The Mark Velasquez Blog

"How do I know I'm in love?"

2011-04-28T17:54:00.000-07:00

It's always been my role in life to be the bent ear, the person to call when advice or objectivity is needed. Though the requirements of such a role can be exhausting at times, for the most part I've taken the job willingly in order to share some of the hard-earned perspective I've gained in my life. In this role, a friend who often seeks my advice asked me a seemingly simple question yesterday via text message: "How do you know when you're really in love with someone?"

I'd been asked this many times before, requiring several minutes to at least explain the complications and flaws of the question itself, but yesterday was different. After hesitating only briefly, I responded with the first thing that came to mind. It was a stream-of-consciousness idea that was so direct and profound it surprised even me, and continually so because the more I think about it today, the more it feels right. My response was this: "You know you're in love with someone when you are content within yourself and happy alone, yet know you would be happier with that person complicating your world." Now keep in mind, I'm single and have technically been so for quite a while. However, with the experiences I've had, both firsthand and by viewing countless successful and failed relationships, I knew that what I told her was perfectly accurate to describe the reality of what being In Love is.

Let's make things clear, Lust is easy. It's primal, raw, and emotional, no real thought or over-analysis required. Any animal can thrust. It's our very modern concept of having a soul mate that is at the heart of why Love became so much more complicated, starting in the twentieth century. Even up until the 1950s, the idea of having your spouse be the perfect mate, "The One," was still not universally accepted and often considered a bit silly. It wasn't until the 1960s, when free love made it socially acceptable to be casual and irresponsible about love, that the concept of searching until you found your perfect match really came into vogue, yet was still not any easier than it is today. As a society, we've almost completely lost the very real notion that making a commitment to love someone day-in and day-out takes compromise, sacrifice, and a lot of hard work. I've known many couples who married young and divorced shortly after. They always lamented how hard the reality of it was, how average things like taste in tooth paste brands, paying bills on time, and which family to spend holidays with made things harder than they ever imagined. These people were in love with the concept of love. It never occurred to them that their spouse was a separate entity with a personal set of likes and dislikes that not always corresponded with their own. They expected the wedding ring to officially sanction their love, never realizing that "happily ever after" was only the beginning of the story, not the end of it.

There is no prince on a horse and no fair maiden that needs rescuing. People don't fit into tidy little types that easily filter through on dating websites. The right person may be short and chubby and have horrible taste in clothes, their music may grate on your ears and you may never like the same movies. But people in a stable relationship can tell you: when it works, it works. There is no truly perfect person out there; finding someone to sincerely fall in love with is just a wonderful and mysterious confluence of events. No amount of thinking, worrying, or praying is going to make that person's arrival in your life occur any faster, if at all. Making a commitment to truly be in love with someone, to want to share your life with someone, is not easy. If it were, the lifetimes spent on these complicated emotions, documented in our culture's countless films, books, and songs, would be unrecognizable to us. Nor is it easy to conclude if and when we are finally and definitely in love. The old adage rings as true as any other answer: when you know, you just know.

Simply put, being in love is a choice. The people I know to be honestly in love are happily miserable and choose to be so. I've known former frat boys that spend sleepless nights tending to their sick kids so their wives can sleep. I've seen ex-party girls enjoy rushing home to make their husband's favorite meal while still thankfully able to get household chores done. These are not roles you dream about as children. Most of these people have constant frustrations of monetary and familial requirements which precede each of their individual hopes and goals from an earlier age. Still, every day, those people kiss their significant others goodbye and head off to a job they probably don't like. Though they are groggy and worrying about how they are going to pay the mortgage this month, all they can think of is the contentment they'll feel when they come home in the evening to the person they love, even though they'll probably get yelled at for forgetting something at the store. There are no romantic comedies about being this In Love. There is no television show centered around a loyal spouse who reliably does the dishes every night, no romance novels praising the couple that makes lunches for their kids before getting to bed at a late hour. These are the unsung heroes from the Battle of the Sexes, but these are the ones who have won and are winning. Being in love like this can sometimes look embarrassingly easy to the outside observer, but it is worth all of the hard work. In my opinion, this is the kind of love we should all be seeking, the kind that challenges us to be the best of ourselves. These are people who know they are in love. These sad, miserable bastards have my respect, my appreciation, and my envy.

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To read more about Modern Relationships, check out issue two of my publication, NSFW Magazine.

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Confessions of a Sleep-Deprived Photographer

2011-04-03T22:06:00.000-07:00

(This was written in the pages of Zink Magazine somewhere over the Midwest around 2 a.m. on a red-eye from NYC to LA in February 2010.)

I have these moments, as maybe all photographers do, when I am unfortunately without my chosen creative tool, my camera. Be it an unusual perspective or a special, candid moment in time, I know that specific instance will never be able to be recreated, as all truly real or great moments in life fail to be, and I am filled with regret that a beautiful thing could not have been preserved and shared.

The truth of the situation is that, even in a perfectly composed and technically proper image recording that moment, more often than not, no two-dimensional picture could ever capture the beauty, spectacle, and exact emotional mood I was in to have made that moment, and the supposed documentation of it for the viewer, as magical as actually living it would have.

I suppose this drive to document, and thus be able to share these special moments of life, has to do with a complicated mix of wanting to show or impress, wanting to not feel alone in the experiencing of something you felt was important. Either way, I feel robbed, and especially since, once I realize I will be unable to capture it because of lacking the proper equipment, I also immediately realize that I will probably forget the specific moment, which tends to always be the case.

"Could You Not Post That Photo?"

2011-02-21T15:02:00.000-08:00

My dear fans and loyal followers, who I appreciate more than words can convey, often don't realize just how much work it takes to get a woman to pose for me. Though I've been credited often by friends and models for putting strangers at ease quickly and effortlessly, it is a constant struggle. Being located in a small, conservative town, it is already difficult to locate attractive women to model normally, let alone with their clothes partially or completely removed.

Usually, my best photos are with the women I've developed close friendships with, which of course requires a lot of time together in order to develop trust and create images where the model looks truly at ease. Still, they may be reluctant to show too much, and even when they do, it only complicated the matter more. Since they know I deal mainly with web-postings, some of these women do not have online accounts and don't fear the easy circulation that such publication implies. Those incidents are rare. More often than not, my models more active on the internet have a myriad of personal rules and guidelines for how I may use their photos. It's always a compromise.

The restrictions can range from wanting their nipples Photoshopped out of a bra-less t-shirt photo to not being afraid of showing their vagina as long as their face is covered. I've had women hamming it up for the camera naked and posing spread-legged as they enjoyed every moment, only to refuse having any of the images see the light of day. Other times I'm forced to take a photo down days or even months later due to second thoughts, reactions from boyfriends, or an upset phone call from a model's mother.

Realize, this is not a complaint. In all of these cases, I always comply, not because they are my friends, but because it is the right thing to do. I was raised to believe that a person, especially women, have the right to have No mean No, whether it is in the bedroom or in front of a camera.

Don't get me wrong, if a model's restrictions are somewhat silly or based in self-consciousness, i.e. "my face looks fat in that photo," then I will calmly and politely reassure them that I think the image is worthwhile and post it anyway. Still, there are times when I wonder if all photographers have to deal with this constant stream of concern and compromise, of never feeling one hundred percent secure that the images they take are not subject to being veto-controlled by a third party.

And to the models of mine who may read this and think I am referencing them: I am. But don't worry, I still love you and you know I'd do anything for you and will continue to do so.

Alright, enough of that. On with the show.

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Check out the free previews to my personal publication, NSFW Magazine!
ISSUE 1: http://www.magcloud.com/browse/Issue/125976
ISSUE 2: http://www.magcloud.com/browse/Issue/160670

The Good Old Days

2010-11-03T15:24:00.000-07:00

(Sarah, 2010)

I've been awfully nostalgic lately. Times are tough right now, just about everyone can attest to that, but then again, if we're really honest with ourselves, things have always been tough in one way or another. I've always believed that being blind to the great complications of life, engaging in that innocence and naiveté so many people own day-to-day, is, of course, a much easier place to inhabit, but is that really where we want to be?

The realities of life have never been fair or easy, and though the recent economic crisis has hit most of the world fairly hard, I don't ever recall a time when people were consistently, fundamentally happy with everything. In especially the United States' highly politicized fear-mongering climate, it is far easier to sugarcoat the past and be fearful of the future. Hindsight is always 20-20, and when I sift through the twenty-four hour news cycle I am often shocked by the warm, glowing terms with which the past is discussed. Oddly, many of the loudest voices of fear and anger are the same people who vilified and demonized that same time period in the past as it was occurring.

The most common example cited: the 1950s. That period after World War II is often touted as a utopian age, when children in nuclear families grew up in happy homes occupied by a working father, a stay-at-home mother, and zero complications. None of the talking heads on television now will ever reference the open racism, back-alley abortions, or anti-Communist jingoism that alienated and, more often than not, caused great physical and philosophical harm to our society as a whole. Interestingly enough, not many people realize the word "utopia" derives from the Greek language, literally translated as "not a place," as in "somewhere that does not exist." Today, many politicians use the 1950s as a benchmark of what we need to get back to, yet they recite the same phrases that politicians have used for millennia. There are quotes from two thousand years ago of Roman senators decrying a need for their culture to get back to the ideals of "financial responsibility" and "family values." It appears the we as a species haven't evolved that much since the time of ancient conquests and the bacchanalia.

I believe all of this comes from a lack of perspective. The old lyric "you don't know what you've got till it's gone" pretty much sums up major aspects of human nature. In my case, I'm not nostalgic for the past, I'm nostalgic for the present. My own life is full of uncertainty, be it professional, personal, financial, and even spiritual. I can't say what is going to happen tomorrow, but I do know that I will eventually look back on these days and think fondly of the good moments, ignore the tough times, and wish I could be back where I currently am. The problems I am dealing with today, the stress and pressures, will have all been resolved and forgotten in a week or a month. It won't matter what rude e-mail I got, what driver cut me off, or what deadlines have been forced upon me. All I'll recall is the smiles on my nieces' faces, my nephew's first words, and all the crazy, silly situations I put myself in through my photography. Everything else is a waste of time and energy, and though that is a belief easier declared than practiced, we all need to be reminded that it is actually true.

The answer is simple: the reason we are all nostalgic for the past is because we know how it ended up. The Cuban Missile Crisis: resolved. The war in Vietnam: over. The turbulent 6Os: forgotten in a drug-addled haze. As a society, we're still here fighting and fucking and having backyard barbecues, just like we've always had. In the grand scheme of things, human life is "business as usual." I'm sorry to remind you, but there will always be uncertainty. Sure, life is not a video game, you don't get a second chance, but just try to appreciate life for what it is, not for what you'd like it to be. Do your best, take some risks, and get some sleep. Tomorrow is a new and unexpected day.

Size Matters?

2010-09-16T21:40:00.000-07:00

I can't tell you how many times people have derided me for the size of my models' waistlines. Adjectives like skinny, waifish, and even Anorexic have been used, often accompanied by a not-so-subtle accusation that those are the only kind of women that I desire to take photos of. Yes, the fashion and glamour industry does lend itself to smaller, leaner looking women, that is not a secret. Sex sells and I will be the first one to admit that thin bodies are what our society currently regards as the ideal form of attractiveness. In elaborately staged imagery I've often used those kinds of models to illustrate a point, using them in an ironic context in hopes of continuing a dialog about the industry as a whole. Whether you believe that or think that dialog was successful or not is something only you as the observer can judge.

Either way, please know that I personally love women of all shapes and sizes. Being a large person myself, and coming from a long line of heftier people, I've appreciated the beauty of curves and extra skin my whole life. I have sketch books full of fleshy, folded women confidently displaying themselves, whose bodies, you may or may not know, are far more fun and interesting to draw and paint than those of taut sinew and muscle. I've often tried to convince larger women to model in a revealing manner for me, getting excited by their initial bold and fearless interest. Unfortunately, when the time finally comes, these ladies always seem to back out with one excuse or another.

Consider my excitement then when I finally got to shoot the lovely and engaging Mockingbird Girl, whose real name will be withheld to protect the innocent. She is a well known model who has worked with very talented and high profile photographers for years, and after three separate attempts we finally managed to meet up in Brooklyn last month. Though our schedule was rushed due to the complications of life, Kacie and I spent a few hours with her on a Friday evening sharing stories, drinking Bulleit Whiskey, and of course, taking a few photos.

Her eccentric and complicated personal history was intriguing, hearing of her Persian ancestry and growing up all over the globe, tales of her family and weird modeling experiences, etc. The fact that all of that was delivered with her very sultry British accent while naked and sipping whiskey made the event only that much more amazing. She is the kind of woman who exudes an aura of sexiness without trying, that sensual appeal that can never be manufactured. She was funny, honest, self-deprecating, and completely comfortable, not just with herself, but with Kacie and I, which is always half the battle when working with a virtual stranger.

The rarity of finding a voluptuous woman who is comfortable posing for photos, let alone completely nude, is like winning the lottery, though I still wasn't one hundred percent satisfied with the situation. My two main regrets from that evening were the limited schedule and my lack of proper equipment. After Mockingbird Girl had gotten stuck so long in traffic, and with Kacie and I having a party to attend immediately after we got done, I continually felt rushed, trying to make the most of the time we did have. Also, due to the lateness of the hour, natural light was clearly ruled out, and having had to travel compactly to NYC, I was lacking any artificial light other than my small flash. True, a lack of professional equipment is never a deal breaker if you know what you're doing. However, I still wished I could have had a whole bevy of complicated lighting to make the special moment that much more extraordinary. Ah well, such is life.

Once we were done, we quickly helped carry her bags to her vehicle and all went our separate ways. Only a few days later, when Kacie and I had a bit of down time in Philadelphia, did I finally get a chance to look through the images we had shot that night. For the lack of creative lighting and rushed schedule, I found the bare bones images we captured together pretty intriguing. Maybe you think I'm biased or that I find the sheer novelty of the model alluring, but I don't think that's it. We captured something simple, sweet and special that night, and I for one look forward to finding an excuse for getting back to Brooklyn to work with her again soon.

Keep In Touch

2010-06-19T21:28:00.000-07:00

(Kacie Waits, 2010)

Though I consider myself to be a caring person and a decent friend, I will freely admit to being horrible about keeping in touch with people that I don't deal with in my daily life. It is a struggle that I have to actively work at, making little reminders to myself in order to let those that I care about in different states and countries know that I am thinking of them. To put it a simpler way, the phrase I've unintentionally subscribed to my whole life is "out of sight, out of mind," and I don't like it.

We've all had people come in and out of our lives, some of whom have names we can't remember, while others have names we wish we could forget. At some point you will run into these people again, whether at the store, on vacation, or dating your sister. So often I've had to be momentarily polite and then avoid their desire to reconnect as quickly as possible, never once feeling bad about not sharing their interests in rekindling our association.

To be even more blunt, I've never understood how having a shared experience with someone for a brief period, such as an academic class or working together at a part-time job, allows that person to pretend that they have a close relationship with you years later. Now that's not to say that people whose social lives revolve around work, school, or some other organization is a bad thing, because it isn't. However, if that's the only thing you have in common, I think it might be a bit silly to want to stay in contact to share stories of your grandkids thirty years later.

We've all lived diverse chapters in our lives, from attending schools in different states, working in many different job fields, and traveling in ever-changing social circles. There are a lot of great people that I always wished I could stay connected to, and there are three times as many that I wish I could avoid indefinitely.

So, with the dawn of life-consuming social networking sites, my fear of this "keep in touch" phenomenon has only been heightened. For a long time I was apprehensive about becoming fully engaged in sites like Facebook and MySpace, fearing that the only people that would find me were my disgruntled ex-girlfriends or the jealous boyfriends of past models. Surprisingly, I have been excited and inspired by finding people from my past who I truly enjoyed knowing back then or have sincerely missed from my life.

In the last three years, I've found people I've been searching for or have been thinking of for years. We've had dinners, worked on projects together, and, at the very least, been able to stay in touch with the aid of all of this amazing modern technology. Just today I shot family portraits for an old boy scout and high school friend who, up until two years ago, I hadn't heard from in over fifteen years. I've been lucky enough to see his son grow and change every time they come back to visit our home town. Even though we weren't and aren't the closest of friends, having that small piece of my past life, which I practically ignore and rarely think about, makes me feel more complete in a way I never knew was lacking. That is just one of at least a dozen examples I could cite, and I am curiously optimistic about who else might come out of the ether.

At best, maybe I'm becoming more mature and am able to handle more complex friendships and relationships than I ever have before. At worst, I've become nostalgic and am perhaps glossing over the past. Either way, I can't deny that it feels right.

Getting Ready For Summer

2010-06-03T18:07:00.000-07:00

Some will see this as an objectification of a woman. I see this simply as a study, a light test with water, which I've rarely ever used and feel the need to experiment with.

I enlisted Katie's help via text message. She gladly stopped by after a long day of work just now, a wide assortment of bathing suits awaiting approval in her bag. In total, we shot for no more than ten minutes in front of my garage. The whole time I tried to figure out the proper amount of water pressure, make sure she wasn't freezing, and constantly worried about electrocuting her with all the power cords I had laying in the new puddles forming in my driveway. After changing and briefly looking at the samples of what we got, she laughed, gave me a hug, and went home to cook dinner for her dad. She was maybe at my place for a total of twenty minutes, tops.

This is the typical kind of afternoon I have after spending the day working at my family burger restaurant, Tom's Take Out. Some people say my life is crazy and wild and fun, and I suppose from their perspective it is. From my point of view, I'm just trying to avoid becoming yet another clever, creative person in a small town who isn't making full use of their talent or artistic drive. It's a daily struggle, and I'm doing my best.

