-growth structure takes time to develop. I'm fine with helping it along though, at least in managed forests, even-age forests, by culling some of the trees, releasing the remainging ones to sunlight and more rapid growth. Once, or maybe at long intervals that is... because logging = soil disturbance = erosion.
The bottom line is that we can't do it without prescribed fire though. Selective logging by itself only postpones the problem (assuming the contractor doesn't just take the big trees instead of ther small ones they're supposed to when no one is looking, as was documented in one Texas study on Forest Service land... in that case, risk is almost immediately increased). Doing nothing doesn't work either, because that's what got us where we are today.
As is so often the case, the "solutions" pushed by the more extreme special interest groups won't work. What the loggers and their backers want won't work, or at least it's only part of the answer, done the right way and in the right places. And what the more extreme environmentalists want, the hands-off, myth of pristine nature approach, won't work either, because there hasn't been unmanaged land in this place in several thousand years. Hands off old-growth, most of the time, yes... although even there, in most woodland types, an occasional low-intensity managed fire is a good thing. But unfortunately, there isn't a whole lot of old growth left. The rest, the disturbed stuff, needs a pretty serious push back toward equilibrium. We may not always get it right on the first try, but it's about time we get out there and start learning.
I saw the owner of the restaurant on the sidewalk, she was crying.
I couldn't stay very long, because I had a meeting in Weaverville today... only about 90 miles inland, but more than two hours driving time because of the winding nature of Rt. 299, and because of localized one-way controlled traffic related to cleanup efforts from the recent wildfires in Trinity County. Actually they're still burning, probably will be until the first rains in a few weeks, but things are pretty much under control for now. Unlike two weeks ago, I couldn't really see any smoke from the road today, just a few crews cutting up and hauling off burned trees which were in danger of falling onto the road. But at the meeting we learned that about 260,000 acres have burned since June in Trinity County alone. Blackened ground is visible more often than not from Big Bar to Weaverville. The cost of fighting those fires, both financially and in lives lost (at least 11 firefighters) and in health risk (from particulate matter, or PM 2.5) is mind-boggling.
We debated the fires at the NCUAQMD meeting; I agree with my counterpart from Trinity County that the Smoky-the-Bear mentality of the past 80 years, the conscious policy of suppressing fire, has been a slow-motion disaster. I strongly diisagree with my counterpart from DelNorte County, who thinks that salvage logging is the answer.
That's because dead down wood and standing dead wood (known as "snags" in forestry jargon) are essential habitat components for everything from bats to woodpeckers to salamanders, and they don't contribute all that much to the fuel load. Instead, it's the even-age structure of forests managed for logging that's the problem. They're much too dense relative to their pre-settlement condition, and mostly the same size. So if fire gets up one tree, it jumps to the next, and the next. Soon there's a raging crown fire. A few years ago when fires burned in Humboldt Redwoods State Park, the old growth... with its complex multi-layer canopy... escaped with little more than ground fires and an occasional charred trunk base. Adjacent second-growth stands of Douglas fir, even age, went up like an oversized bonfire. There wasn't a lot left in some places.
The inland forests are a lot more vulnerable than the stands in that park, because it's hotter and drier inland. I did see a few recovering stands today which looked healthy, widely spaced mature trees which had survived the fires, only grass below, all the once-dense saplings burned away. Run a nice safe controlled ground fire through there every few years, after the first fall rains when fire is easy to control, and it may be a very long time til catastrophic fire revisits those stands. But other areas are thickets of young shrubs and saplings, tinderboxes waiting for a flame. These are areas where fires were so hot that even the big trees died; now young vegetation fights for space, crowded shoulder to shoulder.
In even age stands, selective cutting may be a good thing. Take half the trees, or even more, out of there, leave the biggest trees and a few smaller ones, and then follow up a few years later with fire, and there's hope for those stands.
Fire is an essential part of the equation, for the simple reason that for thousands of years Native Americans burned the woods. Fire was frequent and of low intensity, and the ecosystem is adapted to that fire. Ironically, in that time before subdivisions, there is evidence that in southern Oregon fires were set by a lone woman as she harvested seeds from last years fire-dependent plants (the guys were probably waiting downwind, bow at the ready for that deer about to flee the fire... but that part is speculation).
Burn enough times, over enough years, and the presettlement open woodlands would eventually return. But modern humans are impatient creatures, unwilling to wait for the sapling that survives every 20th year when it's too wet to burn, unwilling to wait another 70 years for it to grow to maturity. Old-growth structure takes time to develop. I'm fine with helping it along though, at least in managed forests, even-age forests, by culling some of the trees, releasing the remainging ones to sunlight and more rapid growth. Once, or maybe at long intervals that is... because logging = soil disturbance = erosion.
The bottom line is that we can't do it without prescribed fire though. Selective logging by itself only postpones the problem (assuming the contractor doesn't just take the big trees instead of ther small ones they're supposed to when no one is looking, as was documented in one Texas study on Forest Service land... in that case, risk is almost immediately increased). Doing nothing doesn't work either, because that's what got us where we are today.
As is so often the case, the "solutions" pushed by the more extreme special interest groups won't work. What the loggers and their backers want won't work, or at least it's only part of the answer, done the right way and in the right places. And what the more extreme environmentalists want, the hands-off, myth of pristine nature approach, won't work either, because there hasn't been unmanaged land in this place in several thousand years. Hands off old-growth, most of the time, yes... although even there, in most woodland types, an occasional low-intensity managed fire is a good thing. But unfortunately, there isn't a whole lot of old growth left. The rest, the disturbed stuff, needs a pretty serious push back toward equilibrium. We may not always get it right on the first try, but it's about time we get out there and start learning.
Monday, September 15, 2008
splinters
This weekend I had a guest in from out of town. I met her a few years ago, through one of my ex-punk buddies, didn't know her well.
After two and a half days of firsthand experience, it's crystal clear that she embodies everything we rebelled against in the late 70s and early 80s.
Which leads me, after a little non-linear wandering, to the fact that the original intent, the original philosophy and goals of any counterculture movement, these things tend to get lost pretty quickly. I was fortunate to experience the punk thing while it was still fresh and relatively uncorrupted, and in the pre-internet days it took more than 24 hours for the world to learn about out little rebellion. But soon enough it was diluted. Soon enough it turned into a dress-up party, and excuse to get drunk. Soon enough it wasn't about ideas any more. I probably stayed a few months too long, but that's about when a whole lot of us left.
