Testing

A couple cool test shots with the school's new Pentax K10D camera. Pretty cool camera!

Another scene

A cool location my wife and I found. She blasted away with her lensbaby while I did this one. I added a texture of a wall I found on a building next to an old repair shop.

Impossible

99 times out of 100, these shots would have been impossible. However, today, I had a little pocket point-and-shoot with me.



















You see - I'm not that photographer that "always has his camera with him." As a matter of fact - I almost never do.

But I had borrowed a new pocket digital from school that the new technology people ordered. I wanted to check it out and learn how to use it so I could show the students.

Guess what. I'm buying one. Immediately.



















Although my multi-thousand-dollar digital camera would blow this one out of the water in image quality (pixel-for-pixel), it doesn't matter how good the camera is - it's worthless when you see a shot and you don't have it with you. With the pocket digital, you can carry it wherever you go, and it doesn't weigh a ton (the two main complaints I have with carrying my 5D everywhere I go).



















I really will never laugh at someone with a little point-and-shoot. I won't consider them "amateurs."

Never again - because I just might be that guy.

Mundane

The photographs you see are what I find beautiful in the world.

They are more than landscapes.

They are a representation of what I feel when I'm in the scene, trying desperately to hold on to the beauty before me.

In them I can still feel the breeze softly whispering to me, asking me to stay longer.

I can smell the dirt roads and old wood while the warmth of the sun comforts me.

In these photographs I can still feel the emptiness of an abandoned barn, standing bravely against the elements. One day it will fall, but for now stands defiant.

The photographs are places we've all been before, often mundane, every-day scenes, but they are an offering to you to share, for just a moment, a moment of beauty in my life.

Carving in stone

My only ever-fading memory of this place as a young person is my mother telling me that tourists had defaced these rock walls. It's at Indian Cave State Park in Nebraska - aptly named for its cave that, long ago, was marked only by the native people who stood on this land.

I remember the disgust I felt when my she told me that other people had come here and carved their own meaningless words into the walls. Dates - names - lovers - random obscenities. Her words about the place have been with me ever since, and I have always had a degree of hatred for the people who carved these things.

The more I think about this though, the harder time I have to find much fault in the people who made these carvings.

Don't we all want something more substantial than this life we lead? Don't we all want something that will be left behind as a remembrance?

Yet no matter what we do and no matter how loud we scream - we will fade away, and everything around us will be gone.

There is a precious, beautiful truth in in that idea. It is this: that what we do in this life matters. It's all we have, and the only thing we can believe in.

Say what you want about religion, or multiple universe theories, or any kind of afterlife you might believe in. This world would be a better place if we stopped acting as though what we do only gets us somewhere "better" after we're dead.

This is our time. All of ours - old and young - rich and poor - to live this life the way we know we should. We only have this one chance to do things right.

Carving in stone is just not enough. Faith is not enough. Our words, our acts, our gifts must be the way we define ourselves. Forgiveness, the most difficult of human acts, should be our guiding light.

More than a legacy that will also fade, we should live our lives knowing that this is all we can truly bank on - and that the life we lead right now matters. Our acts will weave through the future, and although no one will know our name, may they carry on what we have started.

Shattering the blue

"To create one's world in any of the arts takes courage. I have been terrified every day of my life, but that has never stopped me from doing everything I wanted to do.
To make your unknown known - that is the important thing."

- Georgia O'Keefe

I am afraid of my own art.

Although I like to tell my wife that she's got a lot of great stuff - that she will succeed as an artist, I scoff at the same idea for myself and my photography.

I define myself as a high school teacher. Yet I also love the art of photography.

Take this cloudy sky. I shot it during a very brief moment at a wedding we had a month or so ago. I had a moment of stunned disbelief at the beauty of the clouds and the sunlight violently shattering the blue. I imagined myself out somewhere, in the country, taking photos at that moment, the breeze gently rolling through a valley, breathing in the beauty around me.

I love those quiet moments with the camera. The scenes I find sometimes literally takes my breath away - and all I can do is stand there for a moment taking it all in. Then I frame the photo and capture it for others to see.

