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December 2: I Got Lucky My karma at work is working overtime. I cashed a check for $170 and stuffed it in my pocket organizer. I'm listening to my Walkman on the street. I pulled out my organizer from the back pocket and checked the day's schedule. Then I realized the money wasn't there. Five seconds must have passed, I spun around and a guy walked up and handed me the money I dropped. My luck struck again at the photo shop. I went to pickup 52 4"x6" photos for a client. I saw the $40 tab and halfheartedly asked, "What about a discount?" "OK, I'll ring it up," my friend Dennis said. Next thing I know, I'm seeing $7.82 on the register. I thought there must be a mistake until my friend flashed a secret smile. I shoved a fiver(~15% tip) "under the table."
December 3: An Abusive Relationship
Ladies and gentlemen, would you stay in an abusive relationship with a someone who didn't treat you right, never appreciated your talent, made you feel lousy and was ready to dump you for a younger woman at a moment's notice? I ask this because my compadre in photojournalism, C-Dogg(Not his real name), 45, is in an abusive relationship with his newspaper. Due to in-house bloodletting, they've slashed their freelance budget and given their only staff shooter an ultimatum: shoot more "edgier, in-your-face photos"(according to the CEO), find several features a day and accept a seven-day work week with no pay raise. OR get out. It's around Day 3,680 for C-Dogg at the paper. He'd like to say "You can shove this job..." but he fears freelancing won't be enough to support a family with two college-bound kids. Or can it? He makes about $18,000 a year from word-of-mouth commercial work. I wonder what he would make if he actually advertised and cold-called ad agencies for more commercial work. In the meantime, his tally of 2,800+ front page photos continues to grow. I know fear and commonsense provide a sense of security, but sometimes you have to take risks for the right reasons. As a child, I was scared to get out
of the shower because our house was not well ventilated against the cold.
I'd jump out then crawl back in to warm up. But there comes a time
when you have to endure a temporary sting that's necessary for you to
move on with your life. December 4: Bad Car, Ma
Good deeds, at least in my book, always come back and bite me. I just lent a monopod I was using to another photographer who was having problems hand-holding his paper's 400/2.8(he forgot his pod at the paper). At half-time he comes and tells me the mascot tripped over the monopod and the quick-release is damaged. Two weeks ago, I found a wallet with five credit cards and a lot of money(the equivalent of 200 million dollars to Donald Trump) a few feet from the two-hour parking zone. The ladies' out-of-state driver's license didn't have a local address so I had to call a guy whose number was on a slip of paper tucked in the billfold. The guy wasn't too happy being woken up at 8:30 a.m. "How do you know Keri?" he demanded. I explained the situation and was getting ticked off as he decided whether he should cough up her number. I awoke the dead when I called Keri. "I did?" she asked when I told her I found her wallet on the street. Must have been a rough night at the bars. She told me she would meet me in five minutes. She arrived ahalf-an-hour later and I handed her the wallet and walked away. Nigh ten paces away, I heard her scream, "My credit card is missing." I didn't really like her accusatory tone, and told her she must have left it at the bar. Jesus. This is the last time I am playing Mr. Nice Guy. I thought my day would get better from that good deed. Well, three hours later I return to where my car was parked, except it wasn't there. That's when I started to think I was losing my marbles. I walked up and down the block until I realized the parking Nazis must have towed it away for excessive parking tickets. It took $540 to liberate the car from the impound lot, or in other words, $440 more than the car is worth. I hate this car. "The craftsman, who
wishes to do his work well, must first sharpen his tools."
Confucius said. I had a chance
to sharpen my reaction time a thousanth of a second at a time on the basketball
court this evening. I feel alive when I'm shooting.
Most referees pick a spot, these guys were everywhere. I moved all along the baseline but couldn't avoid them.