It's harder today. The world learns of any new idea overnight, the corporate interests try to coopt or acquire anything with cachet (= marketing value).
A little more wnadering, and we come to Burning Man, which began a few years after my departure from punk (even that word "punk" no longer means anything, at least it bears no resemblance to what we were in 1978... it's mostly misunderstood, misapplied today... but that's another entry). Burning Man may once have been a TAZ (temporary autonomous zone), but not anymore. It's locked into the same place, the same time, every year. The law patrols it, three different jurisdictions at least. It's watched from a distance by the marketing types, and that only because it's too hot/cold/windy/dusty for most of the boys and girls in suits to handle, except of course the ones (like me) who go there to get away from the office, to forget it for a little while.
Instead, it's a bunch if mini-TAZs. Hundreds, maybe thousands of them. because there's no predicting, no controlling what happens on any given few yards of ground. What was there this year may or may not be replaced by something else next year, and again the year after that. The anarchy and chaos layered over the structure is what saves it. Always, someone will do something unexpected, and then do something new in a different place the following year.
Always keep moving. Never stand still for long.
After two and a half days of firsthand experience, it's crystal clear that she embodies everything we rebelled against in the late 70s and early 80s.
Which leads me, after a little non-linear wandering, to the fact that the original intent, the original philosophy and goals of any counterculture movement, these things tend to get lost pretty quickly. I was fortunate to experience the punk thing while it was still fresh and relatively uncorrupted, and in the pre-internet days it took more than 24 hours for the world to learn about out little rebellion. But soon enough it was diluted. Soon enough it turned into a dress-up party, and excuse to get drunk. Soon enough it wasn't about ideas any more. I probably stayed a few months too long, but that's about when a whole lot of us left.
It's harder today. The world learns of any new idea overnight, the corporate interests try to coopt or acquire anything with cachet (= marketing value).
A little more wnadering, and we come to Burning Man, which began a few years after my departure from punk (even that word "punk" no longer means anything, at least it bears no resemblance to what we were in 1978... it's mostly misunderstood, misapplied today... but that's another entry). Burning Man may once have been a TAZ (temporary autonomous zone), but not anymore. It's locked into the same place, the same time, every year. The law patrols it, three different jurisdictions at least. It's watched from a distance by the marketing types, and that only because it's too hot/cold/windy/dusty for most of the boys and girls in suits to handle, except of course the ones (like me) who go there to get away from the office, to forget it for a little while.
Instead, it's a bunch if mini-TAZs. Hundreds, maybe thousands of them. because there's no predicting, no controlling what happens on any given few yards of ground. What was there this year may or may not be replaced by something else next year, and again the year after that. The anarchy and chaos layered over the structure is what saves it. Always, someone will do something unexpected, and then do something new in a different place the following year.
Always keep moving. Never stand still for long.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
perspective
different worlds, different views
through the haze of pretension
the games she plays
tolerated, at first
but the field has changed
and not everyone understands
invisible lines
the storm brews
fly away
soon
through the haze of pretension
the games she plays
tolerated, at first
but the field has changed
and not everyone understands
invisible lines
the storm brews
fly away
soon
Friday, September 12, 2008
silly model girls
Most of the models I work with are very bright people, very realistic and very involved in collaborating to create strong images. Because I don't do a lot of mainstream work, I rarely encounter the unrealistic demands that I hear about from some photographers. But I do occasionally stumble on them while browsing random portfolios. I just found a good example, one that I'll share to showcase a particular subset of what apparently happens a lot out there.
She says:
"I gained about 15lbs since I was released from the hospital so I'm now 135lbs and working on working it off"
"I will currently only be taking on paid shoots"
"Only other way I will shoot TFCD is if there is atleast 1of following -MUA, hairstylist, or wardrobe stylist. Or if its for a tearsheet. Sorry if that sounds harsh but it is what it is!"
"I DO NOT SHOOT NUDES UNLESS IT INVOLVES BODYPAINT!!!! ok got it? great!"
She's 5'3" and her avatar photo is so badly underexposed it's hard to tell what she looks like. I've never heard of anyone she's shot with. All 20 shots in her portfolio are technically uneven in quality, and... to put it bluntly... she looks like a slut in most of them. I assume that's what guys are paying her for, but those guys rarely happen to be talented photographers and they aren't doing tasteful, sensitive work.
She's far from the worst I've seen... no demands for all of the images on CD right after the shoot, nothing about bringing her boyfriend along, or any of several other standard items. And at least she's done a few shots, she's not a total newbie.
I guess I just don't understand why she gets any inquiries at all. Either a lot of guys are really desperate, or else there's a market that wants to buy what she's selling.
She says:
"I gained about 15lbs since I was released from the hospital so I'm now 135lbs and working on working it off"
"I will currently only be taking on paid shoots"
"Only other way I will shoot TFCD is if there is atleast 1of following -MUA, hairstylist, or wardrobe stylist. Or if its for a tearsheet. Sorry if that sounds harsh but it is what it is!"
"I DO NOT SHOOT NUDES UNLESS IT INVOLVES BODYPAINT!!!! ok got it? great!"
She's 5'3" and her avatar photo is so badly underexposed it's hard to tell what she looks like. I've never heard of anyone she's shot with. All 20 shots in her portfolio are technically uneven in quality, and... to put it bluntly... she looks like a slut in most of them. I assume that's what guys are paying her for, but those guys rarely happen to be talented photographers and they aren't doing tasteful, sensitive work.
She's far from the worst I've seen... no demands for all of the images on CD right after the shoot, nothing about bringing her boyfriend along, or any of several other standard items. And at least she's done a few shots, she's not a total newbie.
I guess I just don't understand why she gets any inquiries at all. Either a lot of guys are really desperate, or else there's a market that wants to buy what she's selling.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
night
San Francisco... I'm in an adorable little boutique hotel on Powell Street, small but art-deco cute. I'm just back from grabbing a late dinner at a Thai place on the corner, where I was one of the few round-eyes in the place, and I saw mannerisms and heard words that were like a flashback to my winter working in Bangkok some 11 years ago. Unlike most suburban Thai places which are dumbed-down to cater to the farangs, this one is fairly authentic.
It was fun to walk back on a vibrant street at midnight, with shops and restaurants still open and lots of people on the sidewalk. This part of San Francisco is a bit of a mixing zone, all kinds of people from upscale to downtrodden, but it's... alive.
