I will enjoy the spring this year.

Pretend to forget.
I hate middle-age. I hate the way you can no longer deny the feeling that you are falling apart.
I also hate taking medication. The meds make a mighty contribution to my middle-age melanchoy.

Most of all I hate the memory loss related to both that I experience.

It prevents me from working at a pace anywhere close to that of the little automaton I once was. Many would say this is a good thing. Odds are I will live longer. This may be especially true if I quit smoking.
The memory loss is so significant, though, that I cannot even read a book. I tend to forget what was on the last page, never mind what I read yesterday or earlier today.

I forget where I set down a camera part or a prop and find it two weeks later.
I forget grocery lists and come home with doubles of stuff and nothing that I really needed.
I forget to call my mother which really bothers me.
The old saw about forgetting why you got up and came into a room becomes commonplace.
I have not forgotten where I live, yet, Who's to say I would remember even if I did?

As far as shooting goes, I take pictures and if I do not process them immediately I must rely on the memory of a friend to tell me where they were taken. Honestly. A roll from last weekend? Pretty tough to guarantee anything. Two weeks ago? Forget it. If I don't make a note somewhere I am screwed.

I also forgot to tag the back of my film bodies for the first couple of rolls I ran through different setups.
Hence the two examples below and one posted on 'The Moment.'

I really do intend to move towards a freer mode of expression it's true. Some non-standard processing solutions for B&W, and some manipulations of old Polaroid stock sound like fun to me. Some paper maché models and props for images are high on the list. I have already begin that process right?

Perhaps I was not expecting any huge creative change to land upon me too quickly. The 'accidents' I am working my way through here constitute instant change if I regard them seriously. Why wouldn't I? They are interesting.

Mind you, I could achieve results akin to these shots anytime I like. I could simply pretend to forget what film is in the camera and open the back for a quick second to have a look. I would only lose a few frames and the 'accidents' that remain would be similar to what I have here. Bravo.

FED2 accident III - Kodak Gold 200

FED2 accident III - Kodak Gold 200

People who follow my stuff even semi-regularly know that I like to post images of works in progress. Here we have me returning to masks. I dabbled too briefly last spring always wanting to get back and it would appear that I am.

I had BIG plans to use this first one to revisit another theme of mine from the past year, a culture with which I remain inordinately fascinated, the Templars. I don't know now. I have been emailing back and forth with several friends and there has been a thread on a group I frequent concerning individual rights, Big Brother, 1984, all that horrid stuff. Of course it only seems horrid to any of us who grew up in another era . . . .

In any event, it must be a coincidence that my random computer player has cued up 'Heroes' by Bowie as I am writing this little piece:
"we can be heroes forever and ever
whatcha say?"
so who knows where this piece will end up?

Sidebar:
I loved that line in Criminal Minds last year when Garcia had been shot and she was telling the others that all the way in to the hospital, when she was close to death, David Bowie's 'Heroes' was going through her head and she was thinking "does that mean David Bowie is gawd?"

I lie. Everyone who knows me knows I will do something outrageous and completely oblique concerning our evaporating personal freedoms and rights, and the and utter apathy with which this power shift is greeted by the gently mooing middle-classes.
Okay, okay, you're right, they should be bleating but I couldn't resist the alliterative ring. Bleating then: "But you promised me greener pa-a-a-a-stures."

Stay tuned.

(Note to self: do NOT use cream or lotion to separate your paper from the form. This puppy may never dry!).

I promised I would talk about cameras and photography now and then. In the past month I have set about acquiring a small collection of cheap, in some instances unique, film cameras.

The first two arrived last week. The camera at picture left above is a FED2 from Russia. The other camera is an Ansco Lancer. I love them already, especially the FED2. I have been doing a little research and I want a FED3 now because several modest shortcomings in the FED2 are dealt with effectively. Doesn't matter. I need to finish the roll of film I have in it and see how it looks. Of course these FED cameras are intended to resemble the much more expensive Leica models of the time. Great. Okay with me. My old eyes don't like the dim viewfinder here, and the camera has no strap lugs. The claim is that these problems were resolved on the FED3. I love the old case and it appears this is a good thing, given that it seems to be the manner in which you keep the camera around your neck.
Best of all this camera appears to be in fine shape.