(To purchase a copy of my first photo book, please CLICK HERE!)

Don't Take This Personally

2010-04-21T17:29:00.000-07:00

(Jenna, 2010)

The other day I overheard a conversation that ended with a common exchange. One person said,"So that's how I feel, don't take it personally." The other responded, "How could I not take that personally?"

Whether it be from our siblings, opposing political parties, or a darker sense of humor, words and actions seem to be taken far too personally these days, which only seems to make life that much harder. What I've discovered is, aside from the rare jackass who goes to great lengths to be intentionally spiteful, most people's actions are based purely on self-serving reasons that have nothing to do with anybody else. Let me repeat that: the actions of others do not revolve around anyone else, and that includes all of us. A person reacts to situations and makes choices because they are thinking of their best interest, their own happiness and self-preservation that they have every right to seek out. Sure, you don't have to like it, and you may not even agree with their choice, nor do you really have to support it. That is your right. On the other hand, you are also not allowed to be individually slighted by another's decisions nor feel personally attacked.

It happens daily. We've all seen a perceived offense get interpreted badly and have witnessed the horrible repercussions that come from reacting to it. Greed, spite, jealousy; in my neck of the woods it is simply called Drama. I'm sorry to say that in my youth I gained experience on both sides of this topic but now go out of my way to avoid it every chance I get.

I grew up as a Catholic and a Mexican, both groups that, though not the original creators of Guilt, are today still two of the largest manufacturers of it. While away at college so many years ago, I learned that nothing is really personal, and if you take it so, the guilt you try to project on others in order to validate your wrongly perceived feelings only makes things worse.

A lot of my views on the world have to do with perception. By simply perceiving a situation differently you can easily alter it, dealing with any problem or challenge in a faster, more logical way. By taking out emotion, your choices become clear and easy to defend, and thus your possibility of feeling guilt diminishes greatly.

Many have told me that they can't be as emotionless as I am in situations, but they have it wrong. I'm not a very cool or collected person. That I can remain calm in just about any given situation doesn't mean I'm not a raging torrent of highs and lows, it just means I can mask my reactions better. I have very strong opinions on any topic you can come up with, but I just happen to know when to pick my battles.

If all the anger, frustration, and bitterness generated from taking things personally was turned into enthusiastic support and positive inspiration, we as a society might get a lot more done and finally see some real, tangible change for the better. Why be petty? If others seem to be living their life to a fuller potential than you are, it should not be your goal to tear them down, but to push yourself to a higher level. If your lover rejects you, it wasn't meant to be, so move on accordingly. If your co-worker got the promotion you feel you deserved, work harder or find a better job.

I know this is all easier said than done, but the attempt alone is important in these matters. Sadly, what bothers me most is that a lot of people don't even want to try, they are happy with the status quo. Thankfully I never am. Sometimes my high standards leave a lot of room for disappointment, but I tend to keep that to myself as well. All I'm saying is we as a society need to loosen up, work a little harder, and keep on truckin'. At the end of the day, may we all lie in bed with the notion that we were our best selves, and that will be good enough. Feel free to take that personally.

10 Days of Kacie

2010-03-16T21:38:00.001-07:00

Coming home from a weird day at work and a long afternoon of running errands, I was pleasantly surprised by my home's odd transformation. As some of you may or may not know, I choose to have my little one bedroom duplex convey both a minimalist attitude and a Spartan aesthetic, baring very few decorations and almost nothing on the plain, vanilla, stucco walls. In my absence today my friend and model, Kacie, who is visiting for three weeks, had done some work. She had vacuumed, rearranged my entire kitchen drawer system, washed all of my dishes, reorganized my cabinets, decorated my window sills with bottles and flowers, bought a cilantro plant, and even had a bowl of freshly sliced oranges sitting on my living room table waiting for me. I found myself smiling, speechless.

If you haven't followed any of my previous postings about her, I stayed with Kacie in Philadelphia for one interesting evening of my cross country trip last summer. We had such a fun, productive time that we've kept in contact and created a pretty solid friendship. Much to my delight, she decided to come out to visit me in California for a few weeks in hopes of more good times.

Since her arrival last Monday we've shot almost five thousand images all over the central coast including beaches, a winery, rural train tracks, old houses, bars, farmer's markets, and cow pastures. We've had dinner with my family, played with my nieces, danced until midnight with some of my other models, talked for hours, and have drunken a fair amount of whiskey. So far I'd say her visit has been a complete success. I'm pleased to have also been able to make good on all the promises I had made to aid in her comfort here, such as getting the kinds of food she likes, touring places she'd like to go, etc.

Though she appears in photos as a soft, vintage pin-up model, I have made much about how outspoken she can be, how strong and almost macho she comes off in real life. Essentially, she's your typical straight talkin' South Philly broad. In preparation for her arrival I have described her to my friends as your typical tough guy-friend who just happens to inhabit the body of an attractive woman. Best of all, she's not only an excellent model, but the fact that she’s got her photography degree doesn’t hurt at all, leading to us having a wonderful shorthand for a myriad of conversations.

When Kacie goes down to LA for a few days next week I am sure we'll both enjoy the little break apart, for anyone in close quarters for too long can get tiresome. Still, I am extremely surprised and impressed by just how easily the whole encounter has been. I will be the first one to admit that I've never been at my best with many roommates, but the transition from bachelor photo-factory to a warm, inviting home has been fairly seamless. I'm learning a lot.

As I type this I am sipping on a glass of orange juice and whiskey with some muddled orange slices she just made me. We're listening to Beethoven while she makes stir fry in my kitchen and dances around. It smells wonderful. I have no complaints with my life right now.

I will leave you with a few of my favorite images from her visit so far, all of which came essentially straight out of the camera:

The Audrey Hepburn Look.

Kacie is a Lady.

Her "gypsy look" at Pismo Beach.

Quick snap shot while she gets ready.

Kacie Likes Ribs.

The Oso Flaco stare.

Hugging the wall.

And lastly, one of my favorites.

I look forward to shooting thousands of more images in the next few days, stay tuned.

Don't Talk to Strangers

2010-03-01T21:45:00.000-08:00

To my continued amazement, I have been fortunate to travel a lot these last several years. However, seeing many unknown faces and not getting a chance to talk in depth to most of them is one of the only two regrets I have about those excursions. Going through my archives while preparing to update my various websites for an important summer of self-promotion, I've been surprised to find so many simple and straight-forward images of complete strangers. Though I'm not known for my naturally lit images of real-life documentation, I usually find meeting new people and taking their photos far more rewarding than most other types of work I've done.

So, here are a few of my favorites, I apologize if you've seen some of them before. These are all people who stopped for only a moment to let me capture their likeness, but who I didn't really say much to and certainly have never seen again. They are strangers to me in every sense of the word. Interestingly, I've seen their faces enough in my archives that if I were to run into them again, I would probably freak them out by engaging them like a long lost friend. These are in no particular order:

"Menudo Guest", Pauma Valley Indian Reservation, CA 2009

"Paul Stanley from Kiss", Santa Maria, CA 2007

"Los Luchadores", Los Angeles, CA 2008

"Abortion Opponent", Santa Maria, CA 2008

"Civil War Reenactor", Gettysburg, PA 2009

"Cuban Posers", Cocoa Beach, FL 2009

"Tourist Dork", San Francisco, CA 2006

"Head Flower Girl", Paso Robles, CA 2008

"Not-So-Innocent Girls", Philadelphia, PA 2009

"Caribbean Mother and Child", Punta Uva, Costa Rica, 2004

"Neighborhood Playas", Philadelphia, PA 2009

"Burlesque Dancer/Wrestler", Los Angeles, CA 2008

"Mennonite Boy Cutting Grass in the Rain", Intercourse, PA 2009

"Polar Bear Swimmers", Coney Island, NY 2010

"Photographers deal in things which are continually vanishing and when they have vanished there is no contrivance on earth which can make them come back again."
- Henri Cartier-Bresson

Coming to Terms

2010-02-21T10:41:00.000-08:00

(Somewhere over Nevada, 2010)

My last eight days had been spent in sheer exhilaration. Though the last year has been admittedly remarkable in regards to just about every aspect of my life, the previous week still would probably win out for the largest amount of concentrated overall fun. I had been in New York City at dance parties, visited long desired museums, and met my artistic and musical heroes who volunteered their cell phone numbers. I spent time with dear friends, experienced more than my fair share of laughter and drunken hours, and above all, engaged in a much needed lack of responsibility. This made what my brother affectionately refers to as the "Year of Mark 2.0" seem to be an almost real and tangible thing. So here I was, not twenty four hours after returning to Santa Maria and reality, with an eighteen year old girl whose doctors give at most five years to live, crying in my arms on my faded second-hand couch while I attempted to answer her unanswerable questions about the fairness of life.

I've only known Jenna for a little over three months, but in that time she has shown me her joy, passion, and sweetness while never holding back the honesty of her flaws, fears, and regrettable past deeds. We spent a fun afternoon catching up and sharing photos, taking in a late lunch and frozen yogurt. We joked, discussed future plans, just hung out. It was nice. Having suffered with her illness for most of her life, she is strong and brave in a way most people will never have to experience until they are frail and grey. On this day however, she either finally felt comfortable enough with me or was too emotionally tired to contain her tears anymore.

Personally, I've almost completely suppressed my ability to cry in any real world setting. It takes a corny or courageous plot point of some artificial entertainment source to finally let me allow myself the five second burst of tears I manage to eek out from time to time. After such an emotionally charged previous week, on the plane ride back I could sense a good fifteen second cry coming soon. With Jenna in my arms I really wanted to cry, especially in those long moments of silence when the only sound in the room was her quiet sobbing muffled by my t-shirt and the bumping old-school jams of low-riders cruising by. But I didn't and still haven't.

I supposed I could talk at length about her horrific personal ordeals with men, the boxes of mandatory pills doctors have prescribed, her past experiences living in a wheel chair and now with the occasional use of a cane. There is too much to tell and I've put off writing about it for weeks. I want to share these stories, show the life that she has given me permission to display, but frankly, I'm not yet ready for all that. It is still too new to me and I don't yet know how to feel about it. Maybe these paragraphs are the first steps on that road.

Jenna and I have many plans for the future, both creatively and socially, for as long as her health holds up. I want to show her things that I think she might enjoy or find important. The questions she's asked about life being fair, about the how's and why's of things, can only be answered with the same directness my parents thankfully gave me: That's just the way it is. Life isn't fair, bad things happen to good people, and things might not ever get better. All we can do is live for the moment, take as much pleasure in life as possible without hurting others in the process, and hope that the memories we leave behind give comfort in some way to others when we're gone. The hardest thing for me is that I want to convince her that these hard lessons get easier to accept as time goes by, but sadly she doesn't have the amount of time it takes to come to terms with all of it, and that's the most unfair thing of all.

The doctors say her physiology is that of someone in their sixties, and at the rate she's going she will have a fatal heart-attack before the age of twenty-three. Doctors have been wrong before. Unfortunately, no amount of prayer, luck, homeopathy or goodwill can make a difference in how to deal with such a situation the way acceptance can. Just thinking about Jenna can keep me up at night, filling me with sadness, hope, anger, regret, and joy. In the brief time I've known her I already feel changed, and for that I can't thank her enough. Maybe some day all of this will make sense, but the real tragedy is that deep down I know it never, ever will.

Art Appreciation

2010-02-14T09:50:00.000-08:00

Neff, Noah and I braved the snow to attend the Brooklyn Museum's Kiki Smith opening on Friday. Neff got in due to Noah's extra ticket while I was left to my own devices. Using my fake, photoshopped "press pass", which I had created to finagle my way into the Michael Jackson trial back in 2005, I easily convinced the matrons manning the front counter that I should be given entrance, and tada! Lamb ball hors d'oeuvres for me and free beer for my cohorts.

We saw the show, shmoozed with various friends and acquaintances, and of course I had my photo taken with Kiki, trying not to act like a silly school girl meeting one of the Jonas Brothers. I was pleased to see children at the show, a rare sight in the New York City area on a whole, let alone in an art world setting. There was a stroller here and there amidst the large-headed sculptures while Obama-voting parents held their toddlers up to the chine-collé prints, hoping to pass their love for this work onto the next generation.

In one of the rooms, we spied a boy of about seven or eight sitting on the floor of the crowded gallery amidst all the mingling adults. He had taken a liking to one of Smith's sculptures hanging from the ceiling and was intent on drawing it in this little book. Neff, Noah and I all were intrigued to see the kid in action, but before I could take a photo of him in the cramped space he was bolting up to proudly show his dad, an artist Noah turned out to know personally.

About half an hour later we were done exploring the museum and were headed off to find some dinner and a well-needed drink, hopping into a quick-filling elevator. The last people to get in were the little boy who had been drawing and his parents. We stood fairly quiet in the elevator as the boy reviewed his night's work, clearly seeming disappointed. Finally he looked to his dad and said, loud enough for all of us to hear, "It took me so much time and I got such little pictures!" At this point we all smiled, and Noah commented on the boy's frustration for all of us, saying sympathetically, "Now you're thinking like an artist."

It was a light, fun moment that unfortunately illustrated a real frustration for creative people, whether they haven't reached double digits or are collecting social security. We all easily saw ourselves in that boy's disappointing realization, when this thing you start out doing for fun finally begins to feel like it is real work and thus less enjoyable.

This week spent in New York has been truly great in so many unnameable ways. Thankfully, in the last four years I've come full circle in my sensibilities, from entirely forsaking the art world and what it stands for to relenting passed the self-deprecating concept that there might actually be a place in there somehow for me. Either way, I'm ready for the next step, excited to get back to work, and look forward to the challenges from new realizations to come.

June 25, 2009: The Breaking Point

2010-02-06T14:31:00.000-08:00

("Onikaa Strikes Back!"2009)

It was the twenty-eighth day of what was beginning to feel like my never-ending cross country trip. I was leaving East Lansing, Michigan, pleasantly impressed with my model and host, Onikaa. She had proven to not only be as insane a model as she had promised, but also a wonderful host. In the one night I was there, she provided a great home-cooked meal, lively entertainment with her family and friends, and a fair amount of alcohol. Of course I hadn't slept very well on the floor of her spare room, but as usual by 9AM I was back on that ceaseless road. It was only a day after I had infamously been detained at the US/Canadian border, though so much had transpired since then that the incident already seemed like ancient history.

The level of exhaustion I had willingly pushed myself to at that point was as maddening as it was humorous. Still I continued, meeting necessary deadlines to fit the schedules of those left on my itinerary. All I could think about was home, my own bed, and not having the uncertainty of where I might lay my head that night. Choosing to listen to the radio, I welcomed the irregular DJs and weird local commercials that would keep me more focused than the drone of a familiar iPod playlist. The rest of Michigan didn't take too long, the northern tip of Indiana was pretty painless, and I was so groggy that the traffic of Chicago seemed like a pleasant break from the constantly shifting scenery. It also felt good later that day to cross Wisconsin and Minnesota off my list of states never visited, though I'll freely admit that I'm unable to remember anything specific about either one. I felt a constant rush against time, and afraid to risk slowing down for fear of losing what momentum I had left.

My main memory of that day was the endless entertainment reports. First was the report of the passing of Farrah Fawcett, then an hour later the all consuming media blitz reporting the death of Michael Jackson. Though I'd been the happiest and chubbiest Mexican kid on my block to wear a single white glove in the mid-80s, my current burnt out state left me feeling more surprised than disappointed, focused more on the task at hand than Pop Culture's loss. Almost immediately after hearing the news, as I put more and more tired miles behind me, I received modern society's version of a public eulogy: the dirty text-messaged joke. Some were just about Jackson, others wittily tried to incorporate Farrah's loss to colon cancer as well. I'm usually a loyal fan of a good off-colored joke, but given my emotional state at the time I could only think "ooh, too soon."

By nightfall I was almost falling asleep at the wheel. Then, like a shock to my system, an intriguing sign caught my eye: The Corn Palace. I had reached Mitchell, South Dakota, almost blindly breezing passed it as I had everywhere else that day, but my curiosity was piqued. I had heard of this legendary home of "Corn-as-Art" for years, and though I surely could have rested conformably on my death bed having never visited, I was glad for the excuse to stop. In my haze I almost missed the exit, having to dangerously skirt across several lanes at once to safely clear the off-ramp. The Corn Palace, surrounded on all four sides by its entertaining corn husk mosaics of historic sites, was a pleasant ten minute deviation that woke me up enough to carry on for a few more desperate hours.

By this time it was after 11PM and my sore body's only goal was to cover as much ground as possible while maintaining my sanity. During the entire trip I was averaging about 4 hours of sleep a night, some in hotel rooms and nice spare rooms, but many more in strangers' makeshift guest areas. One night it would be a mattress on the floor, the next a sunken velvet couch or a small child's bed. The funniest part was that I inflicted all of this upon myself. As I look back on it many months later, I must admit I really, truly enjoyed the experience, though at the time I might not have agreed. But 1:30AM, I was done. Still an hour outside of my intended destination of Rapid City, the site of Mount Rushmore, my vehicle was the only light in a far-reaching black horizon. I had covered about twenty percent of the length of the country in one day under the strain of exhaustion, and I didn't know how much more I could take. Finally, like a beacon of hope, I was greeted by a closed gas station's illuminated marquee as I sped over a slight grade. In what felt like an eternity, I slowly pulled alongside the building to check the security of the surrounds, decided I didn't care, parked, threw my seat back, and fell asleep immediately.

I awoke in what felt like just a few minutes, my whole body aching and unexpectedly shivering. In my sleep I must have covered myself with the thin, white robe worn by my models during breaks from physically revealing photo shoots, but it just wasn't enough to keep me warm. With my eyes throbbing and head spinning, I couldn't understand why the sun had already begun to rise over the flat landscape. It appeared to be one of the loveliest sights I had witnessed in years, or at least that was the perception through my sore, crusted-over eyes.