I'll probably leave the car in the lot and walk over to the office (on Montgomery) in the morning. My meetings aren't til afternoon, so I'll have some time to catch up with everyone I haven't seen in a while.
There are some other things buzzing... on the way down I had a brief conversation about temporary autonomous zones, androgeny, and chaos, among other things. But it's too much to attack right now, must leave some things for later.
It was fun to walk back on a vibrant street at midnight, with shops and restaurants still open and lots of people on the sidewalk. This part of San Francisco is a bit of a mixing zone, all kinds of people from upscale to downtrodden, but it's... alive.
I'll probably leave the car in the lot and walk over to the office (on Montgomery) in the morning. My meetings aren't til afternoon, so I'll have some time to catch up with everyone I haven't seen in a while.
There are some other things buzzing... on the way down I had a brief conversation about temporary autonomous zones, androgeny, and chaos, among other things. But it's too much to attack right now, must leave some things for later.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
growth and ideology
There are two "major" papers here in Humboldt County, neither of much significance by major market standards. One is a conservative rag started by a local wealthy businessman, the other is harder to characterize politically.... mostly because of a stunning lack of leadership or innovation, which results in an essential abdication of anything related to policy or ideas to the other paper. There are smaller, community specific papers doing more interesting things, but it's a shame that it's left up to them.
Today at lunch I was skimming through a days-old copy of the conservative paper, one of the issues I missed while at burning man; basically, it was the only thing to read in the newspaper basket by the front door of the restaurant. There was a column, not a particularly well thought out one by the standards of any paper (including this one), which went off on the standard rant against government "control." He specifically cited San Francisco and New York City as "liberal" examples.
Now I'm not a fan of command-and-control government. In fact, I despise bureaucracies. I have a deep-seated libertarian/anarchist streak, (depending who you ask), but at the same time know all too well that in an absence of oversight... people will be people, as witnessed by the recent credit implosion caused in part by lightly-regulated greed. There usually need to be some checks and balances.
So it got me thinking... is there any correlation between style of government and growth?
At first superficial glance, one would think that "conservative" towns might tend to grow more quickly, because of the theoretical relative absence of regulation.
As usual, a look at the numbers showed that it's a little more complicated than that.
San Francisco, like many cities, grew rapidly (+ 7.3 percent, or 53,000 people) from 1990 to 2000. But the 2000-2006 trend defied the projections, with population dropping by 4.2 percent. Without digging deeply into the statistics, my educated guess is that it's a direct result of the astronomical run-up of housing costs during that same period. I know a lot of people who want to live in San Francisco, and can't even think about affording it right now. To some extent the city is a victim of it's own success, in spite of a liberal government that can be... entertaining to watch sometimes.
New York is less ambiguous. It's been one of the fastest growing cities in the nation recently, in raw numbers second only to Los Angeles in 2006-2007. From 2000 to 2006, the city-wide growth rate was 3.0 percent, and all of the boroughs grew, which surprised me a little; Staten Island led the pack at +7.9 percent, Manhattan stood at +4.9, with Queens bringing up the rear at +1.9.
Looking at the table of 2007 fastest growing cities in raw numbers, it's a mixed bag. There are classic laissez-faire cities like Houston and Phoenix in the top 10, and indeed there are probably more "conservative" cities than "liberal" ones in the top 100. But there are some striking examples of progressive places too, for example Madison Wisconsin.
At the local level, much too small to make anybody's lists, it's similarly mixed. Conservative Fortuna is growing, as is liberal Arcata, as is apolitical McKinleyville.
What does it all means?
Again, it's an educated guess. But I suspect that it comes down to how much people want to live there. If building permits are dispensed like candy, that may, and probably does, facilitate growth. But if no one wants to live there, the regulatory climate is irrelevant. Reversing the slide of a dying ag town in Iowa or Nebraska requires major financial incentives and innovation, and even then it may not work. Conversely, in certain coastal areas or in the sun belt, government needs to get fairly obstructive to discourage growth. That's especially true in places like the one I live in, which seems to continually be on some magazine's "best places to live" list.
Not that it doesn't matter at all. When I came here seven years ago, it was for quality of life (and to flee the lack thereof in Chicago). But I passed on Arcata because it quickly became clear that government there can border on the irrational. Anyplace where signs on the plaza list six or more things starting in the word "no" is a little scary. Both ends of the political spectrum can be good at infringing on individual rights, in different ways and for different reasons.
So I found someplace nearby, someplace with a similar art scene and the same mild climate and a less intrusive style of government. Even there, in a town with alleged libertarian tendencies, I've had to fight some battles against irrational government. The difference is that I'm not alone.
The problem isn't necessarily regulation. The problem is irrational regulation, for its own sake, without a clearly defined underlying philosophy. Governments tend to copy ordinances from other cities, thus perpetuating mistakes of the past. Government, no matter it's ideology, tends to grow. We need to periodically review our government, ask on a department by department basis, what's the goal here, what's the objective, and are they meeting it, and if not why not, and if not what can we do to fix it. And occasionally we need to get rid of something, or combine some things. For the simple reason that times change, a mandate developed years ago may no longer be of use, and sometimes people settle into a rut and don't work as hard as they used to.
The only problem is that I haven't yet figured out how to make that kind of credibility stick.
Today at lunch I was skimming through a days-old copy of the conservative paper, one of the issues I missed while at burning man; basically, it was the only thing to read in the newspaper basket by the front door of the restaurant. There was a column, not a particularly well thought out one by the standards of any paper (including this one), which went off on the standard rant against government "control." He specifically cited San Francisco and New York City as "liberal" examples.
Now I'm not a fan of command-and-control government. In fact, I despise bureaucracies. I have a deep-seated libertarian/anarchist streak, (depending who you ask), but at the same time know all too well that in an absence of oversight... people will be people, as witnessed by the recent credit implosion caused in part by lightly-regulated greed. There usually need to be some checks and balances.
So it got me thinking... is there any correlation between style of government and growth?
At first superficial glance, one would think that "conservative" towns might tend to grow more quickly, because of the theoretical relative absence of regulation.
As usual, a look at the numbers showed that it's a little more complicated than that.