The Lancer is in great shape too. This is a tiny gem. It measures approximately 2" X 4" X 1" deep. I have seen some of the work this camera is still capable of doing, 40 years later, on the internet. I may have to clean it up a bit, do a CLA (clean, lube, adjust) as the afficianados say, we'll see, but it looks like it will provide a 'look' I am after in some images. The Ansco is made of aluminum. Is that any good? When was the last time you saw a product whose major build material was aluminum? I love it.

My father ran Leica systems when I was a boy. My Uncle Jack ran tidy little amateur cameras like the Ansco at first. He upgraded the way most folks did when the hobby took off. I remember these cameras though. I remember the cameras and I remember what a miracle it was when they actually began to produce colour slides that could be projected on to a screen at home.

A question or two to finish this little piece.
Can someone tell me why it was so simple to build every camera in the 50s and 60s, even the cheapest model, with superior balance and great hand feel, in other words, superior ergonomics? Why can this no longer be done? Why do we pay thousands of dollars for cameras that feel awkward and unbalanced, sometimes top-heavy, and just plain heavy period? This last seems especially strange given the amount of plastic used in newer camera design.

I suppose we could say the same of just about any home product and far too many pieces of professional equipment if we sat down and thought about it. Things that make you go hmmmm.

WARNING!
CAMERA PORN ALERT!
FOR MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY

The FED2 is just so cool. Feels great in the hand too.

I was thrilled when my old Soligor flash fired when I popped it on the Ansco

This is what happens to a roll of exposed film when I leave it somewhere that is accessible to Sammy. *sigh*

The universe was a smaller place 80 years ago.

Went up for milk and bread earlier and grabbed this shot of Spike, the cart boy at my grocery store. He's not the only cart guy there but he is definitely the one you remember because his hair is magnificent. He gels and spikes it, hence my nickname. He's a good guy. I have gently teased him about his hair at the cash when he's bagging. The reaction of the cashier tells me it is old territory, that he is probably accustomed to taking a little ribbing now and then. I hope he has it down to a science and does not have to waste much time on it every morning.


It makes me think about how awful it was when I was a kid and we first wore our hair long, long, long . We had good reason to believe that some of the red-necks would take the shop shears to us. That whole trip eased up in time. Hell, even the red-necks started letting their own hair grow down over their ears for a time. Cheaper than getting it cut every week!

I was reminded of my age in another way yet again today. There was a lovely lazy snowfall when I started out, not too much wind so it was kind of nice. I got ten feet down the sidewalk and slipped dangerously, did one of those 'pull your groin muscle' slapstick moves. I stayed upright though. There was solid glare ice under the inch of fluffy snow. My, my, how treacherous.
That was my warning. "Take it easy and watch your footing you dummy."
A block later I was pre-occupied with my thoughts and my feet shot out from under me. I hit the ground hard this time. Fortunately my right hip and my bum took most of the impact. I will be sore later tonight and into tomorrow. I fell again one more time as I neared the grocery store. By this time I was filling the air with nasty curses, you know those 'physically impossible things to do' kind of curses? Fuck I hate the winter. *snicker* so much for the lovely, lazy snowfall, no?

Even though it is only two stops, I often take the bus home if I don't feel like humping groceries. I had double reason for doing so today.
Damned if I did not get off the bus at the bottom outside my place, walk along five feet or so, and BAM! I was on my backside again. It must have looked fairly bad because a young mother and her daughter came running up to see whether I was hurt, remarking sympathetically in broken english about the horrible ice. The little girl nodded sagely in agreement. Even though I felt like an idiot and I hurt this time I still noticed that she was cute. I miss my step-daughter sometimes.

That's the story I am going to go with, the one about how we shared concern over the awful black ice. The alternative is just nasty. Could I possibly be looking old enough that people are going to start running up and checking on me when I fall down, just like I used to do when I saw some old codger hit the dirt? As some of my distant blood ancestors would utter, "Sainted Mah-ry, Mythrrr of Jyzuz H. Christ . . .

Out of Context

The fact that people often do leave someone who exhibits this behavior only proves to support their distorted belief that they are insignificant, worthless, and unloved. At this point in the cycle, the individual may exhibit self-harming behaviors such as suicide attempts, mock suicidal attempts (where the goal is to get rescued and lure others back into the individual's life), cutting or other self-mutilating behavior. There is often intense and sudden anger involved, directed both at self and others, as well a difficulty controlling destructive behaviors.