Reacting solely through force of habit, I reached to the open camera bag on my passenger seat and blindly slipped my hand through the camera strap, knowing what I needed was attached to it. I clumsily reached to open the driver's side door, falling out onto the asphalt in the cold morning air like a bumbling drunk, instinctively slinging my camera over my shoulder in one fluid motion for its protection. Attempting to stand like a baby fawn on newborn legs, I inadvertently slammed my face into the thick layer of dust that had been building up on my truck for weeks. Steadying myself as best I could, I awkwardly took two more steps toward the back of the vehicle, again losing my balance and hitting the side of the dirty truck. I remember sorely leaning there for a moment, actively seeking muscle memories to relearn the concept of bipedal stability, wiping my eyes in a desperate attempt for any sort of clarity. When I finally reached the back bumper, I placed a precarious knee for balance and fired my camera wildly at the sunrise, adjusting the zoom lens to shoot as wide a scene as possible in a vain attempt to capture anything worthwhile.

Once my brain registered some unknown feeling of accomplishment, I stumbled back, swinging my camera back into its bag. I fell back into the comparative warmth of the truck's cab and onto the still-reclined seat, slamming the door behind me. Reaching for my cell phone to check the always important time, I saw it was already 5:17AM, which for some reason led me to briefly whimper unintelligibly. It was at that moment I made the unusual decision to allow myself to fall back asleep, which I did for a necessary and undisturbed four hours. It was that simple, and I felt relieved.

I knew finally that I had reached my physical breaking point, but I was also thankfully aware that it could only get better. When I did eventually wake up hours later I felt ready to finish what I had started weeks before. I had seen so much and traveled so far, but I was ready to be done. It was the beginning of the end and I was finally on my way home.

Forsaking All Others

2010-01-01T17:48:00.000-08:00

He's one of the goofiest guys I've ever known, a dorky "white trash" kid with nothing more to offer a woman than sincerity and a good heart, which has always been about enough in my opinion. She is the eldest child of a very old-fashioned, working class Mexican family, the daughter they had pinned a lot of their hopes for the future on. Her family has never really approved of their three year relationship, with the language barrier being the smallest of the numerous handicaps to overcome. In spite of the dissension, the couple finally got married last weekend, roping me into being the lucky photographer for the festivities.

Neither the ceremony nor the after-party would have been described as formal or extravagant, with the reception being held at the groom's family home. The six-foot subs laid out on the pool table beneath the collection of Budweiser memorabilia still didn't prepare me for the joke wedding cake topper of a plastic bride dragging her squeamish groom to an unwanted future. Though I had been terribly reluctant to be there at all and remained unenthusiastic the entire time, I did my job well and in hindsight I'm very glad I was able to witness the spectacle.

Love, passion, overcoming odds, reality over desire, and destiny versus dumb luck are all topics that occupy my thoughts most of the time. Even with the palpable tension that day, dirty looks across family lines, and the groom's mother as disturbingly and maniacally overwhelmed with excitement as much as the bride's father was miserably uncomfortable, I found an inspiring sense of truth and beauty amidst the chaos. There in the 20' by 30' basement "reception hall", surrounded by the tenuously taped ceiling balloons, with the DJ blaring loud Spanish Banda music, complete with colored light show and smoke machine, the couple reminded us all in their two minute dance what the occasion was about.

They laughed and kissed and cried, whispering in each others' ears despite the maelstrom of both real and perceived distractions in the room. For that very brief time they illustrated what the whole concept of these kinds of ceremonies are about: the most optimistic sense of Hope. Of course it only lasted as long as the groom's mother could prevent herself from interrupting, beer in hand, to take over the dance floor. Still, it made an impact, if only on me. They were finally together, and no matter what vocal or unspoken objections anyone might have had that day, these two people were emotionally and now legally committed to each other. Whether blissfully ignorant of what the future holds for them or willful, they had at least ventured to take that first step on the path of a life together, and in this day and age you have to at least respect that.

All told, it was the most awkward, uncomfortable family gathering I had experienced since my extended family's 1990 reunion was abruptly ended by a drunk cousin picking a fight with the band leader. Experience has proven that even the strongest of relationships can not always hold up against the kind of countless obstacles these two young people will have to tackle together. All that they have is their promise to each other and the hope that they each can deliver. I, for one, wish them all the luck and happiness possible. Here's hoping they make it.

This Year

2009-12-30T15:24:00.000-08:00

(Vintage Bed, 2008)

This year was one that will stand out for the rest of my life, the kind of year you reference more often than others when telling stories of lessons learned, uncertain times, miles traveled, and amazingly unusual experiences. This year I met more new faces than I have in a long time and learned more about myself than I was aware I needed to.

In the last couple of years I have made my life much more of an open book, expanding my web presence and what I'm willing to admit about myself with various blogs, profiles, etc. Though I am a very private person, overall I think that it has been a positive experience in forcing myself to just put more of who I am out there. I'm not that bizarre of a person, don't have much to hide or many demons to conquer. The phrase I've used before is that "I'm just a simple guy trying to do my best." However, that isn't necessarily true.

Yeah, I'm a pretty decent person, but I don't try as hard as I should. Also, to be perfectly honest, I'm not that simple, either. When it gets down to it, I'm a pretty complicated guy, but thankfully what I want and need day-to-day are simple enough to not be too difficult for others. That said, just being easy to be around doesn't make you a good person. Though I don't really believe in the concept of "new year's resolutions", my goal is to do enough in the next coming year to feel like I'm being a better person. I don't think I'm aware of just how daunting of a challenge that might be.

Honestly, I don't know where I'll be this time next year. My guess is still living in Santa Maria near my family, doing what I do, hopefully a little more successful, hopefully retaining the perspective I currently live with. Listening to some others, however, the sky could be the limit. We shall see. No matter where I am headed, I just wanted to take a second to record my current view of things, give a nod to those new faces that stood out from the rest this year, some love to the loyal family and friends who have helped me along my journey so far, and a wish for all the best for you in the future.

Let's make 2010 a good one, shall we?

------------------
Here are a few of my other links:
My Twitter: For updates of new photo postings and unnecessary flippant observations.
My Tumblr: I reserve it for a bit more risque imagery illuminated with mainly mopey tales and lyrics.
My newer Flickr account: Contains many photos and my inspiration for them.
My older Flickr account: A censored profile with lots of photos, more risque images, and a whole lot of descriptions.
My ModelMayhem: A website for finding models in various locations around the country.

"Dear Santa..."

2009-12-24T21:05:00.001-08:00

("Katie West's Pigeons" 2009)

After careful consideration I think I've finally narrowed down my Christmas list. This in no way means that these items are the only things I would like to have, but these are the things I could most immediately make the best use of. Here they are in no particular order:

-A solid ten hours of uninterrupted sleep
-Thicker hair in the front
-Thinner hair on my back
-A Fujifilm Instax Mini 7s
-Much better timing when entering peoples' lives
-Higher quality clown noses
-Peace in the Middle East. AGAIN.
-For this unfortunate knot in my left hand to go away
-A muse who prefers being naked but doesn't feel the need to be
-An intern who actually knows the things I need them to know
-Less "eye-baggage"
-Peace on Earth
-Good Will towards men
-Did I already mention the Instax?
-An in-house barber
-For that one guy to just stop with the nonsense already
-For that one girl to just chill out already
-A dictionary on my cell phone
-New models with no tattoos
-Old models with more tattoos
-More curiosity and less concern

I realize many, if not all of these are impossible to acquire, but even the attempt is nice. Sometimes it really is the thought that counts most. However, I hear Amazon is having a sale on the Instax...

Like a Piece of Meat

2009-12-21T17:47:00.000-08:00

Many over the years have called me a pornographer, a misogynist, or simply an objectifier of women. Having more respect for women than I do for myself, I've always been bothered by this while also trying to not take it too personally. I know who I am and what my intentions are in my photography, so if people don't get it, that is just their biased opinion. Thankfully, all of the women in my life trust me and respect most, if not all of the projects I work on and those who model for me love working with me on these projects.

Unfortunately, I think I am the exception to the rule. It doesn't take more than a few moments looking at sites like ModelMayhem.com to realize that the majority of people who call themselves photographers are little more than horny guys wanting to see women pose in bathing suits or less. I can't tell you how many horror stories I have heard from models who have had photographers grope or attack them during vulnerable moments of a photo shoot. The modeling industry is just a microcosm of course, the tip of the despicable iceberg of countless unnameable horrors that women have to deal with daily due to certain males' lack of self-control. Just look up the statistics of sexual assaults in this country alone, or the fact that at least one in three women serving in the military are raped or sexually assaulted today. I can't really say I expect things to change, as human nature can never really be denied, though I'd love to see it at least try to evolve.

As a self-affirmed mama's boy and an uncle of nieces, I can't avoid thinking about these things, especially lately/ At the same time though I am sure my images are seen as only adding to the problem. Maybe that is correct, perhaps these images I present only contribute to the continued objectification of women. No matter what someone's intentions are when creating something, how that thing is understood by the majority matters much more. I'm not really sure anymore, but I'm trying to figure it out.

Shades of Grey

2009-11-29T12:02:00.000-08:00

This week someone told me that I make a lot of declarative, definitive statements regarding most matters in the world and in how I perceive things to work, especially in these tough times. They didn't say it was a bad thing, just that it was unusual in this day and age, and how it was refreshing overall. Of course I was aware that I have very strong opinions about many topics, but I hadn't been called on it in a while and it got me thinking again about why I am this way.

It's no secret that I am an idealist, that I believe things should be a certain way and that I do my best to help anywhere I can along those goals. I'm sure many of my formative years reading comic books, where the line between offensive villains and defensive heroes was always clearly defined didn't help my idealized thought process. Nor did stories of knights, whip-wielding archaeologists, and George Bailey help in my perceptions of doing what needs to be done to serve "a just cause".

Still, I am left uneasy with the concept that I am a definitive person, that my opinions are absolute and unwavering. Yes, the notions of absolute "right" and "wrong" would be great if they were always clear and easy to define. However, as we all know the real world does not necessarily work in such a clear cut manner. Unfortunately, in the real world decisions are often made through reluctant compromise where sometimes, most times, no one really wins in the end, or at least not the "good guys".

I am abundantly aware of what shades of grey consume us on any given day, but that doesn't mean I have to be satisfied with them. We all make concessions every day to make the path easier, to lighten the load, to make others feel better, or when we are just too tired to put up a fight. It's natural, and in these tough economic times, people are even more afraid to stand up and take a risk. It is completely understandable, and if you don't get that, then you either haven't been watching closely or are untouched by the changing times.

The countless shades of grey that consume the world we all inhabit seem to fluctuate between lighter and darker shades depending on the weather, who is in power, what news network you watch, the intensity of your headache that day, and how much sleep you got the night before. Life isn't easy, but since when has it ever been? We have all done things at some point that we aren't proud of or that we regret in those quiet moments when the kids are asleep and the dog hasn't been fed yet, but that's okay, too.

All that said, the only thing that really bothers me about all of the struggles and uncertainties today is the lack of hope I see in people. A lot of people I know want things to get better but go through their days with a sincere disbelief that things can ever get better. Okay, maybe in certain instances they are correct, but no one ever lived a good life and nothing ever got better by thinking the worst. So sure, I freely admit that I may not always be the most positive person out there, but the one ideal I will always cling to is hope. That can never be a bad thing.

"The Little Things"

2009-11-25T16:04:00.000-08:00

(Tom's Take Out Calendar, November 2009)

So much of what makes us individuals is actually a string of small traits and subtle interests gleamed from others. Catch phrases, shared movies, television shows and books, certain ways we like our tea or the way we dress, all of these things stem from the influence of other people in our lives, even if they are only there for a fleeting moment.

Having lived what I see now as a somewhat sheltered life, much of the little things I've gotten into, words I often use, and inspirations that have enhanced my everyday life have come from places I am almost unaware of. These are all little gifts that I otherwise would never have known if not for someone's personal outside example. These small things have brought so much joy and comfort, and thus have helped make me who I am today, that there is no possible way I could repay the myriad of people who have guided me to this path.

With Thanksgiving Day imminent, I thought I'd take a second and make a list of as many things as possible that I never liked, words I never used, or attitudes I never appreciated until someone personally influenced me. Some of these things I actively and vocally decried, disavowed, or just plain wrote-off as dumb, useless, silly, or evil for some childish notion of the past, or simply never thought about at all. They are, in no particular order:

-the necessity and over-use of cell phones and all of their functions
-the love of certain consumables, including Ethiopian food, boba tea, edamame, tofu, balsamic vinegar and oil, udon noodles, sushi, and more
-the ease and functionality of digital photography, the fixed 50mm lens, UV filters
-the awareness and appreciation of "Alternative" music of the early to mid-'90s
(i.e. Pixies, Built to Spill, Soul Coughing, etc.)
-the awareness and appreciation of contemporary "Indie" music
(i.e. The Mountain Goats, The National, Neutral Milk Hotel, etc.)
-the ability to use Photoshop, Mac computers, etc.
-shooting in "RAW"
-the appreciation of plain white (not color-gelled) lights in photography
-a slightly more open-minded perception of certain drugs and harmless, though technically illegal activities
-being forced to go out after dark to socialize
-openness in discussing taboo subjects, including masturbation, bodily functions, personal nudity and bodily issues, etc.
-appreciation for "pin-up" styled imagery
-being able to ask for and accept a hug, neck and back rub, and a little bit of help now and again
-preferring a functional pick-up truck to some sporty, fashionably smaller vehicle
-taking the time to appreciate people who my first reaction would be negative of, including those unusual or questionable interests, body modification, personal associations, etc.
-the use of laptop computers in public
-using iPod vehicle adapters
-an almost complete lack of fear about taking a financial risk versus having an amazing experience
-appreciation of alcohol in its various forms (except beer), mainly whiskey, wine and tequila
-my overuse of the word "crazy" when describing something unusual
-the spiritual guidance of gurus such as Robert Smith, Iggy Pop, Lou Reed, Mike Doughty, Peter Gabriel, others
-being forced to use MySpace, Facebook, and Flickr.com, which led to amazing things and people entering my life

I am sure there are countless others, but these are the ones that have sprung to mind recently. With that said, I still have a long way to go. I find that I'm still painfully set in my ways in many regards, but I'm trying. To those who know me really well, honestly, truly, I'm trying. To all the Americans, have a Happy Thanksgiving, to the rest of the world, Happy Thursday!

"No one knows how love works."

2009-11-08T17:59:00.000-08:00

I really enjoy Mark Morford's columns. He's insightful, witty, and pretty damn honest. Here is an article that I had cut out and taped in an old sketch book two years ago. I couldn't have said it better myself.

NO ONE KNOWS HOW LOVE WORKS
Mark Morford
San Francisco Chronicle
July 25, 2007

I am not married. I have never, to the best of my knowledge, been married.

I do not have any children of which I am right now aware. I am, in fact, recently single again for the first time in many years. Also: no mortgage. No debt. No daily array of behavioral meds (yet). No significant or particularly dangerous skeletons - none that can speak or call the CIA or reveal the location of the photographs buried on my hard drive, anyway.

This is a weirdly fascinating position to be in, and not only because many of my long-coupled friends think I must've won some sort of amazing social lottery, with the prize being a debauched free-for-all of sybaritic adventure.

No, when you're single and you've finally made it past the age when you've felt both love's deepest tongue probings and also its most random horror-flick slashings, what it means, at least for me, is that you get to become this odd sort of sounding board - a blank slate for love's warped potential, a reason for others to extrapolate on the nature of love and life and sex and how difficult/wonderful/impossible it all really is.

Which is merely another way of saying, I am learning something. Or rather, relearning. Or rather, knowing something everyone sort of knows but no one really talks all that much about because it's so damn obvious and also painful and fraught and wonderful, pounded back into my thick skull in a delightfully unexpected way.

Here is the big lesson, the thing that keeps coming at me, again and again and again: No one has the slightest clue how to make love work.

I know. Shocking. But truly, it's weirder that you might think.

See, singlehood at my pseudo-mature age can be a time of profound cleansing, of enjoying the moment as you ready for the new, of trying to figure out just what you're all about and what you really want and how to go about getting it, or not getting it, or letting it all go and not attaching to it so that it may find you, in the healthiest and sexiest and most honest way possible.

And so, you look around. And you ask. And you get feedback, comments, perspectives from all those in various stages of lovedom around you.

(Very few of my circle are single, and if they are, they're almost certainly seeking that special one to make it all make sense.) And that feedback ain't what it used to be. If it ever was.

For every happily married couple I know (and I do know a few), there are three more who are confused and tense and battling all sorts of doubt and crisis and regret. For every wedding announcement, there are two more separations. For every guy I know who's tremendously happy to be settled, there's another who wishes he could've had "just one more year" of unbridled freedom.

It goes on. For every woman I know who simply can't wait to have kids and who tears up in front of a newborn and whose biological clock is ticking like Dick Cheney's pacemaker in a gay fetish dungeon, there's another who has quietly realized that she should maybe never have become a mother.

Couples you think were rock solid and perfect have fallen apart, screamingly. Couples you thought wouldn't last a year have made it to 10 and show no signs of slowing. Couples who got together in college and were miserably mismatched took a decade off and had lots of sex with other people and then got back together and it's now the perfect, true thing. More or less. Unless it's not.

See, at a certain point, all the variants become so astounding, so dizzying, so universal, that you finally realize (yes, for the 1,000th time) there is no rule. There is no pattern. The exceptions are the rule. There is no approach that, overall, seems to work for most people most of the time. There's not even a hint of a possibility of a whisper of a rule, and anyone who tries to tell you differently, be it a church or a parent or a relationship guru, is, to put it gently, astoundingly full of it.