The thing is, and I don't want to sound conceited, but I'm pretty good. But for some reason I don't want others to know it...
























I laugh when we do art shows because my "photography never sells."

This isn't really true - and it's always my wife who reminds me of this.

I've had individual people pay hundreds of dollards for my art - people who find my captured moments of beauty close to their heart.

Yet... doubt and disbelief settle in like good friends coming over to talk about old times.

The truth is that I've never really tried. It's staggeringly easier to say to myself, quietly, "I'm not good enough," and let it be. And although I want to scream at my wife when she has some self doubt (because her art has always succeeded), I don't follow my own advice, even if I can say that I am pretty good.

There is an artist inside me, waiting.

Lurking.

Trying to get out and be something - to say something true.

Maybe some day I'll have the courage, like my wife, to speak.

This Tuesday.

Epic.

Dreaming

Some days my life does feel like a dream - a good one. I came home last night after a long day, stressed out and tired beyond words. School has been pretty hectic for me, and there's just so much going on, it seems hard to catch up and spend some time just enjoying life.

I stay up at night thinking about all the things I have to do at school, and I wake up earlier every day because my restless nights are filled with the same thoughts. It's sick. I know it.

But last night, as I walked to the door, my wife had put a "Welcome Home" sign up. It instantly made me smile.

I walked in and saw here at the table, candles lit, and dinner on the table. Music played in the background, and all my worries and stress just oozed off my shoulders. Her dinner was fantastic, and we sat together and talked for a while, just enjoying each other's company.

It feels good to be loved and to live a dream.

Thank you, Casey.

Together

This is a "photo poem." It's a photo I took matched with my wife's writing. What's cooler than that?

My wife is, without a doubt, the most talented person I've ever met. Her writing is filled with so much emotion and truth - with hope and passion - that it brings out new and exciting views of my photography.

Her art and writing inspires me. Her outlook on life, even in a dark world, gives me hope.

Her love makes everything worth it.

Catie

Shooting with Catie was amazing. It started off with us just experimenting with some flash setups, but when I couldn't get things to work like I wanted, I abandoned the flash and just took photos. Catie was a rockstar, and I can't imagine having more fun!

Time

It doesn't seem like it's possible, but next week begins my sixth year of teaching high school. It's a completely unreal feeling, thinking that I've been doing this for five years.

It's cliche' to say "it seems like yesterday," - but it does.

My first year is such a blur to me. I remember coming to school from my apartment, trying to just survive the day. I remember spending hours and hours preparing, lesson planning, and just THINKING about what I was going to do the next day. Of course, I could never predict what was to happen, so I always felt like I could have done more.

It's so different now. While teaching still takes a considerable amount of time, the time spent is just so much more fun than ever before.

I've learned to give the power to the students. They can handle it if you teach them how.
I've learned to say no. Often. Repeatedly. Without argument. It makes saying "yes" so much more meaningful.
I've learned that you absolutely can have fun in class while challenging the students.

I've learned that, even in the chaotic mess of the school day, and in this wild world we live in - I absolutely can make a difference.

I can't wait for this year, this adventure, to begin.

Avery

This is my second cousin, Avery.


















The title sounds so weird. A "second cousin" sounds like someone I'd only meet every five years, at some weird family reunion, and I'd say "Wow - you look different... it's been like five years since I saw you." Then they'd laugh and that'd be it as we politely avoided each other because we didn't have anything to say.

Avery is not that kind of a second cousin.

Her mother, Becky, is much more of a sister to me. I grew up with Becky and spent a lot of time with her family when I was young - so she's always been close to my heart.

Now she's a mother, and I can't keep my eyes dry as I write this.

Yesterday, as I looked at Avery with a strange sense of bewilderment, amazement, and awe(That's a baby! That's Becky's baby!), it was hard not to have flashes of her future pass before me.

She has amazing parents and a family full of warmth and love. She will never know the sting of her parent's divorce, the crushing pain of abuse, or the abandonment of her own dreams.

Her life will be one in which all things are possible. She has people in her life that will fight for her dreams - that will make sure her future is one that is filed with truth and beauty - of strength and hope.