San Francisco, like many cities, grew rapidly (+ 7.3 percent, or 53,000 people) from 1990 to 2000. But the 2000-2006 trend defied the projections, with population dropping by 4.2 percent. Without digging deeply into the statistics, my educated guess is that it's a direct result of the astronomical run-up of housing costs during that same period. I know a lot of people who want to live in San Francisco, and can't even think about affording it right now. To some extent the city is a victim of it's own success, in spite of a liberal government that can be... entertaining to watch sometimes.
New York is less ambiguous. It's been one of the fastest growing cities in the nation recently, in raw numbers second only to Los Angeles in 2006-2007. From 2000 to 2006, the city-wide growth rate was 3.0 percent, and all of the boroughs grew, which surprised me a little; Staten Island led the pack at +7.9 percent, Manhattan stood at +4.9, with Queens bringing up the rear at +1.9.
Looking at the table of 2007 fastest growing cities in raw numbers, it's a mixed bag. There are classic laissez-faire cities like Houston and Phoenix in the top 10, and indeed there are probably more "conservative" cities than "liberal" ones in the top 100. But there are some striking examples of progressive places too, for example Madison Wisconsin.
At the local level, much too small to make anybody's lists, it's similarly mixed. Conservative Fortuna is growing, as is liberal Arcata, as is apolitical McKinleyville.
What does it all means?
Again, it's an educated guess. But I suspect that it comes down to how much people want to live there. If building permits are dispensed like candy, that may, and probably does, facilitate growth. But if no one wants to live there, the regulatory climate is irrelevant. Reversing the slide of a dying ag town in Iowa or Nebraska requires major financial incentives and innovation, and even then it may not work. Conversely, in certain coastal areas or in the sun belt, government needs to get fairly obstructive to discourage growth. That's especially true in places like the one I live in, which seems to continually be on some magazine's "best places to live" list.
Not that it doesn't matter at all. When I came here seven years ago, it was for quality of life (and to flee the lack thereof in Chicago). But I passed on Arcata because it quickly became clear that government there can border on the irrational. Anyplace where signs on the plaza list six or more things starting in the word "no" is a little scary. Both ends of the political spectrum can be good at infringing on individual rights, in different ways and for different reasons.
So I found someplace nearby, someplace with a similar art scene and the same mild climate and a less intrusive style of government. Even there, in a town with alleged libertarian tendencies, I've had to fight some battles against irrational government. The difference is that I'm not alone.
The problem isn't necessarily regulation. The problem is irrational regulation, for its own sake, without a clearly defined underlying philosophy. Governments tend to copy ordinances from other cities, thus perpetuating mistakes of the past. Government, no matter it's ideology, tends to grow. We need to periodically review our government, ask on a department by department basis, what's the goal here, what's the objective, and are they meeting it, and if not why not, and if not what can we do to fix it. And occasionally we need to get rid of something, or combine some things. For the simple reason that times change, a mandate developed years ago may no longer be of use, and sometimes people settle into a rut and don't work as hard as they used to.
The only problem is that I haven't yet figured out how to make that kind of credibility stick.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
gray
The fog lifted only for an hour or two today, it's gray and cool outside. It's refreshing after the desert. It's a reminder that the rains will return in perhaps four to six weeks.
I'm getting caught up on all those little mundane things. Laundry. Using the air compressor to blast the playa dust out of the inside of the Jeep before I take it in to get the window fixed tomorrow. Some reading.
Yesterday was the big town-wide garage sale that brings in tourists from down below, beyond the redwood curtain. They drive around in thing-lust, looking out their side windows, not paying attention, generally making life dangerous for pedestrians. I rode around town on my bike, since there was essentially no place to park anyway. But it was a high-awareness day, a watch out for others day.
Breakfast. Making the rounds of garage sales, more to talk to the neighbors than anything else... I already have too much stuff, didn't buy a thing. At 7, to Eureka for Arts Alive, and to meet with a model and negotiate a shoot. It may happen in the next couple of days, or maybe not til after the Bay Area trip. She works retail, and gets her schedule only a day or two in advance.
Arts night was crowded, but not particularly interesting, so I didn't stay very long, didn't see very much that caught my attention. We have a big exhibit opening here at the gallery in Ferndale next weekend... so I'll need to continue prepping for that.
I'm getting caught up on all those little mundane things. Laundry. Using the air compressor to blast the playa dust out of the inside of the Jeep before I take it in to get the window fixed tomorrow. Some reading.
Yesterday was the big town-wide garage sale that brings in tourists from down below, beyond the redwood curtain. They drive around in thing-lust, looking out their side windows, not paying attention, generally making life dangerous for pedestrians. I rode around town on my bike, since there was essentially no place to park anyway. But it was a high-awareness day, a watch out for others day.
Breakfast. Making the rounds of garage sales, more to talk to the neighbors than anything else... I already have too much stuff, didn't buy a thing. At 7, to Eureka for Arts Alive, and to meet with a model and negotiate a shoot. It may happen in the next couple of days, or maybe not til after the Bay Area trip. She works retail, and gets her schedule only a day or two in advance.
Arts night was crowded, but not particularly interesting, so I didn't stay very long, didn't see very much that caught my attention. We have a big exhibit opening here at the gallery in Ferndale next weekend... so I'll need to continue prepping for that.
Friday, September 5, 2008
San Francisco author Rebecca Solnit, in her collection of essays titled "Storming the Gates of Paradise: Landscapes for Politics" says:
"To think of a figure in this vast western space of the Great Basin is to see a solitary on an empty stage, and the space seems to be about the most literal definition of freedom: space in which nothing impedes act or will."
A few sentences later, she touches on Burning Man as one of several places/events to have "realized this definition."
Even if it isn't very solitary.
But it's true enough that the inhibitions fall away, that people go there for freedom, defined in many different ways. Some, but not all, understand that with freedom comes responsibility, that in some ways responsibility is freedom.
For me, freedom came late in the week, in the second major duststorm. The heavy suspended dust filtered the sunlight, moderated the afternoon temperatures just a little, and I was finally acclimated to the heat and the 4,000-foot elevation. So I grabbed my camera, safely packed away in a plastic bag inside a case inside a pack, and my goggles and dust mask, and headed off the right edge of the city, in the general direction of the bit of playa-art called Babylon.
The intensity of the storm gradually built, but the path toward Babylon was so well traveled that it was signed, big psuedo-highway markers that said "BRC 69." The whiteout closed in around me, until I could see no one else, could barely see 50 feet. All but a few people had taken shelter.