This is why God laughs. This is why the Fates roll their eyes and belch.

Because you think you have this crude set of boundaries and guidelines that you insist you will live by as you head into the uncharted waters of love and sex and attraction, and these silly notions grow and thrive and breed like drunken Mormons all through your 20s and 30s, when all your friends are hooking up and all the marriages are as fresh as squirted mother's milk and all the love is sweet and skittering and hot and everything seems aimed toward the positive, the right.

And then, time happens. Fights. Breakdowns. Crisis. Fertility issues.

Financial stress. Loveless marriages. Sexless marriages. Second marriages. Unwanted kids. Wanted kids who end up being the repository of all the angst of the loveless marriage. Divorce. Stepchildren.

Open relationships. Closed relationships. Polyamory. Experimentation.

Sperm donation. Therapy. Also: Cancer. Disease. Accidents. Death.

Rebirth. Morning breath.

Oh, and one more: infidelity. Oh yes. Here is perhaps the most fascinating topic of all, the soul's dirty little secret, the hottest of love's hot buttons. Because maybe you used to look at adultery and say, "Oh my God, no way, it's just so wrong, horrible, hurtful, dangerous." Maybe it was even your absolute rule. Unassailable. You simply do not cheat. Do not wander. Not ever. No no no no no.

Except, yes. Except when you get to know someone - or perhaps multiple someones - and for whatever unexpected reason and unquantifiable mutation of love and body and life, it becomes actually understandable. Justifiable. Encouraged, even. Still painful, hurtful, dangerous? Yes. But if you're honest, your boundaries will shift. Your definitions will blur. And what's more, you realize that this is how it has to be.

Maybe it's simply a case of the more you learn the less you understand. Maybe it's all about the wisdom of aging.

Me, I like to think it's simply because, for the most part, we're still just one big gaggle of spiritual infants, still love's little quivering carry-on Chihuahua: trembling and jumpy and sweet and trying to work through the infinitely frustrating, cruelly painful, orgasmically delicious variants of how the human soul can get its love on.

And baby, from what I can tell right now, we've got one hell of a long way to go.

Living well is the best revenge.

2009-10-24T14:44:00.000-07:00

About two weeks ago I watched as a new friend of mine debated his failure at a personal goal against a group of people. After listening to a bit of well-earned self-pity about what the other people might think of him, this timeless line popped into my head: "Living well is the best revenge."

Personally, I try not to hold too many grudges in my life. Whether or not I'm successful in that endeavor, I can thankfully say that nothing I do as a result of a grudge involves a feeling of vengeance towards any wrong doing I've perceived directed at me. Sure, life is not easy and I'd be the first person to admit that. Unfortunately, too often people seem beaten down or fired up by their perceived lack of fairness in this world. Too much time and energy is wasted essentially shouting at the heavens for clarity, a chance at redemption, or answers when there actually aren't any to be found. What it comes down to is, at some point if a person spends their time focused on whether life is fair or not, as well as the concepts of winning and losing, they are probably wasting their best years. I have known countless people like that and have avoided those types of people as much as possible for years.

What seems like my now healthy perspective on fairness and winning came at a personal price, for I too was once wrapped up in years of long nights spent wondering the "hows" and "whys" of the universe. Finally, by the grace of some unnameable supreme being, I woke up one morning and realized it just didn't matter.

I've never been one of those guys who sought the highest highs of success, getting off instead on the adrenaline of "the doing", "the making." I've often received more excitement over the attempt than the idea of some anticlimactic "win", which felt like a brick wall of emotional let down. I can vividly remember looking at the winner of a class competition as a child and thinking "and now what happens to him?" Nothing. Life went back to normal for him and all of us, so why did it matter if we strived for the top prize? Of course, I can't say I don't enjoy being the best at something, nor am I ever not trying my hardest at a given task, but I'm never really too disappointed when falling short of perfection. There is usually someone who is going to be better at something than you are, but why beat yourself up over it? Growing up, whether I won or lost at something my dad always asked me if I had tried my best. When I would answer "yes", he would breathe a sigh and say "well then, that's all that matters" and never bring it up again.

Maybe overall I'm just not a competitive person by nature. Winning to me isn't all it's cracked up to be, and neither is losing if you learn a great deal from it. I've also learned that there is no weakness is discussing failure. All strength gained from lessons learned is a victory if applied timely and appropriately. So let's all go out there and do our best, take a deep breath, maybe stop for a drink afterwards, and enjoy the valid attempt. Sometimes that's all you've got.

"Forgive and Forget"

2009-09-11T00:31:00.000-07:00

The adage "forgive and forget" could not be more accurate; one cannot forgive someone without essentially forgetting much of the pain from the transgression being forgiven. I have always marveled at people who could "forgive and forget" for the adage in my family has always been "Forgive but never forget."

I've been mulling this over lately with members of my family, essentially calling our version of the phrase into question. Gifted with very good memories, we don't forget much. As is typical, the thing remembered, whether big or small, is logged in a wrinkle in our brains where it lays dormant, waiting for the moment of necessary recall to strike. However, does that mean that I am incapable of forgiving anyone?

I can let things go, get passed certain frustrations or pains, get on with my life and be happy, but that doesn't mean I have forgotten the disappointment in someone or the pain they've caused. Sure, it's easier to cut someone directly out of your life cold turkey, getting a rare embarrassing Christmas card from them once a year, the ones you throw away after reading perfunctorily. But that isn't forgiveness, that's ignoring them. You still feel the twinge of sadness or anger that the offense has left behind, you've just moved on. That is not what this whole forgiveness concept is about.

I hear people all the time who are good friends with ex-boyfriends or girlfriends, saying they have forgiven them for the cheating and lying, etc., that they hang out and have a great friendship. Perhaps I'm too old, set in my ways, or immature, but that makes no sense to me. Maybe they're lying, and at moments the same sting of hurt boils up, though now that they're "friends" they can't do much but ignore it. It all seems like they are deluding themselves. Maybe it's just easier to say you've forgiven the wrongdoer, to ease the other person's guilt and to end the discussion, at least temporarily. I have definitely seen those same people go through bouts of jealousy and rage for other "new offenses", emotions only heightened by the memory of the past let-downs. It's all so very confusing.

Either way, as I've stated above, I'm not good at forgiveness. Mention a past hurt and the ache of disappointment will swell once again, though thankfully not to the level of the original moment, but still. So, perhaps another adage is more correct: Time heals all wounds. Well, I don't think it heals, it just puts a lot of new memories in to fill the gaps and soften the shock and power of the bad ones.

Anyway, this is what I've been thinking about. So if you've done something wrong to me and I say I've forgiven you, I'm probably just trying to make you feel better. Sorry, I'm trying.

The Philly Cheese Steak Experience

2009-09-01T19:52:00.000-07:00

As I've already mentioned several times on my flickr accounts, Kacie was a blast. The eighteen hours or less I spent in Philly was more enjoyable than the several days I spent in one or two other places on my cross country trip (not West Virginia). Along with the six different photo shoot set-ups we accomplished into the early morning, we also made time to stop and compare the different philly cheese steaks offered by Geno's and Pat's, one of my goals from the very start.

They are both legendary places, and being across the street from each other made it even more convenient to take samples of each and compare in real time. Of course, first we did a shoot with Geno's as a backdrop since it was the more colorful of the two, all the while getting cat calls from loud drunks which Kacie handled by yelling profanities back at them. Only after that did we get sandwiches and fries from each place, found ourselves a table amidst the drunks, including the Toronto Blue Jay and Phillies fans who had just gotten out of their game, and began our taste test.

Not only is Kacie a perfect model, but with getting her degree in photography that week I could trust someone else to document me for the first time on the trip, which she did wonderfully.

I cleansed my palette as best I could between bites while Kacie took a much less scientific approach. Famished, she would take a bite of a sandwich, definitively stating that it was the best, then after eating a french fry she would take a bite of the other sandwich, seriously and definitively stating that now that one in her hand was the best. This went on repeatedly until they were both gone. Pretty hilarious.

Towards the end of the meal the peace and fun of the moment was broken by a throng of yelling and cursing at a group of girls walking past by another group of girls seated behind me. "Get the fuck out of here, you fuckin' Jersey Sluts! Fuckin' Whores! Goddamn Jersey Bitches!" I turned around expecting to see some type of tough, street hardened gang members, only to find four of the most innocent, sweet looking South Philly girls texting away, smoking their cigarettes and eating their sandwiches. Kacie and I looked at each other with amusement, though I am sure I had more shock and confusion on my face than she did on her's.

Though she is from another part of Pennsylvania, Kacie has the tough, shitty attitude that is quite at home in the tougher, more run down area that is South Philadelphia. Once the group of female roughnecks saw Kacie posing for more photos a few minutes later, they immediately became young girls again, talking about photography and modeling, asking for my business cards and wanting to pose for me. With all of them being 15 years old I let them down gently, saying they'd have to wait a while. They were very excited when I asked to take their group photo though. How could I leave without documenting them?

So the conclusion on "The Philly Cheese Steak Experience": for one, Pat's had better fries, hands down. For the sandwiches though it was far more complicated. After much deliberation I had to agree with what someone had told me earlier in the week, that Pat's has better tasting meat but Geno's has better rolls. Together they would be unstoppable, maybe they should team up...?

Quite the intense night. I was pretty worn out from the trip so far, highly satisfied with the photos I had taken that day and with the company I was presently keeping, and yet was fully aware of the daunting hours, days and weeks ahead. I couldn't help but breathe a heavy sigh of unnameable meaning while smiling the whole time. Only a month after returning did I realize that the sigh was equal parts exhaustion, amazement at the task I had undertaken and was accomplishing, and extreme joy.

By the next day I would be once again sleep deprived, taking photos in a stranger's house in New Jersey, and by the afternoon travel to New York City and beyond.

Insomniac

2009-08-23T08:02:00.000-07:00

"Beat-Up, Eight Second Exposure Lit by Cell Phone, 2007"

I long for sleep. Every morning, on my fifteen minute walk to work through the dirty side streets and vacant lots I desperately look forward to later that evening when I can crawl into bed. Just the idea of a warm, inviting bed and a crisp, cool pillow has a calming effect on my constantly tense neck and upper back. This satisfaction ironically never happens when nightfall actually does come, at least not lately.

The last few weeks my sleep schedule has been more erratic and confusing than ever before. I've never had the reputation for being the most fit and sound sleeper in the world, but lately I've begun to even worry myself. Going to bed at 9:30pm will cause me to wake up at 2am with an inability to go back to sleep. Other nights, forcing my tired and restless self to stay up late, my 1am bedtime will only leave me tossing and turning hazily until the sun comes up. I've tried several different physiological experiments like drinking a fair amount of alcohol, working long hours with few breaks, and intense exercise. All of these were done in the hopes of wearing myself out to the point of exhaustion in the vain attempt to get eight quality hours of sleep. No dice.

I'm not one for making long term goals or plans, mainly because in an ever changing world they never work out the way you intend. But a year or even six months ago I could have made a rough sketch of a minor goal I was trying to attain or a basic frame work of what the next few weeks or months would hold for me. Not so any more. I honestly can not foresee what I will be doing next week or where I might be.

It seems since I've returned from my month long trip I've been in a daze. It would be nice to think I'm a smart enough guy to give a little rudimentary psychoanalysis to the situation and be able to personally figure out what this is all about. Am I actively or passively trying to figure out some complicated problem in my life? I don't think so. Am I worried about my abilities in some uncertain task or future development? No, not really. Is there someone I can't get out of my mind? Of course, but that hasn't changed for the last year or more. Given the answers to those questions, I am left searching elsewhere.

It's been said that most problems faced by modern man are internal. As a species we are used to working hard and dealing with intense adversity, eking out an existence watching for predators while trying to survive in harsh environments. With thousands of years of aggression and determination hardwired into our chemistry, who could blame us for finding it hard to adapt to a relatively calm and peaceful world of collared shirts, expressways and Netflix?

Personally, I've always functioned better in a challenging, frenzied environment where I questioned if I was going to be able to continue on. In that situation I know full well that I have every confidence in my ability to handle even the craziest of times and situations, and that in turn kept my body moving and my mind occupied. Often in the drudgery of my every day life, I now go out of my way to put things off until the last minute simply because the tasks I would have to perform would be too mundane otherwise. All of this directly stems from my month away. Sleep deprivation, mixed with hourly, daily, and weekly goals that were not only expected but proudly achieved, pushed me to an extreme, almost laughable level of exhaustion and accomplishment. It was an almost maddening state of constant flux and I loved it. Sure at times I wanted to quit, but whose brain wouldn't want to hit the pause button from time to time when faced with a life of perpetual motion?

When I got back, friends who wanted me to visit them a few hours away were afraid to ask, saying that I must be sick of driving. On the contrary, after driving over thirteen thousand miles in a month I was conditioned to the life of a trucker. The first several days back I found it hard to stay still, fearing I had someone waiting for me eight hours away whose time I might be wasting by sitting alone in my home. I miss meeting new people, seeing new environments, not knowing what was around the next bend. I miss the unknown.

My greatest fear is one that seems to be coming true, that there are no more challenges left here for me at home, or at least none that I find worth taking on. Even creatively I am dry. Aside from documenting my family or a few paid gigs for loyal clients, I've essentially stopped taking photos. The few shoots I've lined up with my reliable models I've cancelled days in advance because I just don't have the heart for repeating myself, even in the attempt to keep my skills sharp.

All of this is good, I suppose. In the life of an artist, it's been said that one needs a period to create and a period to live life and recharge one's batteries. It's an ebb and flow, a yin and yang, a delicate dance in which one can easily lose the beat. So how do all of these realizations help my sleep pattern? Hell if I know, but I'm doing my best to figure it out. At least I'm catching up on a lot of crappy late night television I've missed.

THE EVIL AMERICAN NIPPLE!

2009-08-07T18:14:00.001-07:00

Beware dear friends, that you may not fall victim to that most wretched and vile of body parts, the Great North American Female Nipple. Even the most meager mention of those words sends a shiver down the straight, moral spines and bulging trousers of those most important lawmakers and purveyors of all that is righteous and pure, those protectors of our society at large and our individual souls in total!

Take warning children! Gaze not upon its warm and swollen eroticism! For even the briefest of glimpses will render the instantly corrupted viewer with surely nothing short of an unquenchable lust and moral laxity! The power of it in its engorged, aroused state has wrecked countless ships on rocky shores and sent otherwise good and decent men out into the cold night bellowing indecipherable nonsense up to the unforgiving heavens!

At all times should those disgusting protuberances of condensed sex be hidden beneath shirts and sweaters, as much cloth as the bearer of such burdens can withstand. They must be restrained and contained so as not to tempt the weak of heart and mind! Surely, no one, especially the poor female souls forced to ferry these delicious and provocative mammaries of misfortune, should ever be in danger of being forced to experience such a wicked display!

Not one of you lucky few who have yet to fall victim to this evil should even be given the choice to witness or not such a ruinous enterprise as the luxurious and sublime spectacle of those toggles of titillation. There is no hope left for us unlucky few, the initiated who have beheld one, if not a mouthwateringly matched pair, of these insipid swaths of demonic flesh. Our eyes would best be plucked out, though even the faint memory alone of the round, tanned dermis will surely guarantee our eternal damnation in the deepest corners of Hades!

The world needs constant diligence if we are to remain secure within our sanctity, safe out of reach from the terror that only exposed female flesh can create. Never shall supposed art forms, filthy and unsanctioned, ever be allowed to be shown to the masses for fear that millennia of culture and learning should be brought to it's knees by the mere hint of aureola!

May those who have the power, nay, the responsibility to censor and protect their fellow countrymen every tarry from their task, remaining earnest and true in this most holy and honored rite. Surely in most other parts of the world the aversion to this forbidden flesh is lessened only due to the fact that the power of the native born American teat is imbued with far more sexual intensity, therefore much more capable of bringing down society as a whole. Envy those fortuitous European reprobates, for they know not the dread and consternation of knowing that in every dark corner lurks those warm, sweet disks of destruction!

I pray each night that we have the strength and courage to hold steadfast to the core values that this nation was founded upon, to reject, destroy, and denigrate all that is shameful and ungodly: the naked, human form. May we all be so blessed as to survive in a loathsome world where these woeful bits of skin still exist. May God have mercy on us all!

(Author's Note: Forgive the frustrated rant, please. This diatribe was written after having the cleanest of my images become censored on multiple websites in a few short days and after having read "Fahrenheit 451" twice during the same time period.)

"What do you want for your birthday?"

2009-07-31T17:42:00.000-07:00

("Coke Whore", Lawrence, KS 2009)

Thankfully, I am at a point in my life where if I really want something I can just go and buy it or easily save up and purchase it myself. The last few weeks people have kept asking me what I want for my birthday this coming weekend, a question that is tiresome before it leaves the person's mouth. Though I appreciate any and all intention people have in wanting to get me gifts, sadly 90% of the gifts I've gotten in my lifetime have been of entirely no use to me, not-applicable to me personally in any way, or confusing as to why someone would think of me when acquiring the item in the first place.

Admittedly I am a very difficult person to get gifts for. Unfortunately, my practical side tends to lend itself to a perception of rudeness. Truly, rather than wasting money on a gift that I am not going to like and never use, I would prefer a thoughtful hug, a chuck on the shoulder, and the knowledge that you were thinking of me. However, this response never goes over too well.

One or two friends of mine are pretty consistent with making me little cards or weird art packets filled with collaged notes and scraps of papers or books that they think I will like, which I always do, but they are the rarity. Wonderfully, the last few years I have been honored to get really thoughtful, hand made gifts that required complex packaging or FedEx drivers to deliver, which I must embarrassingly say was pretty surprising and magical. Again, these types of gifts are few and far between as I guess they should be.

