You’re going to have to work the post because you didn’t work the production.
Last year during Men’s World Cup, I started on working on building my book so that I could make a play towards the Rio Olympics. I laid out this plan of action to cash in on some favors, shoot some pro athletes, upcomers, etc. What happens? I stay injured. 3 broken fingers, achilles, tears here there and everywhere. That slowed my extra shooting down to a crawl. In the interim, I see people whose work I really admire ramping up now for all the gigs that I planned to compete.
I rarely stretch. My son is looking at me. He tells me, “Dad, you’re injured all the time. I’m going to stretch everyday like you’ve been telling me.” About time, little mofo. I’m looking at another week on the DL before I dust off the ligaments, tendons, and flabby brain. I’m going to force myself to take baby steps instead of doing 2 a days. Sure I will. I’ll actually do it right this time. Sure I will.
Last week I set up a test shoot, with models from a sports agency. I debated on the time which was a double-edge sword decision. I knew if I set it too early, my mobility might be compromised but the traffic would be less. I chose the opposite which yielded 2 of the 3 models being late as they were thoroughly caught in the flood of traffic and one food-poison afflicted no-show. (She emailed and called early. Nothing bad I can say about that). Starting later, meant a higher sun and less energy as I waited for people to show. The ladies were good but I didn’t have full command of the cameras as I was fighting the pain. I had exceeded my rations for standing for too long. So, I got adequate and adequate is anathema to me right now. But, I did need to get into a groove. Like I said, I’m going to give myself another week, then test the wheels out again while sticking closer to my new sketches. I’m looking for a stylistic breakthrough and I’m not feeling like it’s going to come through improvisation.
I guess I’m going to have to keep on shooting if I’m going to get there. I wonder if I can stretch vicariously through my son.
Nothing but the sky above today. No clouds. See the vastness of the blue sky clearly or suspect that you will soon die of thirst? This city has changed so much over the years but I still love the hell out of this sky whether shooting the basketball or getting chased by the mutants of commerce. Mega-son recently wanted me to relay my experiences in this city from when I was his age through a few years down the line.
For one, the sky was brown most of the time. Secondly, kids were outside playing under that brown sky all summer. You could not go inside aside for lunch or evacuation (but more often, stay outside to water the tree). My cousins and I lived at the museums down near USC – but the bastards would never give us a key. My Northern friends from school were Guatemalan and Laotian and we would charge people to park their cars in abandoned lots so they could walk to the football games at the Coliseum. Woe be unto the mofo who thought they could stiff us because “it’s not your lot”. The fee was cheaper than the repercussions. (I didn’t tell him that part)
In a way, I had forgotten about all the little hustles that we all did. No lemonade stands. Now I have all this technology that remembers all the phone numbers for me, reminds me of birthdays of ingrates, and I’m certain that I saw an app dedicated to scratching my left testicle. The purity of the hustle has been broadsided by the superstructure of snark – riddled coneheads and the vacuous grasp of the technological programming. I’m cyborg now and fresh out of wd40.
All is not lost, pilgrim. The nano-bot small pox laden cell phone has not totally corrupted my vision. I do not reminisce for stage 3 smog alerts and police helicopters hovering over my roof for hours on end. I’m not a nostalgic cat so it takes external requests for me to sift through the archives. My original hustle just has to mind meld with the things I’ve learned over recent years. I admit I find it a bit of a struggle to relate to many of the newer faces that I’ve come across. Rather, they don’t seem to feel the need to relate to me. My job is to create on a level where people are moved one way or another. Germane output isn’t going to make an impact. With that, the responsibility is all mine.
At the canon shop, Tim Tadder was talking about finding the thing that is unique to you and running with it. That’s how his hustle brought him the work it did.
I’ve driven 50 miles typing this between stops and now I’m being musically tortured. So with the smoothness of broken glass, I’m cutting this post now.