December 6: Losing it I met a BIG guy who taught me the power of perseverance. He lost 100 pounds and is now a svelte 210. I am currently trying to lose about 20 pounds in the midsection area. I asked the guy how he avoided temptation. "You have to want to," he told me. "Once you really want to, it's easy." This statement has hung around with me for the last couple of weeks. How many times do we really barl ourselves, thinking we want to do something, when in reality, we really don't WANT to? I've "wanted" to lose weight for a while, I've "wanted" to get fit... But do I really WANT to? What I've learned is that I will now
concentrate on things I really want and not waste my time with things
I "want" to do, until I really want to do them. December 7: A Personal Record
I just finished John G. Morris' magnum opus "Get the Picture" on his birthday. It was a personal record as I finished the book in about nine hours. What an amazing life he's lived. He was pals with the greatest: Robert "Bandi" Capa, Henri Cartier-Bresson, Elliot Erwitt, etc. I realize from his book that he truly embodies the phrase "A wise man creates more opportunities than he finds." My goal is to have my stamp hanging in the Magnum office before I croak, or within the next 15 years, whichever comes first.
December 8, 4:15 a.m.: Keep
Moving Just came back from photographing a pickup that smashed into the guardrail near campus. It's 4:15 a.m. I just learned something I shouldn't have forgotten. Three weeks ago, a friend and I photographed a pedestrian who had been struck by a bus. I rushed to the scene and got photos of the paramedics attending to the lady on the stretcher. For some reason, I fixated on an angle that would put the patient in context with the bus.
My friend moved around and got a clean close-up of the patient. I don't know which was the better shot, but I realized I should have continued to look for a better angle before committing. I should have remembered that lesson tonight. The pickup has crashed at the bottom of a hill. I had tried to get as near as I could, but the policeman told me to stay behind the police line(even though I was about 100 feet away). I shot a lot of frames but didn't feel the angle was right. I was walking back to my car when
I turned around and realized the higher elevation provided a better angle.
But it was little too late, the tow-truck had pulled the pickup away from
the guardrail. Which angle do you prefer?
I've realized that good shooters follow a subconscious shooting script: move around, watch your edges, anticipate, get closer, try different lenses etc. These simple guidelines can really make the difference. An evening assignment was a play entitled "The Birth of God, Jr." I spent ninety minutes shooting the rehearsal. I feel great knowing my sports shooting experiences are allowing me to instinctively react to moments.
December 9: A Bad Fall
I almost destroyed my camera and lens(again). I was hanging out with my friend C-Dogg who was photographing an uneventful nuclear protest. I was backing up with my 70-200 for a shot of C-Dogg getting "edgier, in-your-face photos" when I slipped on the ice and smashed into a water fountain on my way down. I landed on my elbow; my equipment was saved when the rig landed on the impact-absorbing plastic lens hood. C-Dogg thought I might have a bone fracture. The bone really hurt although it could have been worse. I picked myself up, smiled through the pain and got more shots of C-Dogg interacting with the protesters.
C-Dogg tries to get an intoxicated protester's attention.
Lying to someone who lets me into their home with open arms isn't my style. I was put into this uncomfortable position when I accepted an assignment on how law enforcement officers unfairly target people who look like gang members. I asked my editor how I would secure cooperation with police gang units if the story frowned on their techniques. "Just tell them the story is about how police interact with gangs," he said. I told him I didn't want to lie. "You're not lying," he said. "You're just not telling the whole truth." I didn't feel comfortable with this situation. I'm not into gaining someone's trust and crucifying them on newsprint. I called the Public Information Officer for Aurora's Neighborhood Enforcement Gang Intervention Unit to schedule ride-along. He was a really nice guy and was extremely accommodating. I couldn't lie to him when he asked me what the angle of the story was. "I'm just a photographer, they don't tell me anything" I said. "But my editor can fill you in." I don't know what my editor said, but the next morning I got a voicemail. Be at the police station at 2:30 p.m. My guide was Officer Russell, a friendly guy who introduced me to gang culture, customs and history. His office was covered with gang mug
shot wallpaper. I didn't know there were so many California affiliates
in the Denver area: White Boy Cracker Crew, Viet Pride Gangsters, Bounty
Hunter Bloods, Anybody Killa Gangsta Crips, 8 Tre Hoover, Rollin 30's.
Officer
Russell yanked these kids from a game of Streetfighter. He started to
quiz them about their gang affiliations because members of a certain Mexican
gang use the jersey number 13 as an identifying tag. I wish I had
taken a better shot of these kids, maybe a lower angle with kids lined
up to fill the frame diagonally. I also wanted to have a macro shot of
a gang-sign.