(As a side note, I love surprises. The good kind, not the "surprise, I gave you herpes" kind.)

For as much as cash is always appreciated and can go a long way, the idea of people making things is a much more special gift than anything that can be purchased from some store. I personally go out of my way throughout the year to send handmade postcards of varying degrees of labor in them as well as other random fabricated, painted pieces of art. These go out only to those people I deem truly important in my world for no other reason than I was thinking about the individual and took a few moments to make whatever thing it is.

Still, even at moments of my most honest and selfish, when asked what I want for my birthday, I can't just say "a well thought out item that took you time and effort to create knowing I will appreciate it on multiple levels," though that really is the truth.

So I guess my official answer is nothing. Whatever you want to give me would be fine, but its the thought that counts. Thanks so much for asking, I really appreciate that. When is YOUR birthday? And what is your mailing address...?

Absurdity in America

2009-07-03T09:41:00.000-07:00

(Grand Ledge, Michigan 2009)

People have accused me of not being able to live fully in the moment and usually they are right. Thankfully though this trait of mine to constantly feel like an outsider is perfectly suited for being a photographer and recorder of life. My dad always makes a big deal about documenting family events, recording the dates and times things happened, again instilling us with the motto to "Be observant".

One of the coolest things is that he used to turn a tape recorder on at large family gatherings in unknown spots, so now we have these great little snippets of audio tape where my cousins and I are talking as children, people are laughing and telling stories without censoring themselves, wives are yelling at husbands, grandparents cooking in the kitchen, etc. True windows into a life and time that is no more. I value such things as priceless.

All of these examples have led me to do what I do. Though it may get exhausting to constantly be documenting life, I am always thankful a week or a year later when I look back and can remember with fondness the experience more fully because of those images. Along with the photos I take, I also write down absurd, odd quotes I hear. In context they are funny or interesting, but with no description I think they might be even funnier. Here are a few I gathered from my trip with brief descriptions:

"If you're a girl from Colorado and can't pee in the woods you've got a problem."
-Model in the mountains outside of Denver during a bathroom break

"There's shit all over the place!" "Yeah, smells like money!"
-Two indians at a cattle round up on an indian reservation outside San Diego

"I don't remember what religion they are, but whatever it is, they're very THAT."
-A friend describing family members in Kansas

"Baby, I need some cootchie medicine."
-Model in Florida who got her period earlier than expected, talking to her boyfriend

"Great, just what I want to do, hang out with bells all day."
-Sarcastic teenager's comment after being told by his mom to stand by the Liberty Bell for a photo-op

"Keepin' it tiled, baby."
-Discussing whether "the carpet matched the drapes", a model in Philadelphia replied thusly to my "you probably have hardwood" comment

"Its blacker than the inside of a cow."
-West Virginia native describing the night

"You can't go wrong with a nine dollar bottle of wine."
-Drinking at a friend's house in Seattle

"My eyebrows are only partially on!"
-A Florida friend whose photo I wanted to take though it was a little too early in the morning

"You're as cool as a microwavable hot pocket."
-Neff's description of me at a bar in NYC

"I was on the floor barking with a pomeranian!"
-Waitress in Brewer, Maine describing the effects moonshine had on her years before

And my personal favorite...

"Enjoy it."
-Megan McIsaac's response when asked what she was going to do with the rest of her day

I'm sure there are more quotes spread randomly amongst my various notebooks, but these are the best ones available for now. There is a daunting amount of data for me to review, edit, filter, and disseminate from this trip. The last couple of days looking through it all has given me a chance to relive my time on the road in a much more relaxed, free way than when I originally experienced it. It has been a blast. More coming soon.

A little analysis.

2009-07-01T10:33:00.000-07:00

(Self-portrait, I-5 outside Stockton, CA)

I've discovered a few things about myself from my thirty-three straight days traveling around North America. Many of them have to do with what I can handle, what I am willing to fight and strive for, what I am and am not willing to finally put up with, and the things I need to do to make myself consistently more content. Being away from my "real life" has given me a fresh perspective on a few universal truths regarding beauty, the insecurities and flakiness of others, and the inevitable measure of time.

I can foresee some of these personal conclusions being lauded by many and a few not being terribly liked by several others, though frankly I don't care about either reaction. I am clear-headed, focused, resolute, tired, and smiling. Though there are personality traits I will never fully conquer such as not being able to live fully in the moment or getting over my "home-body" comfort zone, in the last month I have squarely kicked those traits asses, though maybe only temporarily. It was grand.

I was reminded of things I love, made aware of things I hate tolerating, and was pleased to rediscover so many of my strengths that lay dormant in my daily life. Across forty states virtual strangers made me feel like a part of their family, as well as funny, intelligent, clever, desirable, reliable, and trustworthy. Feeling special is not something I have ever been comfortable with, but the last few weeks have been a constant reminder that others think I am. That was nice.

I also learned about my country and my fellow Americans. There really are no such things as "red" and "blue" states. There are only hard working Americans of various ethnic and economic classes that are trying to better themselves and the qualities of their lives, raise their kids well, pay their bills promptly, and get laid as often as possible. Thankfully, some Americans are still optimistic and hopeful. Many have dreams, and a few even have plans on how to achieve their dreams, though sadly those individuals are few and far between.

Most Americans think that their lives are nothing special, not all that terribly exciting. In many places across this country, citizens think there isn't much to do, that they would probably be better off somewhere else. We as a society are just not that satisfied. I'm not sure if the myth of the great and invincible America, where anyone and everyone should be able to succeed and thrive no matter how high the cards are stacked against them, is doing more harm than good. Life is not a Little League, not everyone gets to play their desired role or deserves a medal for showing up. Life is hard, and those with the most skill, talent, and work the hardest don't always get the awards. There is a sad lack of entitlement that so many of us cling to as a floatation device in the rough seas of the world and it is an illusion. Yet that doesn't mean we should stop chasing our goals, we should just be aware of what could or could not happen and be prepared for that.

Thankfully, I did get to see a wide variety of both positive and negative aspects of my fellow citizens. Witnessing a white couple in Kansas refuse to be seated next to a black mother and son left me speechless and terribly confused, while seeing countless acts of kindness by Good Samaritans on the roads, in restaurants, and in every state I visited filled me with hope.

I don't have any conclusions or helpful advice other than the phrase I have uttered before: Do your best and enjoy the moment. I have essentially been sleep-deprived and sore consistently for the last thirty three days, pushing myself, constantly on the move, living out of a bag, unsure of where I was going to lay my head the next night. That lifestyle is not for everyone, and at some point it wasn't my favorite thing either, but in the end it was well worth it.

Here is the last photo taken of me on the trip, a portrait by one of my favorite photographers, Megan McIsaac, in Portland, Oregon after she modeled for me. I think it is an accurate description of the dualistic aspects of my personality as well as showing my exhaustion and readiness to go home. Now I am left with about twenty thousand images to sort through, as well as a month's worth of stories to record, edit, and regurgitate to family and friends. Thanks again, North America, it was great getting to see you again.

American Strength

2009-06-24T17:48:00.000-07:00

(or "What is it about Mexicans and Borders?")

Here's another long tale of my trip...

Leaving the lovely and talented Katie West in Toronto around 8am, I headed off to Lansing, MI as fast as I could to meet up with a fun model named Leyna. While Neff was with me a few days previous, we had crossed the US/Canadian border in Maine/Nova Scotia with little to no hassle. Since we had gotten through even though Neff had forgotten his passport, I didn't expect much of a problem this time since I had all my important paperwork. To remain consistent with the previous twenty seven days I'd been traveling, I took photos of the "Welcome to Michigan" sign while driving across the bridge that eventually led to the official border guard post. After waiting in line for a while, when it was my turn the guard gave me a hand sign to stop where I was in line rather than advance like everyone else. After a few minutes of being confused, I was relieved when he finally waved me forward. I shouldn't have been.

When I pulled up, the officer looked far more stern and no-nonsense than the previous guards I had dealt with. The first things he asked were for my ID and if I had taken photos "coming in", to which I answered "no" because I thought he meant coming into the border post. He immediately put on that authoritative "gotcha" tone of voice, saying they had surveillance footage of me taking photos on the bridge and asked for my truck keys and for me to "stay put." While trying to remain calm and in good cheer, I complied without hesitation.

He walked behind my truck and got frustrated when he was unable to open the latches on my camper shell. I yelled out which key it was to unlock it, and after rummaging through my various suitcases and duffle bags, he came back to his kiosk, still with my passport and keys in hand, slammed the door closed and got on his walkie-talkie. I watched nervously as he mouthed heavily articulated words for several minutes before he wrote something down. He came out, handed me a slip of paper, along with my passport and keys, then directed me to pull off to the side for further inspection. My heart began pounding unsteadily.

My dad always says if you've got nothing to hide you should feel confident when questioned by the authorities. In this case that gave me very little comfort. I parked where directed, being greeted by three other agents, and was told to leave my phone and all my other belongings in the truck except for any identification papers. Inside I stood amongst several Canadians, East Indians and Germans talking in various languages, guessing that they were saying all the frustrating, nerve-racking things that were on my own mind. I finally looked down at the slip that had been handed to me. On it was written "Two points: Check out his story. Women's clothes in bags." Uh oh.

When called, I was greeted by a new investigating officer who looked younger than the last, about twenty five years old. His demeanor was slightly more relaxed and jovial than the previous agent's, the difference being the same between a glacier and an iceberg. He asked me several questions about where I had just come from, where I was going, where I had been, etc., often asking me the same questions over again in different order, obviously in hopes of tripping me up somehow. Unfortunately, it seems the more answers I gave, the more questions he had:

"Why are you driving across the country shooting models? Who are these women? Is this a hobby or a business? How could you take a month off of work? You work in a restaurant? I thought you just said you were a photographer? How can you afford this? How long were you in Canada? Why were you in Canada a few days ago and are now back? Why are you on the move every other day? Traveling alone? Who was with you?" And on and on. I remember jokingly telling him that even though my way of life might sound a bit weird to him, even some of my closest friends don't get it. No reaction. Uh oh again.

I was still fighting a cold that started last week, hadn't really slept well since then, and was feeling the strain of being gone so long from home these last few days. All of this only added to my confusion over exact dates and times on the road, which of course added to their disbelief of my story. I showed my business cards, offered to go grab my journal with polaroids from my fully documented trip and more. They reviewed my websites, then Neff's website, then our TomsTakeOut.com site, all in an attempt to catch me up on some lie. I was asked to sit down and then come back up to the counter to answer more questions about four times over the course of the hour, along with being asked to go out to my truck to retrieve my camera and any cash I had in the vehicle. When I went outside, supervised of course, I almost laughed at seeing the entire contents of the back of my truck being rifled through by two men wearing latex gloves. I can only image what they were thinking while sorting through the odd combination of clown noses, a straight jacket, various styles of panties and knee high socks, my dirty laundry and lighting equipment.

At some point I was informed that taking photos while on the bridge was illegal and that I had lied to the original border officer. By this time the original agent was inside helping process other "offenders", and when I tried to say I misunderstood what he had meant, things got even more tense. I said that I had assumed that I was being asked if I had taken photos of the border post itself, which immediately prompted the original guard two stalls down to lean back and say defiantly "NO! I SPECIFICALLY ASKED HIM if he had taken photos on the bridge, and HE SAID 'NO'!" Upon saying this he immediately returned to what he had been doing and didn't look back at me the rest of the morning. I started to feel a bead of sweat trickle down the back of my neck, which if seen by them would have confirmed any last doubt of my guilt.

My young inquisitor, obviously a military man, began shuffling through the business cards I had provided him, and when he got to my "American Justice" image, he looked at me quite frustrated. "You think its okay to put American flag hoods over the heads of half-naked women?" he asked angrily. I hesitated for a moment debating the repercussions of my possible answers, then I finally just said "Um...yeah." His silence and look of disdain told me I was treading on thin ice. We reviewed together the ten or so images on my camera that were taken on the bridge, mainly various wide and narrow shots of the Michigan sign with the scaffolding behind it. I offered and he commanded me to delete those images, but I refused to delete the whole CF card like he originally suggested. He said "You've heard of September 11th, right?", which I all but ignored. When I brought up that there were no signs saying it was illegal to take photos on the bridge, he ignored me right back.

At this point I had been there about forty-five minutes and could feel myself getting much more frustrated and vocal with this guy. My patience was dancing on that fine line between defending my rights and not sounding like a confrontational ass. In a moment of clarity I smiled to myself, remembering the blog I'd written wondering what kinds of authority figures I would have to have patience for on this trip before I left.

Finally, after sitting back down for another few minutes, he called me back up to his counter, saying that I was in fact guilty of lying to a border officer, which is a federal crime. He was giving me the benefit of the doubt because the rest of my far-fetched story checked out, handing me back my edited camera and passport. Lastly, he got out a slip of paper and wrote three words I was very happy to see: "Free to go." I handed the slip to the officer guarding the door, got in my truck and left.

I realize it is better to have our border be too secure than not enough, so I'm trying not to hold a grudge, and I'm not. That said, not only did they cost me an hour of my drive, but later in the afternoon I found that they had cracked the rim of my ring flash, a $500 studio light. Again, the flash is still functional and fine, so not that big of a deal. At least it is a great story to tell and I'm sure I will retell it for years to come, but from now on I will definitely be far more cautious when entering or leaving a border. Sheesh.

Tall Tales of West Virginia

2009-06-16T20:40:00.000-07:00

"Talking With His Hands" 2009

There are just so many great experiences that I could relay about this trip so far, I almost don't know where to begin. One of the truly great and probably most unexpected to many people would be my stop in West Virginia. I spent over three days there last week and am still trying to take it all in.

Mike Adkins, a photographer born and raised in Huntington, contacted me last year some time, one of the first people asking to be a stop along my cross country trip. He was hoping I could give a talk about my photography to his local camera club, of which he is president, as well as visit some of his favorite spots of the state, all of which sounded great to me. Little did I know just how great it would really be.

When I finally arrived late in the afternoon, Mike immediately made me feel at home with his extreme hospitality, openness, and excitement to have me there. While giving me a tour of the enormous house he had personally built from the ground up, he continued to reinforce his love of my work, repeatedly asking question after question. It was equal parts embarrassing and amazingly flattering. He has lived enough life for three lifetimes, is an entrepreneur, family man, jack of all trades, Vietnam Vet, and seems to have the respect of everyone he knows.

There are simply too many highlights of the time spent with Mike Adkins and his friends, so I will just touch on a few. First off was our lunch at Hillbilly Hot Dogs, a favorite lunch spot that has been featured on the Food Network and has it's very humble origins starting in a local dilapidated bus off a back highway. They specialize in food challenges, like this monstrosity called "The Home Wrecker", which if eaten in under twelve minutes gets the unlucky connoisseur a free "I Eat Home Wrecker" t-shirt. The dare devil in this case was a twenty-nine year old named Clint, though I had to have him pronounce it at least twice to understand what he meant when saying "Cleent". Just FYI, he ended up taking home about a four inch portion that he couldn't get down. I encouraged his friends to tease him mercilessly about it, of which they very willingly indulged me.

Next was the dinner and photo talk for the camera club. Most of the members are nature photographers from the Huntington area, so I was unsure of how my work was thought of. Originally Mike had assured me that there were a lot of fans of my work, but as the start of the party neared I got a sense that it was going to be a much more "guilty until proven innocent" type of situation. Everyone was of course polite and welcoming, but I did feel a bit of pressure since all they knew about me was my work. The sense of hesitation from them was palpable, and instinctually I found myself stepping up my wit, charm, and self-deprecating jokes to diffuse the situation. I was pleased to find that all the men there, like me, are Eagle Scouts, which immediately gave me a bit more credibility in their eyes. Then, my mentioning and showing pictures of my nieces, along with my continued referencing of my close family ties, helped my standing with most of the ladies. By the time we were done eating I felt confident that my work was finally being understood in the vein of irony and thoughtfulness that I intend, instead of just as pseudo-pornography. Thankfully though, there was a range of opinions present, from one woman I clearly could not convince that I was not a horribly despicable person, to a nice guy who thought I was the coolest dude around. I enjoy both types of opinions for various reasons.

The day after the party Mike took me up to the peaks of the Appalachian Mountains where he and his brother share a cabin with a few friends. Over the next two days we toured various natural wonders, from Black Water Falls, pictured above, to Seneca Rocks. At Dolly Sods, a lovely outcropping of rocks overlooking the entire Canaan Valley, we had quite the adventure fishing his GPS unit from out of a deep crevice as we balanced ourselves on the tenuous, jagged position. It sounds weird but the teamwork and ingenuity required in that hour or so was a whole lot of fun to me.

Lastly, what probably was the most fun of the entire time in West Virginia was also the simplest. After eating dinner in town, we drove back up to the cabin to hang out with his older brother. Roger is a fun loving, deep thinking, passionate and sincere guy, the kind that seem to be in increasingly short supply these days. He is pure West Virginia, likes to drink, smoke, and tell stories. When we showed up the cabin was pitch black due to a freak power-outage. Although I was really looking forward to a shower after the intense day we had survived, the electric pump from their well was obviously out of order as well and thus thwarted my desires. So, instead we opted for sitting out on the front deck. Mike and Roger made a fire, we drank whiskey and homemade cherry schnapps from a neighbor, ate junk food, and just shared hilarious, personal, and unbelievable stories from each of our lives. We talked politics, religion, sex, and food. I had mentioned several times that day just how exhausted I was from not only my two constant weeks of traveling but from all the exercise I'd gotten recently, and yet I didn't want the night to end. Finally, around 2AM or so as the fire died down, I excused myself and for the sixteenth night in a row fell asleep in a bed that was not my own. In the morning I felt refreshed, renewed for my next big adventure.