That's when I felt that freedom, like walking around in a hot dry cloud, surrounded by tens of thousands of people, yet all alone. For a while I stood there and felt the sensation, felt the hot blast of the wind, the blowing playa dust. I stripped off what little I was wearing, to feel it all the better, stood in the hot wind, feeling like all I needed to do to fly would be to stick out my arms.
Eventually, bored with that, I climbed to the top of Babylon, all 10 or 11 stories of basic boxy steel construction, past two people asleep on mid-floors, and stop on the top in a white void, unable to see the playa, unable to see anything except the top floor upon which I stood. Bored with that too, I slowly wandered back to camp.
This began a series of explorations of the playa, all the way out to the bordering fence one day; around parts of the city another. Usually these excursions were in the cold magical light of dawn, ironic because I'm usually not a morning person. Sometimes they were later in the day. One afternoon I took my camera, in another whiteout, deciding to find some random attractive young semi-naked woman to photograph in the midst of the white out, just because I wanted to; as a way to spoof my own more controlled photography of models. Walking to the edge of the city, I pulled out the camera and walked slowly, like a predator stalking its prey; only to find, five minutes later, that the prey was stalking me. A young woman literally followed me, smiling, staying close through several turns as I tested her intentions, until I asked if I could take her photo. She rubbed up against me as she said yes. I looked in her green eyes, quickly realizing that her mood was more than a little chemically influenced, took two or three photos as her mood changed and changed again and flew across her face. Then just as quickly, as she began to ask the same questions for the second or third time, I turned her loose and continued my walk.
The night they burned the man... I found it a little annoying. We arrived early, staked out places, all 9 of us. For the next hour, people pushed to the front, packed in too tightly, until it became a distinctly overcrowded and unpleasant experience. I was seriously considering leaving, going back to camp, when they finally set the flame.
The next night, for the temple burn... more of the same. More late arrivals pushing to the front, too much loud talk ripping at the solemn mood. Why is it that people with nothing important to say, tend to say it so loudly? I listened to those present to mourn the lost ones shout down the insensitive ones, tried to feel sorry for those battling their substance abuse issues or their general lack of sensitivity, and not being in control.
I too was there to remember, to honor an artist who had done his part to create a community, who had launched a whole network of creative individuals. My photograph, a portrait of the late Hobart Brown, was stapled to the wall of that temple, as were words that others had written about him, about what he had done.
The flames finally stunned all into silence, at least most of the time. I heard sobbing behind me, felt a wave of energy from the crowd.
As the structure fell, the wind picked up, the wall of dust howling across the playa. With perhaps 20,000 people out on the open playa, a mile from camp, at night, visibility disappeared. We sighted on the green lasers of Opulent Temple before they too vanished into the white, walked calmly back to camp, and managed to find our way. I wonder how many took a wrong turn and wandered blindly for hours, fighting down panic or despair.
The winds were perhaps the highest of the week so far, from a different direction than usual, and they had gotten under one end of the cover on the dome, torn two or three grommets loose from the rebar stakes. There was never any danger of losing anything, the dome is very stable. But we had to work for about 20 minutes in the dust storm to keep it on the outside, away from us on the inside.
I had to leave early on Monday, to beat the mass exodus and get back to the coast. At that point I thought the LA trip might happen Tuesday morning, so was on my way out pre-dawn. There was hardly any traffic so early, but when I rolled down the window a bit going past the gate, it caught a moment, stuck in the accumulated playa dust, and popped off the track, slowly sliding down inside the door. It made for a cold ride through the early light of the Nevada desert, finally warming as I crossed the state line and pulled into Eagleville.
There, my Blackberry began to buzz endlessly as some 200 e-mails came rolling in (despite having had my out-of-office notification on), the first signal I'd had in a week. Scanning quickly, I found the ones about the LA trip, which I'd delegated to someone at the office to set up for me. Yes... not til Wednesday. Time to relax, no need to rush.
Breakfast in Alturas tasted so good. Including stops for gas, food, and a one-hour nap in a rest area, I rolled down the hill to the coast 12 hours later, about 9 hours of actual driving. Arriving home, I quickly unloaded the car and then slid into a very long and very pleasant shower. It would take a couple more of those to find the last of the playa dust.
The pile of dusty things remains in the garage, I'll finally have time this weekend to sort through it. I have an appointment Monday to fix the car window, fortunately there's no crime to speak of in my immediate neighborhood so there was no hurry; although I took the other car to the office today, because oldtown has its transient population. With a business trip close on the heels of a week-long "vacation" in extreme conditions, I'm tired. I'm on deadline at the office, with a major draft document due in less than two weeks, with a meeting in San Jose scheduled for next Thursday, with two other rush projects breaking. But for now, I feel good, feel like things are fun.
And this years crew, no longer virgins... they're already planning for next year.
"To think of a figure in this vast western space of the Great Basin is to see a solitary on an empty stage, and the space seems to be about the most literal definition of freedom: space in which nothing impedes act or will."
A few sentences later, she touches on Burning Man as one of several places/events to have "realized this definition."
Even if it isn't very solitary.
But it's true enough that the inhibitions fall away, that people go there for freedom, defined in many different ways. Some, but not all, understand that with freedom comes responsibility, that in some ways responsibility is freedom.
For me, freedom came late in the week, in the second major duststorm. The heavy suspended dust filtered the sunlight, moderated the afternoon temperatures just a little, and I was finally acclimated to the heat and the 4,000-foot elevation. So I grabbed my camera, safely packed away in a plastic bag inside a case inside a pack, and my goggles and dust mask, and headed off the right edge of the city, in the general direction of the bit of playa-art called Babylon.
The intensity of the storm gradually built, but the path toward Babylon was so well traveled that it was signed, big psuedo-highway markers that said "BRC 69." The whiteout closed in around me, until I could see no one else, could barely see 50 feet. All but a few people had taken shelter.
That's when I felt that freedom, like walking around in a hot dry cloud, surrounded by tens of thousands of people, yet all alone. For a while I stood there and felt the sensation, felt the hot blast of the wind, the blowing playa dust. I stripped off what little I was wearing, to feel it all the better, stood in the hot wind, feeling like all I needed to do to fly would be to stick out my arms.