DSM-IV

in the context of the moon

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uuY0ux8So_4

Streets full of people, all alone
Roads full of houses never home
Church full of singing out of tune
Everyone's gone to the moon

Eyes full of sorrow, never wet
Hands full of money, all in debt
Sun coming out in the middle of June
Everyone's gone to the moon

Long time ago
Life had begun
Everyone went to the sun

Hearts full of motors painted green
Mouths full of chocolate-covered cream
Arms that can only lift a spoon
Everyone's gone to the moon

Everyone's gone to the moon
Everyone's gone to the moon

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_rYgsTVtbb0

I understand that not everyone will want to check out the whole tune. It's a big fave, though. I am glad ABB picked it up (maybe even do a better version).

Lately it has become quite trendy to suffer from a low-grade depression and receive meds and counselling. The efficacy of the counselling is directly related to how much medical coverage your company provides on your behalf.

The theory is that the meds fight the depression, and the counsellor helps you feel better about you, usually in 6 or 12 appointments, then you're fine.

NEXT PATIENT PLEASE!

You get to carry on being a slave to [insert choice here: state, employment, mortgage, car payments, TV and furniture payments (you bad couple-gave in huh!) bad marriage with children etc, etc etc.].

That is the theory and I am sure it is a good one. It looked great on paper when some bozo handed in her/his doctoral research years ago and it all got published into the medical journals,
A star was born. Mental health issues that can be quantified. The state can appear to be treating people for this issue. The treatments are cheap and look great on the government ledgers. The global pharmaceutical cabal makes obscene amounts of money. Everybody is happy.
Whether people ever actually get cured is irrelevant.

That the process appears to work for many afflicted people is wonderful. Do not misunderstand my general tone of cynicism. People feel that the process works and they carry on with their little lives. I applaud those success stories.

Sidebar:
You will find shelves upon shelves at various medical universities to illustrate that people do get cured. That work would be and continues to be funded by global pharmaceutical concerns, the government, and indirectly by the banks.

There are others, though, others for whom a simple course of SSRIs and a professional pat on the bum, metaphorically or otherwise, does not work.
I repeat the ugly truth A SIMPLE COURSE OF SSRIs AND A PAT ON THE BUM DOES NOT WORK.
These people suffer fom multiple disorders and require different meds for different purposes. I can speak with authority about me; I am Bi-Polor II, PTSD, and major depressive, apparently at least one incident makes a major depressive (I think my incident is like the Bizarro World energy bunny, just keeps going). BP II means I cycle slowly, usually over weeks. The average BP I makes even me crazy. Some cycle every 5 minutes,

I take a cocktail of medications every day, twice a day, to control the presenting disorders with which I live. Epival is an anti-convulsant which seems to have had some success controlling BP. Perhaps so, I no longer grind my teeth 24/7 (though most the grinders have been pulled by now). For the most part I do not snap at people irrationally. That can be difficult because the moron count is definitely on the rise. People can stand to be around me for short periods of time without feeling nervous. Did I mention the other tiny detail regarding epival?It has utterly destroyed my libido.
Finally, I take double the recommended dosage for epival.

Wellbutrin and cipralex are suppose to make me feel less like committing suicide. The wellbutrin is suppose to make me feel less like smoking too. Right. I should think the paragraph above would be sufficient ground alone to make most people want to do themselves (that's a JOKE son . . .). However, if we take these two pills, 'voila!' all signs of depression will vanish within weeks, Pretty long damn weeks from where I am sitting, given that I am still waiting.

Let's get the 411 from The Weather Channel, "Well, Dave, thanks so much for inviting the Weather Channel into your cyber-reality. Unfortunately, as you can see on the Weather Channel regional map a strong depression has settled in over the Guelph, Kitchener, Cambridge area and is showing no signs of moving along. The Weather Channel forecast is for precipitation and grey skies as far as the eye can see. No change for in the immediate future. Sorry about that Dave"

Ever notice how they get the name of their product in every 30 seconds? It sticks like dogshit in the grooves of your sneaker soles when they do that. This I learned from an MBA back in the day.