All of my friends and family have made jokes about West Virginia whenever I have mentioned it, the same "white trash/inbred/redneck" jokes that I'm sure everyone tells. Only when you go somewhere and truly experience the place and it's people, deciphering what is stereotype and what is not, can you really talk about it. I can honestly say that I will defend West Virginia and my new friends there from now on, knowing both it's limitations and it's grandeur. Thanks Mike.

The Rude Traveler

2009-06-01T22:23:00.001-07:00

I pulled into Salina, KS late this afternoon excited to finally be back in a city that I remembered so fondly from years ago. I stopped at the first affordable looking hotel I could find, not realizing it was the exact same one I had stayed at years ago until I drove around it later. As I walked into the lobby, I was immediately confronted by a wall of loud, vitriolic attitude.

A mother of three tween-agers, who looked about seventeen herself, was using the desk clerk's phone to scream at some faceless booking agent. She was making quite an embarrassing spectacle of herself, causing an awful scene in an otherwise empty hotel lobby. I felt bad for the two poor attendants behind the counter who tried desperately to appease her while trying not to roll their eyes in disgust.

Apparently, from what I gathered by the woman's blaring public declarations, she had booked a room at the hotel through some faceless agent only to discover upon her arrival that the pool was out of service. This was completely unacceptable to her, a total deal breaker, making her insist that she be comped a room, get a full refund from the agent, etc. Interestingly, her children stood quietly, conveying much more tact and patience than their mother could seem to muster.

Listening to all of this while getting my own room, I couldn't help but joke with the clerks, rolling my eyes and sharing knowing smiles with them. All the while, the woman was insisting on blowing things out of proportion, exaggerating how upset her kids were and how this one incident was ruining their entire vacation. I was reminded of just how many Americans act like this when traveling abroad, which just adds to the list of things that cause us to have a bad reputation in the world. Maybe I'm too easy-going, but Jesus Christ, a lack of a pool is not the end of the world. I'd hate to see how this woman handles a real crisis.

I finally got my key and was about to head up to my room when I turned around quickly in the doorway, making sure the upset woman could see me. Sounding completely sincere, I innocently turned to the clerk and asked loudly, "Is your pool open today? Y'know...never mind." As I walked out I heard the clerks begin to laugh out loud, the tension finally being broken.

The Endless Drive.

2009-06-01T21:04:00.000-07:00

Inevitably there comes that wonderful time in a long, all night drive when I have to sleep, whether by reaching my destination or knowing I am too fatigued. The level of adrenaline that has allowed me to get to this point is usually too much to overcome so I will continuously roll over in a vain attempt to get comfortable. This can last a while.

At some point, whether in my own bed or reclining in the driver's seat of my little truck, I will always begin to laugh uncontrollably, hysterically. Maybe I am amused at the absurdity with which I have just pushed myself that day, driving for a dozen hours or more through the night. Perhaps its the silliness of why I am making the trip in the first place. Almost without exception though, this laughter ends as abruptly as it began, with the idea of my dad's voice saying "You did a good job, you've done enough."

It is at this point that I am consumed with the need to cry, illustrating the range of emotions that exhaustion can elicit. The desire for tears probably stems from what such a statement means to me in my relationship with my dad or perhaps some other deep seeded psychological reason. Either way, in that instance I've still as yet never shed a tear.

Oddly, it is at that unlikely moment that I finally, thankfully dose off, knowing I will awaken feeling more worn out than ever. I foresee this happening a lot on this month long trip.

"And walked off to look for America..."

2009-05-28T23:13:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow I leave for over a month on a 10,000 mile driving extravaganza to the four corners of the continental U.S. (and parts of Canada). It is an adventure I have planned for almost a year now, though in truth it has been about fourteen years in the making.

This is the kind of trip that one can't be completely prepared for, and I like that. Who knows, any series of unlikely scenarios could befall me. Some of the ideas that have been floated by myself and others are:
a) getting arrested in the deep South in a drunken haze
b) finding God on some extended sleep deprived leg of the drive
c) fathering some illegitimate scion in an orgiastic free-for-all in Appalachia
d) being involved in a horrific fiery interstate pile-up or
e) simply changing my name and never returning
Only a few of those sound interesting enough for me to spend any amount of time pondering, but in truth I can't foresee even the opportunity for most of them to happen. Dang it.

It is impossible to fully describe the emotions I'm feeling about this grand undertaking. Sure, I'm excited and anxious, yet have also been far too busy with the concerns and responsibilities of the normal life I am leaving behind. Mostly though I am overcome with a feeling of total readiness. Not a readiness to leave, though there is a lot of that, but a sense that I can handle pretty much anything that might happen to me on this adventure, and I welcome it. For the next month I will be in a constant state of having to be everything I have ever been, a concept I have referenced often in these blogs and one which I thoroughly enjoy.

Examples of this include, but are not limited to:
-putting strangers at ease enough to pose for photos that must look and feel intimate while in strange, new environments
-be diplomatic with personality types in roles of authority that I would otherwise choose to steer clear from
-remain humble and gracious at my most pissy and flippant moments and
-be confident and professional while at my most weak and vulnerable state

Don't forget that I will be rushed under a traveling deadline when all I'll want to do is relax and quietly explore my new surroundings. Most importantly, however, I'll be forced to retain my focus and productivity under the most exhausting and uncomfortable circumstances. Yes, this is how I define a vacation.

When discussing the ramifications of what I may or may not learn about myself or anything else along this trip, a friend recently stated to my enjoyment, "If you come back the same person that you left, that's going to be a waste of a trip." I wholeheartedly agreed.

It is no surprise that I love a challenge, being pushed to my limits and forced to doubt myself and everything I am capable of, getting to a point where I'm wanting to quit, turn tail and slink home. I laugh at myself often. Maybe all this makes me an extreme weirdo, and I think it might, but I'm never satisfied with what I think I can handle. I constantly want to be made a believer again, have my faith reaffirmed in myself and my fellow countrymen, be shown something that I'm afraid to see and be forced not only to handle it, but to thrive.

I guess the only real way to comprehend the contradictory calm yet ready-to-pounce feelings that have overwhelmed me the last several days is through music. Do me a favor, take a second, close your eyes and nod your head knowingly to the almost seven minute version of Shiela E's "Love Bizarre", circa 1985. It has the necessary undercurrent of sexiness, excited positivity, and a consistent, unrelenting beat that makes you want to groove on to the next chapter of life. If that isn't your cup of tea, maybe a more apt track would be a more traditional one. Join me by putting on Simon and Garfunkel's classic "America".

Sit and listen to it on repeat as I plan on doing tomorrow afternoon for as long as you need to. Then, at some undetermined moment, I'll stand up, lock the door and leave my everyday world behind for destinations unknown, trying desperately not to look back.

Yeah, that's some good stuff. Will let you know how it goes.

The Measure of a Man

2009-05-20T15:28:00.000-07:00

Any man worth his salt must evaluate his place in the world from time to time, taking stock of his established titles, skills, achievements, and goals not yet attained. I can't say I'm fully satisfied by where I am at in life, but I can say that the things I have seen, accomplishments under my belt, and stories I can tell from first hand accounts are all things I am pretty proud of. Though day to day our lives seem fairly straightforward and mundane, sometimes its necessary to total up our bill, make a tally of the high points, give ourselves a personal, final grade.

Like every one, I have been described by many differing names and adjectives, from hard-worker and talented artist to lazy, contrived asshole. Some have called me the best person they have ever met, others have dubbed me a cold, unfeeling bastard. I've been labeled a dear friend, a good son, an honest leader, a healthy eater, and most recently a racist "Jive Turkey". I have easily performed shows in front of thousands, sung my heart out in front of hundreds, stumbled drunkenly in front of dozens, and been loved by several.

To paraphrase Dorothy Parker, 'I don't care what's written about me so long as it isn't true.' Maybe it says something more about my personality than I'm aware, but I've never put much weight in anything people have said about me, whether positive or negative, because I have rarely agreed with any of it. To my constant surprise, countless people have congratulated me on my strong character and ability to "not care what others think" of me. To this I always strongly disagree.

More so than anyone I know, I care deeply about how I am viewed by others, it just depends on who is doing the viewing. I can stand up in front of just about anyone in the world, make a complete ass of myself, and continue on with my life without giving it a second thought. However, in many unseen moments known only to me, my opportunities and actions are undertaken with extreme forethought and caution. I'm all too aware that what I do in my private life and the ramifications of those actions will be seen at some point by those lucky few whose opinions of me I love and respect more than anything else. It is in those instances, more often than not, I decide to err on the side of temperance and restraint. This is not easy to do, especially repeatedly over most of the years of my life, and even more so in the last few years of almost constant temptation, but I silently do so.

To be fair, I haven't suffered a whole lot in this life. Grew up middle class, good education, loving family, doting parents, supportive infrastructure, responsible role models, strong work ethic, etc. I wouldn't change a thing. It seems to me though that growing up in this way almost makes one feel guilty for having it so good. I think this is why so often those are the types of kids who want to wear black, listen to Nine Inch Nails, get drunk and high, and hate their parents while searching for something to rebel against. I wasn't one of those kids.

Instead, I was artsy, sat alone in my room reading comic books, drawing, listening to R.E.M. and trying to figure out the meaning of life. Perhaps I have been looking, in a vain attempt, for a way to help those who haven't been as lucky as I. After almost thirty years of lonely nights longing for useless things and unnecessary people, all the searching led me to one final theory on how to live life, or at least a theory that works best for me:

"Work hard, do your best, enjoy what you can, as much as you can, and shut the fuck up."

Truly, it sounds simple, but oh, Lordy how it is not. Its taken a few special friends who have led by example to show me how to live happily day to day, and for this I owe them more than they can know. Yes, no one is perfect and we all have our tough times, but handling bad times with calm, grace, and a little bit of patience is pretty much all it takes to get to a level of peace and harmony in the universe.

So, what's my own self-imposed grade? I'm not sure. If this were a pass/fail course, I think I'd be squarely getting ready for the next step of prerequisites on my path to success, but frankly I don't think life is that easy. There is no black or white, only those constant, unfortunate shades of grey. I think I'll delay my grade pending further data.

"Will the Real Mark Velasquez please stand up..."

2009-05-16T22:34:00.001-07:00

This is going to seem like more of a vain blog than normal.

For the most part, I am a pretty private person. I don't enjoy sharing too much about my inner thoughts or personal feelings, which might sound odd to those who are familiar with all my writings about my photography on sites like Flickr. Honestly though, for as much as I enjoy discussing my opinions on a variety of topics, you won't often get details about my personal life unless you are one of those lucky few who receive a handmade postcard from me in the mail every so often.

I was in the process of writing such a postcard tonight when I realized that I needed to do more. The topic I was writing was about my needing to be more open and forthcoming in my thoughts, to not be afraid of sharing them and owning them publicly.

One of the simplest ways to begin is by revealing my face which I'm definitely not a big fan of. Hell, it took the repeated suggestion of a good friend to force me to do so on my required MySpace account, though I still did so reluctantly. Maybe my hesitancy has to do with wanting to be somewhat mysterious and have my work be judged for what it is instead of who I am. Or it could simply be a basic feeling of self-consciousness and dissatisfaction with my appearance. Who is to say? Either way, when I do share images of myself, I feel the need to have fun with it or make my face only one part of the photo's focus. This is always intentional.

So, for those who have not seen them before, here you go, images of my countenance with a bit of commentary. First off, my love of clown noses. I've never found clowns to be funny nor particularly scary. I just like the noses. Here are a couple of pics I sent to a friend when they were having a bad day.

Next, I always try to take a shot with the models once each individual photo shoot is done.

Here is when I shot the terribly icon shattering photo about what Santa Claus does with the rest of his year.

Then of course my Raggedy Ann and Andy shot.

My now infamous Black KKK member. I remember I uncharacteristically wore black that day. Hmm.

And lastly, Nataly and I with her boyfriend Zach, from the band Portugal.The Man.

Did I mention that kids love me?

And did I further mention that I used to be adorably cute? What happened to that, eh?

This was back in 2005 covering the Michael Jackson Trial in my hometown of Santa Maria, CA. Man, I look funny with hair.

Also, my holiday cards have become quite legendary amongst my friends and family.

Christmas 2006

Christmas 2007

Easter 2008

Lastly, an image of my reality. This was taken by a fan from Britain named David Edmondson who had stopped by the Central Coast to meet me while on his way up to San Francisco and beyond.
This is me at my most common, working at Tom's Take Out. Come by sometime and have a milkshake, I hear they're delicious.

Almost ready to go...

2009-05-16T15:24:00.000-07:00

("I-90/I-5 Interchange", Seattle, 2002)

Man oh man, almost a year of preparation has paid off! it is now less than two weeks before my whirlwind month-long cross country trip and I'm almost ready to go. I can feel the excitement and anticipation coming over me like a warm blanket. There's no denying it, I am smack-dab in the middle of "Vacation Mode"

I'm distracted at work, spending money without a care in the world for things that I both need and don't need, and have begun spoiling myself rotten with things I would never buy for myself at any other time. Its kinda great.

This is not to say that I've gotten careless, oh no. I am unavoidably intent on getting all my ducks in a row, saving up, paying my bills ahead of time, and making all the necessary preparations. All the important, mature junk that's been accomplished in the last several months allows me to be as foot loose and fancy free as I am feeling right now. I like to "earn" my reckless, carefree times with unabashed responsibility.

Just keeping you informed. Thanks!

The simple pleasures of life.

2009-05-13T21:39:00.000-07:00

Its pretty difficult to get a Velasquez male to slow down, relax, and enjoy the simple things in life. Though I've gotten better at it than my brother and dad ever have, I still lack the instinctual response to take a second to myself, to appreciate the subtle moments and quiet times as much as I really should. Mostly, the small things I do appreciate are so unknown to even the closest of my friends and family that I've been wondering if anyone knows about them at all.

A perfect example of this is a new, fresh-out-of-the-box bar of soap. When the time is right, usually just an afterthought in my week, when the rotation time hits, its magical. In that brief few seconds it takes to have the hot water come down the shower pipe, I stand there with a new bar of soap in my hand, smelling the crisp scent, appreciating the jagged cast lines along it's circumference still left over from when it popped out of its mold. The upraised letters and logo are still sharp and defined, which will last only seconds before it is called into service and the erosion begins. Yet still, for that brief moment, it is a perfect little object in my possession.

On a tangential note, I'm not one of those "antibacterial soap" kind of guys, simply because it doesn't make sense to kill off ALL bacteria. Overuse of those products has been found to cause sensitive bacteria to evolve and become resistant to their antibacterial qualities. So many modern children's immune systems are being done a disservice by not being allowed to have exposure against bacteria so as to build up a very basic and important immunity. I have heard many health professionals be concerned about this, so I know I'm in good company, but I digress...

I guess the reason I like it so much is because it is as pure an object as you can get. It's sole purpose is to clean, to wash away the dirty, hard parts of your day and prepare you to start again from zero. It has no downside, it's only job is to help, and I adore that idea.

Sure, some environmentalists would argue that the bubbles are going down the drain, thus oozing into the oceans and killing off immeasurable Nemos and Dories. Okay, yes, our sanitation system like most human endeavors is not perfect, but again, slow down. Let's not detract from the utter power and inspiration we can gather from the common bar of soap.

Just another small insight into the way my goofy little mind works. Thanks for listening.

Not for the Faint of Heart

2009-05-02T21:35:00.000-07:00

Woo-boy. This one's a long one.

The last month or so has been controlled by a busy, complex series of emotions in this little noggin of mine. I guess the same can be said for most people, but sadly all I can know for certain is what happens within me, which is what this whole blogging thing is supposed to be about, I guess. Though one would think my preoccupations would be easy to figure out, the least of these emotions are based on my month long trek across this great country of ours this coming June. That being said, making preparations to both put my "regular" life on hold for a month, and also planning to explore alien territory while relying on the kindness of virtual strangers, has been no easy task.

Suffice it to say, whenever I do seem to be busy getting ready for something big in my life, I will often actively seek out more projects and obligations to complicate my life further. Over the past few years I've met several people who also take on more projects the busier they are, so thankfully this doesn't make me feel like the complete mad man that it used to. So in the last few weeks, on top of the usually light work load at the Take Out and prepping for my travels, I've taken on a few unexpected photo shoots, gone on short weekend trips to Fresno and Los Angeles, started a six foot long commissioned painting that I said I would finish before I leave, and lastly, helped create the first official Tom's Take Out eating challenge.

The "Triple Quad Challenge", as my brother titled it, began simply enough. A couple of weeks ago a 6'3", 360lb. man named Brandon Howe came in and ordered one of our new quadruple patty cheeseburgers, bragging soon after woofing it down that he could easily consume three of them. Sensing a bit of a braggadocious nature about him, a quality I've never been too fond of in people including myself, I humorously said that if he could eat three, along with three large bags of french fries in under twenty five minutes, I'd buy it for him personally. If not however, not only would he have to deal with failing to meet his goal, he'd also have to pay the almost thirty dollars that the meal would cost. This caused an immediate reaction of excitement and inspiration from my brother and dad who began cheering him on. Within minutes we all figured out the terms of the official agreement and made preparations for the call from Mr. Howe telling us of the first Saturday he would be free. Once we got the nervous call this last Monday, the wheels began a-turnin'. For most of the week there seemed a pretty good chance he'd back out, so the passion for making concrete plans was definitely lacking. By Thursday however, with his coworkers excited and egging him on, we finally were convinced that he was going to show, and that's when the excitement, and pressure to host, finally began to heat up.