Eventually, bored with that, I climbed to the top of Babylon, all 10 or 11 stories of basic boxy steel construction, past two people asleep on mid-floors, and stop on the top in a white void, unable to see the playa, unable to see anything except the top floor upon which I stood. Bored with that too, I slowly wandered back to camp.
This began a series of explorations of the playa, all the way out to the bordering fence one day; around parts of the city another. Usually these excursions were in the cold magical light of dawn, ironic because I'm usually not a morning person. Sometimes they were later in the day. One afternoon I took my camera, in another whiteout, deciding to find some random attractive young semi-naked woman to photograph in the midst of the white out, just because I wanted to; as a way to spoof my own more controlled photography of models. Walking to the edge of the city, I pulled out the camera and walked slowly, like a predator stalking its prey; only to find, five minutes later, that the prey was stalking me. A young woman literally followed me, smiling, staying close through several turns as I tested her intentions, until I asked if I could take her photo. She rubbed up against me as she said yes. I looked in her green eyes, quickly realizing that her mood was more than a little chemically influenced, took two or three photos as her mood changed and changed again and flew across her face. Then just as quickly, as she began to ask the same questions for the second or third time, I turned her loose and continued my walk.
The night they burned the man... I found it a little annoying. We arrived early, staked out places, all 9 of us. For the next hour, people pushed to the front, packed in too tightly, until it became a distinctly overcrowded and unpleasant experience. I was seriously considering leaving, going back to camp, when they finally set the flame.
The next night, for the temple burn... more of the same. More late arrivals pushing to the front, too much loud talk ripping at the solemn mood. Why is it that people with nothing important to say, tend to say it so loudly? I listened to those present to mourn the lost ones shout down the insensitive ones, tried to feel sorry for those battling their substance abuse issues or their general lack of sensitivity, and not being in control.
I too was there to remember, to honor an artist who had done his part to create a community, who had launched a whole network of creative individuals. My photograph, a portrait of the late Hobart Brown, was stapled to the wall of that temple, as were words that others had written about him, about what he had done.
The flames finally stunned all into silence, at least most of the time. I heard sobbing behind me, felt a wave of energy from the crowd.
As the structure fell, the wind picked up, the wall of dust howling across the playa. With perhaps 20,000 people out on the open playa, a mile from camp, at night, visibility disappeared. We sighted on the green lasers of Opulent Temple before they too vanished into the white, walked calmly back to camp, and managed to find our way. I wonder how many took a wrong turn and wandered blindly for hours, fighting down panic or despair.
The winds were perhaps the highest of the week so far, from a different direction than usual, and they had gotten under one end of the cover on the dome, torn two or three grommets loose from the rebar stakes. There was never any danger of losing anything, the dome is very stable. But we had to work for about 20 minutes in the dust storm to keep it on the outside, away from us on the inside.
I had to leave early on Monday, to beat the mass exodus and get back to the coast. At that point I thought the LA trip might happen Tuesday morning, so was on my way out pre-dawn. There was hardly any traffic so early, but when I rolled down the window a bit going past the gate, it caught a moment, stuck in the accumulated playa dust, and popped off the track, slowly sliding down inside the door. It made for a cold ride through the early light of the Nevada desert, finally warming as I crossed the state line and pulled into Eagleville.
There, my Blackberry began to buzz endlessly as some 200 e-mails came rolling in (despite having had my out-of-office notification on), the first signal I'd had in a week. Scanning quickly, I found the ones about the LA trip, which I'd delegated to someone at the office to set up for me. Yes... not til Wednesday. Time to relax, no need to rush.
Breakfast in Alturas tasted so good. Including stops for gas, food, and a one-hour nap in a rest area, I rolled down the hill to the coast 12 hours later, about 9 hours of actual driving. Arriving home, I quickly unloaded the car and then slid into a very long and very pleasant shower. It would take a couple more of those to find the last of the playa dust.
The pile of dusty things remains in the garage, I'll finally have time this weekend to sort through it. I have an appointment Monday to fix the car window, fortunately there's no crime to speak of in my immediate neighborhood so there was no hurry; although I took the other car to the office today, because oldtown has its transient population. With a business trip close on the heels of a week-long "vacation" in extreme conditions, I'm tired. I'm on deadline at the office, with a major draft document due in less than two weeks, with a meeting in San Jose scheduled for next Thursday, with two other rush projects breaking. But for now, I feel good, feel like things are fun.
And this years crew, no longer virgins... they're already planning for next year.
180
Burning Man is a study in contrasts.
It's the planned city, laid out (literally) like clockwork; with streets from 2:00 to 10:00, and the cross-streets conveniently lettered. Center camp is... in the center, at 6:00. Medical and ice are at 3:00 and 9:00. Major theme camps are at pre-assigned locations.
And that's about as far as the urban planning goes. Anarchy overlays the grid, and works, sort of, at least it works a lot better than one might expect.
Maybe that's because the western concept of property doesn't mean much when the fourth-largest city in Nevada springs up almost overnight, and then a week later, fades away like a mirage, like it was never there. Then, a year later, it returns, but never quite the same.
People arrive, often in the dark, set up, find fuzzy boundaries. Sometimes, delineated by a rope or a line of cars. Sometimes blurred, unmarked, with strangers becoming neighbors and then merging into semi-affiliated camps sharing things freely. Large camps one year split off into clusters of satellite camps, visiting each other across the "street" and the vacated space being filled by virgins. In my case, I spent my first Burning Man in the Kazbus camp, and have at least stopped by to say hi every year since then, this year they were kitty-corner from us... I once learned things from more experienced participants there, and have since passed them on to others.
Sustainability? Yes and no. Everything is imported. Everything must be carried out (or burned). The "city" works because it only lasts for a while. Maintaining banks of porta-potties for a week is practical; longer term.... there's no wastewater treatment plant on the playa, and the porta's get pretty grungy by the end of the week. It's similar with water... possible to keep hauling it in from the outside, but only practical for so long.
One of the bits of genius of Burning Man is the ban on driving except for arrival and departure, and of course art cars or "official" vehicles. In a way it's proof that bicycles and feet are perfectly practical methods of transportation at a compact, high-density scale. Just when one wonders how to translate that to the outside world, comes the mass exodus on labor day, the endless traffic jam as 20,000 cars all try to leave at once. If only we had high-speed rail to the playa, turned on for one week a year, dormant otherwise.