Back to the medication rundown:
I receive no medication that I am aware of for my post-traumatic-stress-disorder. My guess is that there is no tidy panacea for PTSD (quick someone call the Weather Channel). Whether it was a car accident yesterday, the death of a loved one ten years ago, or regular and methodical physical, mental, and/or sexual abuse at the hands of a grownup you trusted when you were a child, no one seems to know what to about PTSD yet. They just give you more drugs if you act out in public. Especially if you act out in public, sometimes even if you do not act out in public they give you more drugs.

There are groups for PTSD. You can sit in a circle and describe what you remember about your experieces, tracing your mediocre little life forward from the incident till now. That never worked for me. People whine and you are expected to make sympathetic cooing noises when they finish, Whatever. If you are being completely honest with yourself, no one else's problems ever seem as bad as yours. If they do have bigger problems you don't want to know about because it just makes you feel worse.
I did not believe in group therapy when I was doing my MSW at Laurier why start now?

I still haven't found an individual counselor or psychologist (don't get me started about psychologists) who have anything in their CBM trick bag ("Papa's got a brand new behavioural bag!") that can even scratch the hood of a 1959 Cadillac silently sneaking up behind you in the dark. That's what PTSD feels like sometimes, a huge black car lurking in the shadows down some filthy midnight alley. You stare out into the street but you know there is something coming slowly back there. It makes you shit yourself with fright when the big driver sparks up a butt at the wheel. Somehow the bumper ended up right behind you almost touching your jeans. How the fuck did that happen? You are still shaking for hours after the event and you grind on it for days.

Sidebar in closing:
I would not be doing photography again were it not for the serious breakdown I experienced +4 years ago. I know this is fact. I use the limited energy I have every day to do something positive and creative. This is miraculous! I don't really believe that. The epival insures that I don't really feel much about anything. It really is a miracle though, in spite of my innate cynicism.

However . . .
It would seem even miracles have a grubby interior.

There are people who worry that the faces I photograph become trophies without much meaning to me or anyone else. Spoken like a true nature lover, one who shoots trees because making pictures of people puts them outside their comfort zone. We'll leave that discussion aside for now. Trophy also implies stalking or hunting my prey--such a strange choice of metaphor.

I make images of the people I photograph on the street because I like and respect most of them.
Street people are nice people. We talk a bit, I get to know some of their circumstances when possible and I make the image with their willing participation.

I believe that everyone, yes everyone, is beautiful. I really do believe that. I find seniors especially attractive. Seniors don't like to sit for a picture, though.

If I have done my work properly I will show you some of the beauty that is in all of us. Too intellectual?
Too corny?
Too bad.
You'll live.

That's as intellectual as I prefer to get about what I do. There is no quantifiable science in any of it; it's all instinct. It's all me being out on the marbles trying to keep my balance. It's all about life, mine and others, on the margins, and little tiny fissures in peoples' faces. Whole universes in there.

Go look somewhere else for shooters who make trophies out of faces and figures they shoot from 200-300 feet away, then write some glib little epithet beneath the image on Flickr. Gawd knows there are enough of them around town.

I began this little piece with an introduction to my guardian angel (with large thanks to Warren Haynes of the ABB, A fave tune).

Here is the angel. I would not be standing here behind my camera today were it not for her.

۞

up, down, anywhere but in the middle

off the wagon, under the wheel again
all or nothing - never could do just a little
never could leave it alone
(Warren Haynes)

I am kind of 'borrowing' an idea from a buddy. Thanks for sparking me into action, Mike. We have previously talked about this whole notion. I never really did any thing about it, at least nothing that allowed me to cut the ties that bind with Flickr. Perhaps I can try that for a while and see how it feels.

I was going to go on and on about why I feel the need to do this, but I won't do that.

Instead I will post an image. I will put a new one up every few days as the feeling strikes. Perhaps I will put up more than one if I feel a burning desire to do so.

Along the way I may or may not talk about photography and equipment and light and magic and all that stuff. We'll see.

I don't have a clue why 'Come Dancing' by the Kinks has been rolling through my head while I wrote this little intro. It still is . . .

"Come dancing, come on sister, have yourself a ball
Don't be afraid to come dancing, it's only natural
Come dancing, just like the Pally on a Saturday
And all her friends will come dancing where the big bands used to play.

I will post one more shot to kick things off.