I
started to lose faith in the justice system when Officer Russell stopped,
searched and interrogated a 15-year-old who looked like someone who ran
away from him. The scared child said the cop had no right to be searched
without probable cause. "You can answer my questions here or down at the
station," Russell replied. The officer placed his hand over the kid's
chest to see if his heart was racing(indicating fear or guilt).
At 9 p.m. we were summoned to pick up a guy who had violated his probation by selling cocaine several months after a three year beef in the state prison. Officer Russell and I staked out the back of his mother's house in case he tried to escape from the basement he was holed up in. The standoff ended after the commanding officer told the suspect's mother SWAT would be called and she would be charged with harboring a fugitive. She quickly told the officer her son was hiding under some laundry. I felt sorry for the guy when I heard he was saying his good-bye's to his family. I felt sad thinking about what the suspect and his family must be going through. I'm glad I got to ride along with
Officer Russell. Living in a college town insulates one from the realities
of the world. I got to witness members of an exclusive club created by
poverty, racism, loneliness and an often violent journey into belonging.
December 11: Selling myself
One of the things I like about photo editor Jon Hatch is his ease with big names in the business. He hangs out with Jose Azel and recently called up National Geographic's Joanna Pinneo for a portfolio critique. His Rolodex is filled with contacts, from A(US News & World Report's Chris Anderson) to Z(Zuma). I've always been scared of approaching editors or photographers for portfolio critiques because a wall of respect and admiration stops me dead. I once hung out on the same motorboat with Jim Richardson but was in such awe I could only watch him work.
But that's in the past. I have been working on three individually tailored interactive CD portfolios for several weeks and have set a 12:00 a.m. 1/1/98 self-imposed deadline. I'm now ready to call some of the numbers on Hatch's Rolodex. I've always wanted to give a little back to the AP for allowing me to participate in its 1996 Diverse Visions workshop in New Mexico. I spent a week on the opening page which morphs all the participating staff's faces(check out the quick-loading Quicktime movie). The flashy intro is backed up by a 30-40 picture slide show which showcase amusing moments at the workshop. I've also included my complete portfolio and all the journals/photos from the Year In The Life of Photojournalism project. As photojournalism shifts to the digital realm, I think editors should consider digital portfolios a viable alternative to the traditional slide sheet because the photographer's creative, artistic and computer skills can serve as additional criteria in the hiring process. In my experience, editors see these skills as a bonus; my Web page was once the deciding factor when an editor had narrowed an internship race to two candidates. I wouldn't be able to make these presentations without a really cool shareware program I found. Hyperslider can be found at:
http://www.kfunigraz.ac.at/imawww/thaller/wolfgang/prog_e.html According to the author, Hyperslider "is a flexible, easy-to-use multimedia authoring program. Images in PICT-format can be linked together with hyperlinks. Furthermore, other elements, such as Text, other images and even QuickTime movies can be placed on the images. What's more, sound effects can be used for the hyperlinks." Hyperslider has been a god send and the word on the street is the next version is shipping out soon to a Web site near you. It's a lot simpler than Macromedia's Director. Get it. It's the best $10 you ever
spent. December 13: I am continually surprised at the little things I discover. No place, no matter how long you live in it, gives up all its secrets. I found this flower on a road beside the cemetery.
I thought I was chosen for the assignment because the staff photographer, D-Dogg, was out of town. Instead, the editor had lied to the staff photographer when he said she had no assignments that week. D-Dogg was incensed when she found out the gang assignment was given to me because the editor thought I was a better "street shooter" and that they were concerned about her safety. She felt they had betrayed her loyalty and underestimated her "street shooting" talents. I was sad because I think she's a real cool and I don't want to encroach on anybody's turf. I'd rather not compete for scraps in a local market that has too many free papers, too many shooters and anemic photo budgets. Her portfolio is enroute to a competing
paper.