The weather; more extremes. 100 degrees by day. Sometimes into the 40s at night. High winds, sometimes exceeding 70-mph; dust storms, white-outs, dust devils like mini-tornadoes. It's a harsh place, a place of extremes. if it weren't, there'd be 500,000 people there instead of 50,000.
Then there's the primitives-vs-RV war. Those of us taking pride in roughing it, doing endless battle with the elements, scorning those safely sheltered in the safety of RVs. I'm sure they're equally condescending toward us, the scruffy-looking ones coated in white dust. To each their own.
---
Back to the story. For the first two or three days, I took it easy, enjoyed the absence of a cell phone signal, not having any desire to check e-mail (although it's possible on the playa), not thinking at all about the office or my clients. In the calmness following the first white-out, my project manager background did come out, as we debriefed the event, came to the conclusion that in future we need to rein in the over-enthusiasm of the newbies who wanted to set everything up right now, and instead concentrate on getting a core structure up solidly enough to survive anything; then get some rest, be able to think clearly again, and stage from the shade structure to add to the camp complex over a day or two. Quality over speed.
Fortunately, we had a mellow and drama-free crew this year, and that was the only time all week I had to assert myself. Unlike last year, when I seemed to be spending way too much time keeping two or three people from damaging themselves or those around them. Two or three people who were off in other camps this year, aggravating someone else; or not present at all.
I began to spend a lot of time reading, jotting down notes. The connections began slowly, built, turned in unexpected directions. Connections between countercultures spanning my lifetime and a little more, a flow-state of rebellion over time, ideas about the next level of rebellion, about a quiet anti-corporate insurgency from within. A realization that my punk years were really, deep down inside, about rebelling against a suburban sprawl that we still only poorly understood, that wouldn't be well defined until later, by new urbanists who hadn't chosen that name yet. We rebelled against an absence of community, even an active suppression of community, an abandoning of common space and the center; we created our own community, in the inner cities at that time abandoned by most everyone else. Fitting, that it came to the surface in the community that is burning man, in the first half of the week when some said that the (initially) smaller size of the city made it feel like the older, more cohesive days.
That would change later in the week, as the crowd grew to record size (almost 50,000), as the shallow and materialistic ones descended on us for the weekend. We ignored them as best we could.
Breaktime...
It's the planned city, laid out (literally) like clockwork; with streets from 2:00 to 10:00, and the cross-streets conveniently lettered. Center camp is... in the center, at 6:00. Medical and ice are at 3:00 and 9:00. Major theme camps are at pre-assigned locations.
And that's about as far as the urban planning goes. Anarchy overlays the grid, and works, sort of, at least it works a lot better than one might expect.
Maybe that's because the western concept of property doesn't mean much when the fourth-largest city in Nevada springs up almost overnight, and then a week later, fades away like a mirage, like it was never there. Then, a year later, it returns, but never quite the same.
People arrive, often in the dark, set up, find fuzzy boundaries. Sometimes, delineated by a rope or a line of cars. Sometimes blurred, unmarked, with strangers becoming neighbors and then merging into semi-affiliated camps sharing things freely. Large camps one year split off into clusters of satellite camps, visiting each other across the "street" and the vacated space being filled by virgins. In my case, I spent my first Burning Man in the Kazbus camp, and have at least stopped by to say hi every year since then, this year they were kitty-corner from us... I once learned things from more experienced participants there, and have since passed them on to others.
Sustainability? Yes and no. Everything is imported. Everything must be carried out (or burned). The "city" works because it only lasts for a while. Maintaining banks of porta-potties for a week is practical; longer term.... there's no wastewater treatment plant on the playa, and the porta's get pretty grungy by the end of the week. It's similar with water... possible to keep hauling it in from the outside, but only practical for so long.
One of the bits of genius of Burning Man is the ban on driving except for arrival and departure, and of course art cars or "official" vehicles. In a way it's proof that bicycles and feet are perfectly practical methods of transportation at a compact, high-density scale. Just when one wonders how to translate that to the outside world, comes the mass exodus on labor day, the endless traffic jam as 20,000 cars all try to leave at once. If only we had high-speed rail to the playa, turned on for one week a year, dormant otherwise.
The weather; more extremes. 100 degrees by day. Sometimes into the 40s at night. High winds, sometimes exceeding 70-mph; dust storms, white-outs, dust devils like mini-tornadoes. It's a harsh place, a place of extremes. if it weren't, there'd be 500,000 people there instead of 50,000.
Then there's the primitives-vs-RV war. Those of us taking pride in roughing it, doing endless battle with the elements, scorning those safely sheltered in the safety of RVs. I'm sure they're equally condescending toward us, the scruffy-looking ones coated in white dust. To each their own.
---
Back to the story. For the first two or three days, I took it easy, enjoyed the absence of a cell phone signal, not having any desire to check e-mail (although it's possible on the playa), not thinking at all about the office or my clients. In the calmness following the first white-out, my project manager background did come out, as we debriefed the event, came to the conclusion that in future we need to rein in the over-enthusiasm of the newbies who wanted to set everything up right now, and instead concentrate on getting a core structure up solidly enough to survive anything; then get some rest, be able to think clearly again, and stage from the shade structure to add to the camp complex over a day or two. Quality over speed.
Fortunately, we had a mellow and drama-free crew this year, and that was the only time all week I had to assert myself. Unlike last year, when I seemed to be spending way too much time keeping two or three people from damaging themselves or those around them. Two or three people who were off in other camps this year, aggravating someone else; or not present at all.
I began to spend a lot of time reading, jotting down notes. The connections began slowly, built, turned in unexpected directions. Connections between countercultures spanning my lifetime and a little more, a flow-state of rebellion over time, ideas about the next level of rebellion, about a quiet anti-corporate insurgency from within. A realization that my punk years were really, deep down inside, about rebelling against a suburban sprawl that we still only poorly understood, that wouldn't be well defined until later, by new urbanists who hadn't chosen that name yet. We rebelled against an absence of community, even an active suppression of community, an abandoning of common space and the center; we created our own community, in the inner cities at that time abandoned by most everyone else. Fitting, that it came to the surface in the community that is burning man, in the first half of the week when some said that the (initially) smaller size of the city made it feel like the older, more cohesive days.
That would change later in the week, as the crowd grew to record size (almost 50,000), as the shallow and materialistic ones descended on us for the weekend. We ignored them as best we could.
Breaktime...
247
My notebook lies open in front of me, playa dust embedded in the black covers. I can feel it, see it, smell it.