I can see her holding hands with her parents, laughing, playing, dreaming, hoping, and loving.

She will treat animals as the precious gifts they are.

She will love to eat.

The color purple will always be special to her.

She will brag that she has the coolest grandparents on the face of the Earth.

Her aunt will spoil her and will always be close to her, even if there is physical distance between them.

There will be thousands of photographs of her.

She will make a difference in this world.

Most importantly, she will never know how lucky she is.

That's the way it should be.

Hope

Every animal I've ever had in my life has been special.

Every one.

So it shouldn't be shocking to say that this one has a special spot in my heart.

I've written about her before, so you might know the story. The short version: she was found, being kicked around by stupid kids at the school I teach for, in the middle of winter. She was a kitten. She was cold. I took her in.

Now she's a part our life. My wife and I are constantly amused and amazed by her tender, playful soul, and we wouldn't know what to do without her. She belongs here as much as we do. Like the other two cats in our home - this is her home. We're just paying the bills.

Every time I look at her - every time I play with her and watch her jump through the air gracefully, I think of what could have happened to her if I hadn't taken her in.

Who knows? I don't want to even think about it.

She has brought us so much love and warmth, that I can honestly say bringing her home was one of the best things I've ever done in my life... and at the time it was such an honest decision - simply to follow my heart.

Hope, even for small, cold and afraid little animals exists. That makes me smile.

Not enough napkins

They only gave me two napkins for a ten napkin meal.

Best BBQ on Earth.

The Last Great Journalist

Those closest

Dad... What can I say?

It's a tough one - writing about him. I love him, of course, but he's just so difficult to be around sometimes. He's so moody and thinks he knows the best about everything, that it's tough sometimes just to go to the store with him. He'll tell you you're closing the door too hard, and that it will break the door eventually. He tells you your going to fast - or slow - or that you are too quick on the clutch - or that you shouldn't have stopped at that stop sign - and then where to park and how to park. This happens every. single. time. we go somewhere.

So it's tough sometimes - showing him the love you have for him when you're with him.

But love him I do.

In the past few years, he's really turned to me for conversation. He doesn't really have friends - and although he lives with my mom, my sister, and his granddaughter, he doesn't feel like he can talk to them. They're females - and what does he have to say to them?

So he pulls me downstairs to show me his latest models (of course, they are all boxed up and put away), talk about cars, and show me the kind of deals he's gotten lately (he has, probably, twenty .50 cent watches he's purchased at garage sales). He teaches me how to charge un-rechargeable batteries (not a good thing), how to paint models using a home-made spray box, and rummages through cut-outs of magazine and newspaper articles he saves about cars and random stuff.

He has a serious desire to teach me things. He always wanted me to learn how to fix cars (he was a mechanic), work with wood, and build things for myself. I think because he was always so difficult - I didn't want to learn. Because no matter what he tried to teach you - you were never really good enough, and the critiques became endless.

I remember going to him time and again to show him my latest drawings. Every once in a while, he would nod and smile (and make my day) - but most of the time he would tell me it wasn't good enough.

Even the other day, he came over for dinner, and told me that the photos we have all over the walls just don't cut it. He told me "you have to do something different! Those look like they were from the 70's."

Now... you have to take that with a grain of salt. His eyes are so bad I seriously doubt he even knew what the subject matter was. Yet it hurt all the same.

My father. He's a tough one to get along with... but there will be a day when I miss his nagging and his desire to teach me more. Maybe I need to take the time to let him teach me a few things - wrong or not - and cherish the small moments that will always be with me.

Mom's Garden

When I first started doing photography, more than five years ago now, I always wanted to take shots of my mom's garden. Her garden is magical, and her and my sister tend to it with a loving touch that brings the garden to life.



However, it never really worked out. The shots never had any impact or really demonstrated the beauty of her garden.

I think I finally got a few.

Assignment

Went out this morning on a self-imposed assignment. Take ten pictures - and only ten. No re-shots if I didn't get the exposure right (full manual mode, as usual), and no editing later on in Photoshop. I used the 5D and 35 1.4L. Ten shots, posted here, in full manual mode. It was fun.