As usual, it was a family affair. I was of course in charge of designing the promotional posters and making several trips to the dollar store for decorations and props. My sister-in-law was in charge of getting the word out to the media, stealing moments at work to e-mail local radio stations and newspapers. My brother pitched the idea to every customer that came in, and even my dad provided a nice galvanized bucket, that I eventually spray-painted gold, in case of any last minute regurgitation on the part of our participant. Lastly, my mom provided all the necessary worry and concern for the lot of us, as usual. All of this took place while we also got ready for my nieces' third birthday party, which was the night before the eating challenge. As I said above, we like to complicate things.

So finally the day arrived. After another last minute series of visits to the store, the decorations were in place and the nervous anticipation set in. At 1pm the contestant showed up, wife and two young kids in tow, while about twenty five spectators awaited the unknown. Just as we had positioned him outside and dad was about to start cooking, a last minute Mexican customer named Joe said he was willing to have a shot at it, too. The more the merrier!

I cleared a spot for him at the table we had set up outside, had them both sign the liability release forms I had drawn up the day before, and with megaphone in hand, I incited the crowd to cheer them on. At 1:11pm, the first official Triple Quad Challenge began. Joe, standing up in some vain attempt to have a better digestive ability, began tearing into the meal, while Brandon, who had obviously much more time over the course of the week to mentally prepare for the struggle, began slowly and methodically chomping away. The crowd's reaction was a mix of excitement, disdain, nervousness, curiosity, and disgust. I wouldn't have had it any other way.

My whole family was there, my mom watching the spectacle with a sincere smile on her face as my nieces ran around, corralled by my sister-in-law and our friends. I was the ring master of the events while my dad, brother, and his god-daughter took care of actually keeping the place operating as the affair took place. Ten minutes in, the zeal with which the participants had started the challenge had quickly changed to a nervous, obvious concern, as they both handed each other napkins and each had a look in their eyes that can only be described as "Dear God, what have I gotten into?"

About that same time a reporter and a photographer from the Santa Maria Times showed up to cover the event. I answered all of their questions, giving a brief overview of the Take Out's history and the origin of the the day's activities, all while calling out time updates to the candidates. It should be no surprise to those who know me to say I was completely in my element. I love those kinds of situations, which definitely make me miss my old performance art days back in college, which I'm sure I'll mention here in a later installment. Soon after my little interview, I looked over to see Joe placing the golden bucket on the table, which I hoped wasn't a foreshadowing of nauseating moments to come.

With a little less than ten minutes to go, the first real signs of quitting had begun. Brandon began giving his wife little shakes of his head that he wasn't going to be able to finish. Joe was sitting with his eyes closed and his head down, silently giving a thumbs up whenever someone shouted out a call of concern. Five minutes to go, they were essentially done. Brandon had all but given up, yet Joe, God bless him, kept taking smaller and smaller bites of his second quadruple cheeseburger, placing a lonely fry in his mouth now and again.

By the time I blew the final whistle, with the crowd giving them one last round of applause, both contestants looked pretty haggard. All of the promises we had made to them if they had finished, like naming the burger after them, giving them free food for a month of Saturdays, etc., were thankfully null and void. They both were whipped and they knew it. All that was left was putting their money where their mouth was, literally.

Yes, its a pretty silly thing to do, not only to participate in such an event, but just to have the challenge in the first place. I'm reminded of all of the spectacles and odd events that were popular during the Great Depression, keeping the struggling people occupied with any kind of entertainment possible to take their minds off of the realities of life. I sincerely doubt that things are that bad right now, but I also know that people are definitely looking for a distraction from their troubles. Maybe we helped a little bit in that department for a day.

"Go ahead, you can laugh all you want, I've got my philosophy..."

2009-04-30T15:09:00.000-07:00

Being involved in some sort of Boy Scouting program from ages five to twenty, I grew up with many slogans and mottos that helped cement my idealistic view of the world. "Be prepared" and "Do a good turn daily", along with the Scout Oath, Outdoor Code, and the twelve points of the Scout Law, were so drilled into me that I truly have tried to live my life to my best moral ability. I can't say I've always succeeded, but those who know me well will hopefully attest to my strong efforts.

Oddly, to me the most important of all of these seemed be "Take only pictures, leave only footprints." Around the age of ten when I first heard this phrase uttered, and long before I was a photographer, I knew it could also be understood on a deeper level. Not only does it provide a perfect visual to convey having a low impact on your physical environment, but the sentiment also works quite well for interpersonal relationships.

Whether one calls it a "butterfly effect", "six degrees of separation", or the military's often quoted "shit rolls down hill", the concept of our actions affecting more than just our immediate present is a universal concept. Even most religions and governments have at some level a foundation in a policy of empathy, treating others as you would like to be treated. Unfortunately, several of those also have a "thou shalt smite" clause as well, but that's a topic for another time.

The thing that is constantly on my mind, and I wish it were for more people, is that the effect our actions have on others, and what words we use to communicate ideas to others, can have lasting consequences. I'm not going to lie, the amount of effort it takes can be fairly exhausting, but I still try every day.

I know that if I talk to someone with low self-esteem and use the wrong words, I am often making their concerns worse. I also know that if I don't act immediately or with the proper enthusiasm with some people they will take it in a negative way, sharing that negativity inevitably with others. Yes, though I'm aware that its not my job to boost the world's ego or make everyone on the planet feel special, its also important for all of us to not add to the negativity out in the world. I honestly think that the lives we touch, and how we touch them, affect others, and those lives, others. What a wonderfully simplistic and idealistic notion it is that if we can take an extra second to think before we acted or spoke, we could create a better sense of harmony in our society.

I've written before regarding my disdain for speaking out of anger or hurt, and sadly we see it every day. Someone honks and flips you off while driving, which in turn makes you get upset and defensive. By the time you get to work you're holding a grudge, making your work environment testy and your coworkers frustrated. Then they take that mood home and it spreads exponentially. We've all been on both sides of this kind of story.

I'm not perfect. Thankfully, though there have been many people in my life who have convinced me that the effect I've had in their lives was exceedingly positive, the people who stand out most in my memory are the ones I failed. Whether through forethought or not, my actions, inaction, thoughtless words or deeds failed them in some way that had more of a consequence than I would have ever hoped or expected. Some of those things only came to my attention months or years after, as so often happens, and for some reason the time and distance never lessens the guilt or regret I have felt.

Again, yes, I realize these are "navel gazing" notions written from the perspective of someone who lives in a fairly comfortable life in a fairly comfortable middle-class world. I'm sure in Uganda or Zimbabwe I wouldn't have a second to be able to think this way. Still, a guy can hope.

When preparing for a long weekend Boy Scout hike, my dad always used to give us advice on loading up our backpacks, knowing we'd have to carry everything in and everything out over the course of miles on our developing shoulders. In discussing how heavy to make our packs, he'd always say "Worry about the small things, the large things will take care of themselves." Yet another slogan. To this day, I focus on the small things I think I can have some kind of effect on and let the large, out-of-control things take care of themselves.

Maybe the moral of this story is we should all take some time and go through a Scouting program. Then again...maybe not. Or, maybe we should all just listen to Ben Folds Five's "My Philosophy"...

And life goes on...

2009-04-22T20:06:00.000-07:00

The neighborhoods I've lived in since going off to college have not always been the best. Whether I stood out due to my different race, language, or just lack of shared lifestyles, for the most part I've never been one to communicate heavily with my neighbors. Currently, the duplex I live in is sandwiched nicely between two winners. First, there's the Rage-aholic who I refer to only as the expletive which he yells out the most towards his ex-wife and daughter. Then, there's the house with the ever changing array of Mexican gangsters who are liable to either have a barbecue on their front lawn or start a fight there any given day, gambler's choice. The rest of the neighborhood is made up of mostly illegal immigrant workers who don't speak a lot of English and try to keep as low a profile as possible. Needless to say, though I love the inside of my place and its affordability, I don't feel as though I can really be understood by those around me, nor have I ever felt the need to be.

The one bright spot in the area for me has been a little black mutt of a dog which I have only ever referred to as "that scrappy little guy". His small size, mangy, matted coat, permanently injured right hind leg, and questionable breeding are all qualities that would not win him awards at Westminster. Still, I love that little guy. He hobbles around in the middle of the street happy as a clam, always up early to greet the day with a wag of the tail and a spring in three of his steps. He's always looked as if he's saying "Hey, buddy, how's it goin'? Gonna be a helluva day!", with my picturing his voice somewhere in that dark place between James Woods and Maurice Chevalier.

Though I don't know where he sleeps at night, he is always in the same area and is like our little neighborhood ambassador, greeting delivery men and police officers with equal excitement, who sadly often show up with equal frequency. His desire to remain in the street at least four feet away from the curb at all times is always a concern to me, but he seems pretty "street smart" and I try to believe he can handle himself as much as I'd like others to believe in me.

Another reason I like him is that he seems like a practical jokester. More times than I can recall I have been driving back home with a friend or model and they have seen him on his back, flopping wildly in the middle of the street. Their immediate reaction is of course that he's been injured, hit by a car. The truth though is often he basks in the glow of the afternoon sun, enjoying a prolonged scratch of his back on the warm asphalt with a big cat-chasing grin across his crooked little teeth. To add to the dramatic effect, he wriggles on his back continuously, lingering for thirty seconds or more as if to prolong the worry and agony of the concerned viewer. Eventually, the little guy snaps back on his feet, jauntily skipping along once again to parts unknown, looking refreshed and satisfied as the observer breathes a deep sigh of relief. I secretly imagine him peering from behind a car, deviously pleased with himself, thinking "Man, I really had that chick going for a second! Ha!"

I love that little guy. He's a symbol that reminds me to enjoy the simple pleasures of life, stay true to your nature, and smile at what the day brings you. Though I don't see him every day, nor do I know whom he belongs to, he's been a little bright spot for me on days when I've needed it.

Then, I left for work this morning. Imagine my shock and sadness when I saw him there in the middle of the street lying on his belly, not moving. At first, as so many times before, I assumed he was resting, or playing possum, about to spring up at any moment to give one of his little trademark grins. Alas, there was none.

The odds ran out, simple as that. Some reckless, speeding driver, of which our street has countless, probably clipped him and sped on without a second thought. I'd like to think he saw one last sunrise before the final moment, but who can say? Anyone who knows me is aware that I'm not a huge "pet-person", and though I like and respect animals, I've never been one to place my emotions for them any higher than for a favorite pair of shoes or random acquaintance. Still, that scrappy little guy has been on my mind all day.

Some call it callous of me to be able to take photos of sadness and death. My belief is that if we are to document the good times, it is just as important to remember the bad, which makes those happy times all the more special. I couldn't help but take a second and crouch down next to him in the middle of the street this morning, studying his features one last time hoping to remember every detail, knowing I wouldn't. Finally, I took a photo of him as I had always wanted to when he was alive, yet had never made the time to do so. When I came home from work this afternoon his body was gone, as if he never existed.

And that's what happens to us all. And that's why its important for us all to share these stories of lives, big and small, and thus I am. Rock on, little fella.

Peace and Clarity

2009-04-07T15:39:00.000-07:00

The other night I had a wonderful conversation with a very dear friend. It was one of those talks that usually only happen late in the evening after everyone else has gone to bed and you're left with just the two of you. You sit around lazily on the softest piece of furniture possible and discuss anything and everything in a thoughtful, honest, and rational stream-of-consciousness kind of way. Afterward you feel warm and peaceful and indescribably relieved, always wishing you could engage in that type of discussion more often.

There are very few people that I can have these kinds of conversations with, and even fewer opportunities for those conversations to occur. Still, the power they have and the joy they bring, even when discussing not so happy topics, make them more than worth the wait.

The world is not an easy place in which to live. Thankfully, though I've had it much easier than most, we all have had to struggle against many trials and complications on a day to day basis. Some of us handle it with a bit more grace than others, and the things that each of us find comfort and refuge in, even on the smallest level, are of tantamount importance.

I've realized just how "together" I feel lately, as though some wave of calm and confidence has come out of nowhere and wrapped me up snuggly. Sure, I can still get frustrated and sad over a given situation, but I am also more at peace and patient in those moments now, both feelings that have never been easily attained goals in my life.

What has caused this new found sense of clarity is not entirely clear. I can point to several things in the last year that brought happiness and sorrow to my life, times of tough decisions and forced compromises, achievements and loss. There were many extremes that I thought I had experienced before, that I felt I would be completely prepared for, and yet wasn't at all. And I'm glad for that. Only by struggle, challenge, and pushing oneself can you find out what you are capable of. Even learning your limitations isn't a bad thing if it makes you more aware of what is possible and teaches you to prepare more than you did before.

I'm not saying I have all the answers, nor am I saying I know what will work best in the future. All I know is that I am at a place that I have always wanted to be, where I know I can handle myself in pretty much any situation and be everything I have ever been in that moment. I'd say that's a good thing.

I'll conclude with this to hopefully sum up what I've been trying to say:

There is a series of comic books titled "Moonshadow" by J.M. DeMatteis, where the main character, as an old man, retells a long and winding story of his life on what he calls his "Journey to Awakening". After countless tales about his travels, transgressions, and complicated experiences that cover many years, the story concludes with what he has been alluding to the entire time: the final, intense moment of clarity that shaped his understanding of life. What did he learn in the final moment? The narrator stops and says after a long pause and a smile, "Its been so long, I simply don't remember anymore," and happily dances away, playing his flute without a care in the world.

I think about that a lot.

Its a Trip.

2009-03-27T04:28:00.000-07:00

If you were unaware, I am planning on taking the month of June away from regular life and driving off "to look for America". I've wanted to take a cross country trip ever since graduating from high school, talking about it frequently but never quite committing. It wasn't until a few years ago that I realized that there is never enough free time to do the things you want to do, you have to MAKE the time. So I am.

Its been flattering over the last three years or so to be contacted by models, photographers, and other fans of my work saying that they would love to meet and/or work with me if ever in my area or vice versa. Ever since officially deciding to take this trip last Fall I have been in contact with many of them, and my only regret so far is that I will not be able to meet them all.

I love interaction with new, interesting, creatively challenging people, and I am continually pleasantly surprised at just how many kick-ass people I have been in contact with recently around the country. West Virginia, Montana, Florida, and surprisingly Omaha, Nebraska all look to be absolutely wonderful and exciting additions to a trip that is already taking on a life of it's own. One of my only concerns, aside from the money running out, is how my stamina is going to hold up traveling from place to place, no real time to linger in any given area for more than a day.

For as much as I love traveling free of restrictions and complications, I do find that after some of my great and legendary trips my only regret is that I've taken them alone (aside from the Neff Trips, paperback coming out soon). From peaks of mountains in Costa Rica to countless breathtaking sunsets in Oregon, it would be nice to have a memory of sharing those with someone rather than remembering long moments of thoughtfulness and lonesome introspection. Still, those were lovely, undeniably wonderful times.

In two months I foresee laying my eyes upon glorious moments of beauty and simplicity, unexpected miracles of life and nature, fun, wild, nervous and hectic moments of hilarity, all peppered bitter sweetly with visions of home, or lost friends, or you. I guess I wouldn't have it any other way.

A Confession on Anger and Regrets

2009-03-17T14:50:00.000-07:00

"Shake It Off", 2009

I'd like to believe that I'm a pretty level-headed guy. I have rarely ever spoken out of anger, am not easily drawn into an argument, and the only real instance of violence I am guilty of is the occasional spanking or hair pulling at the appropriate moment of intense intimacy.

Regrets are as human as cheating on your taxes, and though it is said often, I truly don't have a lot of regrets. I've always subscribed to the notion that all events in your life, positive or negative, makes you who you are, and frankly, I kind of like who I am. People can get so easily caught up in that cyclical pattern of loss and regret, but speaking as someone who has been there, nothing positive ever comes from it. Regrets make the past all too present, preventing you from truly healing and moving on.

That being said, I am guilty of making the terms "Forgive" and "Forget" mean two entirely different things. Forgetting is just something people in my family don't do. I can move on, live my life in a normal or possibly in a better way, after incidents of trial or sadness, which I suppose can be perceived as Forgiveness. However, I have a very difficult time not completely holding that past negative experience against someone I see as the transgressor later down the road. Not to say I would ever bring up an individual past transgression. As I have stated above I try not to let my emotions control what comes out of my mouth, even if that means I have to sit in silence for extended periods of time. Still, its there, in the back of my mind, eating away at the small bit of myself that wants to heal and be done with that chapter of my life.

Also, I am not denying that I get angry. Oh boy, do I ever! I have an intense, deep burning of unquenchable fire coursing through my veins, which peaks often at inopportune moments. The simple fact that I can control it and let the pressure slowly release instead of blowing up all at once is perhaps a testament to my fear of regret, my need to not have words out in space that can be thrown back at me at a later date.

Taking all of this into account, could I be handling past negative experiences better? Sure. Is getting angry and not being able to truly forget something truly the healthiest and most mature way of dealing with things? Of course not. Is it something I'm happy about or proud of? Surely not. But it is human.

Though I have tried my whole life to live as atypical to the standard male model so frequently portrayed in beer commercials and "Behind The Music" specials, I can't deny that I am as fallible and idiotic as many of my gender. I'm not perfect. I fuck up. But thankfully, I do better than most, and if there is some higher power out there judging us day-to-day, I think I'll end up with a decent review in their eyes. Something else I take deep solace in is that maybe four or five experiences in my entire life fall into these categories mentioned above, and all else, I find I can sincerely let slide.

------------

Lastly, I'm starting to see a real pattern here in my blogs, a gentle overview on a topic, posing questions I already know the answers to, having no real point or final conclusion, and continued verbose ramblings on the natures of things. If it starts to be a bit much, I hope someone will please let me know.