Dec 16: The Game I was hanging out with my friend Jaime, a six-pack and Oliver Stone’s "Salvador" when I realized this war movie would be a good candidate for The Game. If you’ve read my April journal, you will be familiar with a tool I used to sharpen my photographic timing: I’d take some recorded episodes of Jerry Springer and use the VCR’s pause-button as a shutter-button to freeze the decisive moments during fight scenes. The VCR’s frame-by-frame advance feature allowed us to take The Game to another level: we could determine the true decisive moment by examining the other frames surrounding our choice. We spent ten minutes trading the remote control on one scene in which a woman brings her hands to her face when she finds out her family members are dead. I don’t know whether it was our timing or the beer, but we continually got images of the woman with her hands covering her face. A closer frame-by-frame analysis showed us what were missing: the woman’s scream was clearly visible as her hands started toward her face. Just one frame and then it was gone. We traded the remote control a lot that night especially during one moment when everything came together: James Woods and his friend ducking as a bomb explodes in the battlezone. On the way home that evening, I decided I would create a video game for photojournalists that would allow them to practice war and other photography in the safety of their computer desk? The game would present video segments in which players can capture images on their virtual roll of film by pressing a key. Imagine being on a Normandy beachhead on D-Day or seeing a Spanish soldier at the moment of death. Now you, too, can pit your skills against the best. The game would start off with basic levels where the peak action was easily recognizable(e.g. sports) to scenes where the photographer would have to capture quiet moments(street shooting). Players who shot too much film would be banished to a secret level involving a mandatory check-passing ritual, a groundbreaking ceremony, restaurant review and three pet-of-the-week assignments. A future(commercial?) version would allow players to move around in a 3-D space exploring different angles. Heck, you could even create a virtual press mob with other gamers on the Internet along with the option of headbutting someone who got in too close with his 20mm lens? I am now learning how to digitize and accurately capture a video frame when a key is pressed. Can any of you Mac photo gurus help me with appropriate coding or Beta feed from a recent check-passing?
Dec 18: Graduation Advice "Champions are finishers." This advice from the speaker ricocheted through the large hall, all the way back to the 30th row where I was sitting. But its power wasn’t diminished by the distance. I realize now that the secret successful photographers share is they take a photo project from start to finish. They hang on, they kept going despite adversity, till they get the shot. (Which is a good segue into my next journal….)
Dec 21: No Christmas Presents
I felt so good, I felt so bad today. I’ve shot basketball two days in a row because my CD-portfolio needs a couple of sports photos. My wish was granted when I got an awesome shot of two players colliding. I was cheering along with Cliff Grassmick who also got the shot. I couldn’t wait to soup the film. But as the time to develop neared, I started to panic. Was the shot in focus? Was the ball in the frame? Did I zoom in too tight and cut off someone’s head? I couldn’t handle failure again. It was time to look at the negatives. I immediately zeroed in on the frame I thought I had captured, totally ignoring a photo I had taken of a really gorgeous woman the other day. I collapsed in the darkroom after I examining the shot. The ball was in the frame, the players were in focus but a player's hands covered the others. I messed up. I was tardy. Again.
It’s as if you had Helena Christianson in your arms, ready to do the deed….and then, you wake up with nothing. Sports shooting has made a pessimist of me at the light table because the margin for error in sports photography is 1/1000th second. When it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work. But when it works, oh, there’s nothing that can touch the photo. I'm waiting for that day when luck, skill and anticipation fuse an image I will be proud of. I called Cliff at home. He wasn’t too happy because the stadium strobes had malfunctioned and all he had was a thin negative with an outline of the players. He did get the shot and he didn’t. "It is not enough that you succeed, others must fail." Gore Vidal wrote. Well, I didn’t succeed, but knowing someone else failed too, well, that made me feel a tinge better.