As usual, it took me a little while to acclimate to the playa. I don't deal well with extreme heat, so I've learned, those first few days, to just find a shaded and breezy spot and take an afternoon nap, to be nocturnal at first.
We'd arrived at 1:00 am, an hour after the gates opened to the general influx, set up our dome, with a crew of 8 (initially, to grow a little later on) it went quickly. A few of us caught some sleep , the virgins though (half our group this time) were so excited, they stayed up all night. I woke mid-morning to find them all passed out, everything set up, but not quite secured the way it should be, the tie-downs not quite done.
Just then Nevena, our Italian fashion designer, strolled into camp. She'd flown out from Milan to attend Burning Man, become part of our camp via e-mail exchanges, and now, after a bus from San Francisco airport with a group of burners, she walked out of the sun like an apparition.
Moments later, the winds picked up what seemed like half the Black Rock desert and hurled it against the emerging city; as if to say, what is this intrusion on my emptiness?
Our dome held, although I had to quickly throw a few ropes over the top to keep the cover from flapping excessively. The new easy-up that would be our kitchen, the one not adequately tied down... I watched it lean, heard the metal snap. By now several tired people had rolled out of tents, as we pulled it back from the brink of disaster. A random stranger walked in and handed us a length of angle iron... "here, you need this more than I do." We quickly duct-taped it to a corner support. A few moments later, with more ropes tied off to vehicle tires and bumpers, we were able to lay down and wait out the dry-storm without any further damage. Our virgins had learned a lesson about complacency in a place where, given half a chance, nature will gladly try to kill you.
Time to go get dinner... more later.
As usual, it took me a little while to acclimate to the playa. I don't deal well with extreme heat, so I've learned, those first few days, to just find a shaded and breezy spot and take an afternoon nap, to be nocturnal at first.
We'd arrived at 1:00 am, an hour after the gates opened to the general influx, set up our dome, with a crew of 8 (initially, to grow a little later on) it went quickly. A few of us caught some sleep , the virgins though (half our group this time) were so excited, they stayed up all night. I woke mid-morning to find them all passed out, everything set up, but not quite secured the way it should be, the tie-downs not quite done.
Just then Nevena, our Italian fashion designer, strolled into camp. She'd flown out from Milan to attend Burning Man, become part of our camp via e-mail exchanges, and now, after a bus from San Francisco airport with a group of burners, she walked out of the sun like an apparition.
Moments later, the winds picked up what seemed like half the Black Rock desert and hurled it against the emerging city; as if to say, what is this intrusion on my emptiness?
Our dome held, although I had to quickly throw a few ropes over the top to keep the cover from flapping excessively. The new easy-up that would be our kitchen, the one not adequately tied down... I watched it lean, heard the metal snap. By now several tired people had rolled out of tents, as we pulled it back from the brink of disaster. A random stranger walked in and handed us a length of angle iron... "here, you need this more than I do." We quickly duct-taped it to a corner support. A few moments later, with more ropes tied off to vehicle tires and bumpers, we were able to lay down and wait out the dry-storm without any further damage. Our virgins had learned a lesson about complacency in a place where, given half a chance, nature will gladly try to kill you.
Time to go get dinner... more later.
white
hot dust
naked heat
fly in the white
in the white
tens of thousands of people
yet all alone
in the white
in the heat
roads to nowhere
roads to the future
roads of now
sun tries to pierce the dust
like a needle
like a hallucination
crossroads 69
the eternity of now
the circle of now
the sound of now
the heat of now
the mystery
from the ephemeral city
from the ephemeral earth
naked heat
fly in the white
in the white
tens of thousands of people
yet all alone
in the white
in the heat
roads to nowhere
roads to the future
roads of now
sun tries to pierce the dust
like a needle
like a hallucination
crossroads 69
the eternity of now
the circle of now
the sound of now
the heat of now
the mystery
from the ephemeral city
from the ephemeral earth
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
triangle
I'm 48 hours back from Burning Man, and sitting in a fancy hotel in LA. Quite the cultural contrast.
I knew there would be travel right after the return, but the details weren't worked out when I left. So I had someone at the office set things up for me once the "go" came in from the client. That meant I didn't know exactly when I'd need to leave until I drove into Cedarville two hours out of the Black Rock Desert, and once again had a phone signal... and a couple hundred e-mails on my Blackberry. I spent most of breakfast in Alturas sorting through those and reading the important ones.
It wasn't that bad, I had a full day at home before needing to head to the airport. This is a fast track project, and this trip was for a meeting and a site visit, with the intent of identifying issues and writing up a memo to propose methods of addressing those issues. It's fairly complex, and this is probably just the start. I'm expecting to be back down here within a few weeks for agency meetings.
But first, there's a San Francisco trip next week, and another probable fast-track project breaking in Chicago. It's looking like a busy travel season this fall.
I'm hoping to find time to write about the Burning Man experience, but not tonight, not in any detail... I have an early flight to catch tomorrow. For now let's just say that it was a good crew, 9 good people, no problems, no drama. The event... as usual, I saw the best and the worst of human nature. But overall I'd say it was a better experience than last year, and I managed to acclimate to the weather/elevation/noise more quickly this time.
More when I can.
I knew there would be travel right after the return, but the details weren't worked out when I left. So I had someone at the office set things up for me once the "go" came in from the client. That meant I didn't know exactly when I'd need to leave until I drove into Cedarville two hours out of the Black Rock Desert, and once again had a phone signal... and a couple hundred e-mails on my Blackberry. I spent most of breakfast in Alturas sorting through those and reading the important ones.
It wasn't that bad, I had a full day at home before needing to head to the airport. This is a fast track project, and this trip was for a meeting and a site visit, with the intent of identifying issues and writing up a memo to propose methods of addressing those issues. It's fairly complex, and this is probably just the start. I'm expecting to be back down here within a few weeks for agency meetings.
But first, there's a San Francisco trip next week, and another probable fast-track project breaking in Chicago. It's looking like a busy travel season this fall.
I'm hoping to find time to write about the Burning Man experience, but not tonight, not in any detail... I have an early flight to catch tomorrow. For now let's just say that it was a good crew, 9 good people, no problems, no drama. The event... as usual, I saw the best and the worst of human nature. But overall I'd say it was a better experience than last year, and I managed to acclimate to the weather/elevation/noise more quickly this time.
More when I can.
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