Suffering for your art

Having not really touched a guitar in about a year, the results are predictable:

Looks worse than it is though. I deadened all the nerve endings in my fingers years ago…


Staying in your lane

Back when I used to make my living playing guitar, I always had my ears open to new, and different music. Different styles with different riffs, and arrangements that I could rob…. uh, I mean, influence me, to keep the creative juices flowing. I guess I played a blues rock based style, that was influenced by crumbs of country, and jazz. Although I would have been out of my element if I was playing in a strictly jazz, or country band, I still knew enough to fake a bit here and there, and to not horribly embarrass myself too much when I did. (Later on, before I gave it all up, I got heavily into country guitar, so much so, that I could actually play in a country band, had I so desired.)

With photography, I’m all over the map. Like I mentioned elsewhere, probably what I’m the best at, is knowing what I’m not good at. (Some might say that that’s because I’ve got a lot to choose from…) Because I don’t do this for a living, everything that I’ve become competent at, I did so just for the hell of it. 

Having varied photographic interests keeps things interesting for me. I’ve pretty much completely incorporated photography into my life. Walking to work? Click! At work? Click! Going somewhere different? Click! Wife’s baking a cake? Click! I’ve navigated myself into a position where I don’t have to focus on a particular subject, so if I just want to spend my time hanging out by the train tracks, I can. Or, if I choose to hunt for elusive hives of Robot Preying Mantises, that’s great too.

So I guess I don’t really have a lane to stay in. Mine’s a wide highway with no lines on it. 


Shaking off the cobwebs

Yesterday, I decided, ‘fuck it, I’m getting out of the house, and I’m going on a little journey.’ Like everyone else, I’ve been going a little stir crazy from the quarantine we’re all under. I figured that if I left the house when the sun came out, there’d be a lot fewer human creatures about, and if things went well, I’d have lots of the city to myself. I checked the weather, and it was looking good -sunny, high of 20. Great!

Naturally, fifteen minutes after I had gotten out the door, a carpet of bloody clouds rolled in…

So much for getting an early start to get the good morning light.

I fired off a couple of shots, but beyond the flat, boring light, something still wasn’t right. I didn’t seem to be ‘seeing’ anything -which is odd, because that sort of thing usually isn’t really a problem for me.

Then it dawned on me: I was outta shape. Because I’ve been cooped up in the house, I had gotten rusty. I wasn’t ‘seeing’ anything much, because my eye wasn’t used to looking. Strange, because I usually equate that sort of thing with athletic things, or things involving dexterity -but I knew deep inside somewhere that that had to be a big part of it, because it has happened to me before. In the past, I’ve tried to make a habit of getting out with my camera a lot before, say, going on a big trip, because I knew it would help when I had reached my destination.

I had just forgotten all about it though.

So I went back home (of course, as soon as I got in the door, the fucking sun came back out) and went back to trying to make an orange not look like an orange.

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