Click Grassmick has been a great mentor and if I had the cash flow he’d received an oversize Christmas present in the form of an AFS-400/2.8 Nikkor lens and a second, third, fourth and fifth F5. I asked Cliff how he got the shots that I am constantly missing. He told me not to worry. "It took me a couple of years to really get good at it," he said. I guess his experience seeing so many plays tips him off; he knows what the player is up to from the slightest gesture. Sort of like the auto-complete feature in Internet Explorer. Another defeat has made me eager to get back in the ring for another clubbing. Come December 28, I’ll have another two hours to get the shot. I’m going to keep plugging away until my first basketball portfolio shot is good enough for a double-truck in Sports Illustrated. That’s when I’ll be ready to create a sports version of Jim Brandenburg’s personal project "Chased by the Light" in which he shot one frame a day for 90 days. Only I get to shoot five frames(come on man, I’m not that good) a day. Amen, brother. On a happier note, I got to hang out with Jeff Haller, staff photographer at the Longmont Times-Call, the National Geographic of newspapers because of their legendary reproduction. I really envy Jeff’s position: his paper realizes the importance of photos and plays them big. The paper also gives its photographers everything they need for the job(a nice company SUV, scanners, long-lenses) and then get out of the way. I remember how good I felt shooting everyday. I don’t have that luxury as a bottom-rung freelancer and I miss it. It’s like going to the gym; you can’t lose the flab if you go once or twice a week. Jeff’s assignment at a nativity scene showed me how enthusiastic and curious he is and how other photographers should be. Jeff was all over the assignment. He looked and looked till he was satisfied he had made the best shot possible. He defines the term "professional photographer."
December 21: Face The Sun
(Photo illustration) Lately, due to financial and personal reasons, my life has reflected the ironic title of the movie "Life is Beautiful." Several big checks that were supposed to arrive weeks ago are still "in the mail." Comfort came from an unexpected source, a favorite phrase from a University of Colorado-Boulder student who was murdered one year ago today. According to a newspaper article, a quote next to Susannah Chase’s name in her high school yearbook read: "Face the sun and the shadows will all fall behind you." Whenever my problems overwhelm me, I walk outside, face the sun and reflect on the beauty of this earth and this life. Thank you Susannah.
Dec 25: Christmas Mourning 12:08 a.m. Sometimes we spend so much time capturing other people’s problems(OPP), we don’t even have time to examine our own. Christmas, last I checked, is about family and togetherness. That must explain my melancholy. On average, the members of my family are about 6,630.66666667 miles away: my brother is in India(7686 miles away) with my parents, my sister who lives in London(4693 miles) is tying the knot in Pakistan and another sister is in New Zealand(7513 miles). I haven’t seen my parents in four Christmas’ and it’s getting harder to bear. There’s an incredible loneliness which reveals itself in moments when I am almost awake. Family reunions are tough to engineer when the pieces of the puzzle are scattered in four continents; over the years, we’ve come close to having the whole family at the same place at the same time but there’s always one person missing. It’s like a Rubik’s cube that’s perfect except for a red square in the blue corner. "See our situation," my brother wrote in a September 1997 letter. "Miles separate us, years disappear without a Christmas together. Telephone calls and letters, birthday cards and the usual keeping in touch; there’s none of that except once in a blue moon. What is going to happen in five, ten years. And if we die before then? It’s so sad, the truth of it." I miss my dad and want nothing more special than sharing a beer and shooting the breeze. I miss how my mom transfers the contents of the fridge into my stomach. I miss my brother and the joy he gets from making people laugh. I want to party with him and also play with my 2-year-old nephew. I guess there are two schools of thought when it comes to growing up: you leave home and explore the world or you can stay with your community and enrich it. I’m caught in the middle of these two philosophies and loneliness seems to be the only reward. But I do know I can’t go back until I am successful or have established a respectable line of credit. 7:29 a.m. I’m going to leave the lab and go see how it is out there, this Christmas morning. I’m going to smile and face the sun. 7:30 a.m. The sky never looked so astonishingly blue to me. Seeing real colors Degaussed my eyes after a five-hour computer monitor staring session. 10 a.m. I was supposed to "celebrate" X-mas with my relatives in Colorado Springs but I’m stuck in this college ghost town because my car battery was zapped by the cold weather. 10 p.m. This has been the most productive Christmas ever. A couple of hours of recorded Lovelines lifted my spirits and put me in the mood for some heavy work. Finally perfected and completed the AP slideshow. 11 p.m. A trove of my brother David’s letters, short stories, poems and photos entertained and inspired me. He’s an amazing writer. If you are going to South America, you need this cheesy set of Portuguese pickup phrases he sent: You are the second prettiest girl in the world.(so she will ask, "Who is the first?") I will never get married….unless you will be my wife. You are not beautiful, or pretty, or sensational, or cute or lovely. You are beyond description. The mountains of San Paolo are beautiful but you, madam, are a thousand times more beautiful. Are you Miss Brasilia? Do you believe in affairs? David also sent some slides which are a product of his new fascination with photography. It’s really neat that he is discovering a world of images as I am explore the world of words. However, his letters are now littered with not-too subliminal hints to send the "F4" or "EOS-1n" "NOW."
One of David's first photos. It would really make his day if he received a postcard(or a 1n) from a photographer. Send cards and any spare hard currency to: David Keivom H-15 CHG Complex Vasant Vihar New Delhi - 57 India Or e-mail: rare@del2.vsnl.net.in His move from words to images made me realize that we often limit our means of expression(look at Gordon Parks for example). I've been putting several hours a day into my drum rudiments as well as hitting the scales on the piano.
Dec 26:
(Photo Illustration) 11:44 a.m. I received my Christmas present a day late, but hell, what a present: a check for 450,146.39 drachmas arrived this morning, payment for the assignment in Colorado Springs. It arrived in the nick of time; I now have 450,200.39 drachmas in my bank account.
Dec 27: Birches
6:53 a.m. I want to write so much I can’t sleep. Went for breakfast at the convenience store before starting my day. I just got a really cool CD called "In Their Own Voices: Century of Recorded Poetry" where poets recite their work. Walked out to see another sky so blue with Robert Frost's "Birches" on repeat. I noticed the huge trees that dotted the campus quad, they weren't birches, but the poem and the trees at dawn touched my heart. I've recently been inspired by several photographers whose work I've seen on the Web. I stumbled onto the National Geographic photographer’s archive and Chris Anderson’s photos and personal insights on his photography. I remember Chris’ deep passion for photography and his courage to leave the Longmont-Times Call (a local paper) for the uncertain freelance world. My heart yearns to be AP staffer David Longstreath's shoes after seeing his work: Pol Pot's death in Cambodia, the riots in Indonesia, the Winter Olympics in Japan and Mother Theresa's funeral in India. I was particularly inspired by Ilkka Uimonen's biography and photos of his National Geographic assignment on Afghanistan. "In my heart I knew," Ilkka said. "...that I wanted to travel." He echoes my lust to see the world again, this time with a camera to capture what my mature eyes see. But first, I'll need to follow my friend's advice. He said I am always preparing, preparing, preparing, hoping for the day when I have the perfect portfolio and I finally contact the photo editors out there. It's like a beautiful lady alone at a bar; I'm spending all my time thinking up the perfect pickup line as other guys go up and just say "Hi." My friend Lucas, a freshman at photojournalism, is a good example of this philosophy in action. He assembled a dozen of his best photos, walked into Rich Clarkson's office and called me that afternoon to tell me he got an internship with The Man. He learned a lot and even attended the Sports Illustrated Workshop gratis. I’m following his lead. I've harvested a bunch of e-mails and am preparing to contact many editors and photographers across the country for advice and a (digital) portfolio critique. After listening to Frost's "The Road Not Taken" I realize I’ve sick of standing still at that intersection where "Two roads diverged in a yellow wood," too afraid to decide which path I am going to take. But, ultimately, it doesn’t matter where I go, what's important is I go. My goal is to make one(or more) photo that the world will remember. I've got a billion more exposures to go so if my luck with photography is better than my luck with the Lotto, I should hit the jackpot before 2050. To any New York City editors out there who are ready to hire a freelancer, I paraphrase James Carville's motto on loyalty: You get my eye, I throw in my heart for free. I'd like my life to reflect the sentiment of a paragraph in my brother's letter: "We die–suddenly, and God forbid, horribly. If it does end, this life of ours, at least we should die having lived adventure, tasted flavors, spoken our hearts. Then these pages carry weight, bear meaning. I don’t want to leave silently." Thank You for reading this and traveling along with me on my photographic journey. I never thought I'd survive the year and it's time to let go of these journals and stop writing. I feel like a champ. To close on a happy note,
here is some holiday advice from The Legend(click on the following link):
Mac
and QT version Real Audio version
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James
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Behind
the Viewfinder - A Year in the Life of Photojournalism |