Thanks.

A Perception of Words

2009-02-28T14:50:00.000-08:00

For as far back as I can recall, words have always intrigued me. The power of their use, and misuse, is something that we continually take for granted in our modern and increasingly abbreviated world. How odd it seems that the omission of one word from a sentence can change its entire meaning. History has shown that the improper use of words can create perceived conflict and hostility among otherwise friendly peers, misunderstandings that led to unnecessary feuds that spurred wars, death, destruction, and sadly years of chaos. Just simple words, mere letters and shapes arranged in a particular order.

Metaphor, sarcasm, and hyperbole are all weapons we employ on a daily basis. So accustomed to their use are we that more often than not we aren't even aware of the subtle layers, patterns, and complex history that has gone into the evolution of how we communicate today. Myself, I'm a smart-ass. Anyone who has talked with me at any great length knows I am painfully sarcastic, to the point where my often dead-pan delivery can be perceived as rude, harsh, coarse, or asshole-ish. Still, to those truly close to me, I am also known to be one of the most honest, sincere, and verbose people they know.

I am continually inspired by those who communicate well. The proper use of words is indeed an art form. Politicians, advertisers, religious leaders and those who have managed to survive in the toughest of times can all attest to that. Knowing what to say, how to say it, and perfecting the timing of the delivery are all facets of this complex game of communication. Those who play the game well can make non-believers into leaders of a movement. They can educate, inspire, and in the worst of situations, create doubt, fear, and promote hate.

In this current period of texting, instant messaging, and refusing to answer calls from numbers we don't recognize, I see a continued and increasing lack of proper communication. With all of our technology, which can transport words and their ideas across the planet in an instant, we seem to actually be communicating less, and no one seems to notice or care. I wonder what Johannes Gutenberg would say if he lived today. Would he be as confused and frustrated as I am about how our words for conveying emotion have devolved into emoticons and abbreviations like "LOL"? Or, more likely, would he be found in a Starbucks with his iPhone in it's scratch resistant case updating his Twitter account?

When I was in junior high school I began to memorize poems and verses from the bible in larger quantities. Not all of them are still retained in my noggin, but there are still many I can recall that continue to inspire and define me. Also, I collect quotes, be them from great moments and icons of history, a drunken stumble and play on words from a friend, or a profound song lyric that inspires repeatedly. I often wish I was a better writer, or that I could commit to creating a body of written work instead of the massive amount of visual art I have made in my life.

While living in Seattle for half a dozen years, yet still driving the eighteen hours or so back to California almost seventy times, I began to see traveling and the road as metaphors for so many different aspects of life. There are too many to recount here, so instead I will leave you with one of my favorite poems about the road, one that I recite to myself at least once a week. I would be more than satisfied having the last stanza being etched upon my tomb stone, that is if I can't think of something terribly witty and sarcastic enough to put on instead:

Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
By Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it's queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there's some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

"I promise I'm not a manic-depressive."

2009-02-16T15:58:00.000-08:00

I decided to bookend this blog with two photos taken in the exact same spot, the edge of my bed, with completely opposite intentions. I'm a guy who loves duality, what can I say?

To quote the singer/songwriter Sting, "I promise I'm not a manic-depressive." After rereading several of my blogs and Flickr posts of late I had to stop and take a deep breath, realizing I sounded like such an Emo whiny baby. Actually, for the most part I like to believe myself to be a fairly focused, level-headed kind of guy. That being said, I figured it was time to post a blog that wasn't so negative or deep or over-analytical.

At the start of each new year I fall into the cliché of hope: hope for a new perspective on life, new beginnings, new career opportunities and maybe even new relationships of various kinds. I'm aware that the change of digits and numerals on a wall calendar or on your phone is really quite arbitrary and all in our minds, but this is me at my most optimistic.

WHAT I LIKE:

I like pretty flowers, making faces at both smiling and crying babies, warm tomato soup on cold days, old quirky movies like "Harold and Maude", a clean camera lens, drinking wine with friends and whiskey with strangers, meeting like-minded people in places I've never been before, meeting close-minded people on tough days, and listening to mopey, thoughtful, romantic music. I enjoy an almost-cold bottle of water, clean sheets, lukewarm showers, pretentious people who aren't aware of how silly they are, children asking questions, natural light, and dark, shocking humor that is witty enough for me to want to repeat. I like honesty, sincerity, politeness that isn't always nice, your concern without your worry, care without pity, and being speechless in the face of a truly wonderful surprise.
Your sweet, genuine smile.
I like music old and new, both bad and good, slow and peppy, whiny and soulful. I like quiet movies with intricate plots as well as watching things go "cracka-cracka" while a faulty hero does his best.
I like you. No, not you, the person behind you.
I like me, and I think you would, too, if you got to know me. I like not being liked though, also. Being liked by everyone is just boring, don't you think?

Anything else you want to know, feel free to ask.

And...FIN.

LOVE, Part Two: Sucker

2009-02-02T23:16:00.000-08:00

Okay, it's obvious: I'm a sucker for women. Not all women, per se, but those truly special ones that have the ability to take your breathe away, if even for a moment. Sure, it can be a pretty face or a subtle glance, and these are common. Even more exciting though are the women armed with a wonderfully sarcastic quip, a dirty little glint in their eyes, or simply one of a thousand other unnameable things that make your heart sing or your legs turn to Jello. Yes, of course there have been maybe one or two in this life that have truly knocked me out, thrown me for a loop or whatever other cliché you can think of, and those are the most extreme example. However, this general interest and widest of wide variety in tastes of women never ceases to remind me of how human I am.

These special females in question can range from the obvious good girl with a dirty side to the blatant loud-mouthed and confrontational broad who doesn't take shit from anyone. In my 31 years they have come in all shapes and sizes, all ages and demographics, and sadly all manners of involvement in the judicial system. This is not to say I've gotten involved with all of these women, or have had the desire to, yet these select women have all gotten my attention in their own way.

Thankfully, for the crutch that this ability of having my head turned so easily can be, it has also helped me considerably as a photographer. I find myself often in a situation where I am needing to find even the smallest attractive or redeeming value in someone that can be pretty odious and annoying. Sometimes it may be found in a movement of the hand, the shape of a neck or the fabulous snort when laughing (no, not you Hollie!), but in that moment that person can seem fascinating and lovely.

Still, this is not the same as those very special one or two ladies who have kicked my ass, or better yet, who I have allowed to have my ass kicked by. There are those special women who have so many qualities that challenge, inspire, frustrate and infuriate, hurt and down-right crush you that you just can't get enough, you always go back for more. Because you're a sucker. At least I am.

And here's the song that reminded me:

"SUCKER"
John Mayer

Sometimes, I wish that I was the weather
You'd bring me up in conversation forever
And when it rained, I'd be the talk all day

Oh, sometimes I wish that I was a cold beer
I'd rest assured that you would hold me near
I'd be guaranteed to be just what you need

And there could be no other way, 'cause you're so, you're so lame
Your tired words are all, they're all the same
Yeah I would walk and I'd surely walk away
If I wasn't such a sucker for you

Sometimes, I wish that I was a bong hit
You'd let me in and you would love every minute
And tell the room the things I did to you...

Oh and there could be no other way, 'cause you're so lame
Your tired words are all, your tired words are all the same
Yeah I would walk you know I'd surely walk away
If I wasn't such a sucker for you

I see your world with rosey-colored glasses on
Wanna right what I see wrong
I could never have that power over you

Someday, I'm gonna pack up and leave this town
I'm gonna get my own things goin' on
And when I do, I'll forget
I'll forget
I'll forget about how, how you're so, you're so lame
Your tired words are all, your tired words are all the same
And I would walk you know I'd, I'd walk away
If I wasn't such a sucker for you
I wasn't such a sucker for you
I wasn't such a sucker for you

Yup, that says it all. Good night.

The loss of a dear friend...

2009-01-29T20:59:00.000-08:00

I started these blogs with a promise to myself to be as honest about my thoughts and emotions as possible. This can be very difficult for me sometimes, but I'm doing my best.

A few months ago I lost a dear friend. It wasn't due to something that makes sense, like a long illness and death or even a sudden move to a different city. No, this friendship's ending was due to words, or the lack there of. Those closest to me knew her and were saddened for me when they heard the news, but I don't think very many know just how much it sincerely effected me.

It seems from the very beginning she and I talked about the friendship not lasting, either due to her need to push people away or for the habits people get in when they are around her. At one point she said that mostly people lose her as a friend because they eventually disappoint her, but in this case she corrected herself by saying that eventually she would probably be the one to disappoint me. And she did. That led to a series of events that unfortunately created a final, quiet, mutual fading away of communication and closeness that I had strangely come to rely on.

Being someone who myself is rather reserved when it comes to truly being open with others, that hurt a great deal. In the long run maybe we both disappointed each other, or were let down when the ideas we had of each other turned out to not be as accurate as we hoped. Frankly the sadness I've felt from that was a great challenge to come to terms with.

A few close friends said after the fact that they didn't ever really like her though never wanted to say so, which I guess makes sense. She admittedly is one of the hardest people to get to know, and again would be the first one to say that she isn't at her best when dealing with people's emotions, let alone her own. However, I was always pleased to be on her good side, of experiencing the sweetest, most sincere, giving, cooperative, and selfless parts of her. Most importantly, the rarity of being on the positive side of such a person was not lost on me. I valued her in my life greatly and shared not only my time with her, but my life, family, and friends as well.

And now, we don't talk. When it came to the distribution and returning of each others belongings our brief encounters have become that of strangers. I can't help but feel that the continually used phrase "you don't understand" is something she clings to like a security blanket, hoping no one ever will. The most naive parts of myself wonder why it has to be like this. Then, at my most angry and hurt moments, for the second time in a year, I want to tell someone who meant so much to me simply to fuck off and never talk to me again. Thankfully that is entirely out of character for me and in both instances this year I refrained.

This loss really was like a bitter break-up, with all the frustrating clichés present in abundance, and yet there was never a romantic encounter between us. Some have told me maybe that was the problem, or maybe it was something else. I will probably never know, and that weighs on me more than it should.

The final analysis comes down to the eventual question: Would you want to have things the way they were? Knowing what I know now, or what I probably already knew but was afraid to think about, I guess not. Still, this situation made a tough 2008 seem almost amusingly sad by year's end.

And now its a new year, and life goes on.

A Selfish 2009

2009-01-25T15:06:00.000-08:00

I think 2009 is shaping up to be a pretty selfish year for me. So much of my time is spent thinking about others, what they might want or need, how to make them feel loved or wanted or appreciated. Most of the time it works, leading people to feel special and think I'm a pretty good guy, someone they think highly of and send really nice Christmas cards to.

Unfortunately, in doing so much for others I put my own desires on the back burner. For as far back in my memory the one thing I've always wanted is the one thing I couldn't have, so I think its time I started devoting a bit more time to what I want for a change. This summer I have a month long trip planned, with stops all over the country to meet photographers, models, and other like-minded people which should take my mind off of the useless things its usually occupied by. I also am planning many more short trips before and after that, again in hopes of just finding something new. I seem to crave the new and different right now.

This attitude is counter-intuitive to my very nature however, and I don't know how long I'll be able to keep it up. As I type this I am painting cards and ordering gifts for people they have never wanted or asked for all in the hopes of brightening their day, all with little regard to how much time or money it is taking to procure these things.

Am I just a fool? A sap, a sucker? Am I seeking attention and an appreciative chuck on the shoulder to validate my existence? Am I trying to prove Mick Jagger right, that I can't always get what I want? As usual, I have more questions than answers. Let's see if doing things for myself changes how I feel.

Just felt like posting.

What is good enough?

2009-01-13T23:06:00.000-08:00

The other day my model, Katie, asked me a very subtle and almost flippant question, of why nothing was ever good enough for me. She knows me as well as anyone who models for me can, and though her immediate question had to do with editing out the best images of a shoot, she also was commenting on what she knows of my life.

Many people who know me well enough for me to consider them my dear friends have echoed that sentiment countless times through my life. Why am I never satisfied? Either they are commenting on my social life and interest or lack there of in a certain person, my urge to create something better than what I have recently finished, or some other tangible thing that would eventually land my already established skills or desires squarely on a fixed and final target.

Usually I smile and shine on them on because I know that deep down, for as much as I have let them in, they are wrong. I can think of maybe two people in this world, who by word but more importantly through only eye contact have accused me of being the opposite, accused me of being lazy. It is a word I have fought my whole life, be it lazy in a physical, mental, or emotional way. It is one of the worst of the four letter words and it is something I see in myself constantly.

Sure, things would be easier if I settled down, got married to someone who didn't stimulate me mentally but was a nice enough person whom I could share some laughs with. Sure, I could go down to city hall and get a maintenance job with benefits and a pension. Sure, I could rest on the laurels of my skills of drawing and painting and studio lighting and keep reproducing the same technical works ad infinitum. That would be fine and good, and it would be easy.

But why the hell would I ever want something easy? It is another one of those ugly four-lettered words. My dad always told us "nothing worth having comes easy", and I have held those words close to my chest for as long as I can remember. Maybe its the inherent Catholic upbringing, the need to suffer and punish oneself, but frankly I don't think I'm ever doing as well as I could or am. I could exercise more, learn a new language, put more in my savings, help my parents more, visit my nieces every day, call distant friends more often, do just one more take...

Its true, nothing worth having does come easy. The few times I have truly gotten something that I have worked and fought desperately for, wow, let me tell you, the feeling is unnameable. The success and amount of pride is so sweet and intoxicating, how could anyone not want to experience that?

This is just one of many things I think about when I can't sleep, of the things I need to do and all that is left undone. To sum up my opinion, I leave you with one of my thousand favorite quotes:

"Far better it is to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs even though checkered by failure, than to rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy nor suffer much because they live in the gray twilight that knows neither victory nor defeat." -Theodore Roosevelt (1858 - 1919)

Couldn't have said it better myself. Goodnight, all.

Behind the Scenes

2009-01-04T16:30:00.000-08:00

Surely, one of the large draws that photography has for me is the idea of getting to witness first hand that which others do not. I hate to say it, but its kind of cool to have a woman who has only been with one man in her life pose nude for me, to work behind the scenes of large public events and gain otherwise unattainable access to things like the Michael Jackson trial or weird Mexican wrestling events or adult entertainment sets, etc.

I've always wanted to know more than what I thought the average person did, which is probably why I've always gone out of my way to study as much background information, history, and origins of topics or events before I embark on any given assignment or subject matter. Subscribing to George Santayana's quote that "those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it," I can't help but feel that there should be an addition to that quote. Perhaps, "those who aren't aware of the whole situation are doomed to misjudge it".

I often hear my dad's voice in my head saying "there are always two sides to a story", and that probably led to my geeky enjoyment of Paul Harvey's "The Rest of the Story". Its important to not only see the show being presented to the public, but also know about what it took to make that show come into being. More often than watching a movie, hearing a song, or reading a book, I am curious to know what the person creating those things was going through, what was the inspiration for it, what made them tick.

Perhaps as a creative person myself I know what it takes and am thus more intrigued with the back story than others. I've had friends who have said that it doesn't matter, to just enjoy the work created or event being witnessed, and though I can appreciate the moment, I am always left wondering and wanting more. Don't just show me the end result, take me on the journey that got you to that point. Don't show me the surface, challenge me with the depth.

Here are a few shots from behind the scenes that I enjoy:

First is from my very first photo shoot with a model, a 40 year old stripper who actually started out my career as an official photographer. During the shoot in a strange house up in the Ventura hills, as we waited for her 60 year old husband to return with more buckets of bubbles to throw on her. I have always enjoyed this image because it really shows how unglamorous photographing such a model really is.

Next is a shoot from a porn set, of a couple taking a break during shots. Again, fairly monotonous and boring, aside from her top being up and her pants open.

I love this shot, taken during Mardi Gras in New Orleans in 2003. Here a cop was hitting on a prostitute on a side street of the French Quarter as it began to rain again. As soon as the flash went off I hurried away as the officer yelled at me to come back. He must not have wanted to lose his place because he never followed me.

Here's is a very upclose and personal shot of Angelo Moore, the lead singer of Fishbone, one of my favorite bands, while on stage at a local club.

Lastly, one of my all-time favorite documentary shots. I was hired to shoot a wedding for a really fun, cool couple. During the course of the reception the bride went off on the Maid of Honor, making her cry. Here she makes a gesture of excitement knowing she has hurt her friend's feelings. Sheesh!

Questions about Blondes...

2009-01-04T16:28:00.000-08:00

What is it about blondes? There is an undeniable draw that blonde women have in our world that never ceases to intrigue me. From the 1400's with Lucrezia Borgia to modern times with Marilyn Monroe, Farrah Fawcett, Pamela Anderson and the Swedish Bikini Team, blondes have dominated Western Culture's fascination for a very long time.

Most of us know at least one blonde joke that reinforces the stereotype that blondes aren't as smart, interesting, or clever as their darker haired counterparts. I can't say that all of the smartest women I've met were blondes, but I also can't say that I haven't met many ditzy brunettes, red-heads, and raven haired beauties either.

Is it a sign of basic evolution to be drawn to someone with sunlit hair? Is there some primal urge that makes our subconscious think blond hair makes an individual more pure, closer to lightness and perfection? Or is it as simple as our eyes being naturally drawn to a shiny object?

In my small town of Santa Maria I have found it incredibly difficult to get models who aren't Caucasians with blonde hair. Are white girls taught to be more open and willing to be photographed? Does their "white" upbringing give them less love so they have more of a desire to have attention given to them? Are they taught to be more open about themselves? Is it that they are more likely to aspire to what daddy's back issues of Playboy contained? I have many questions, and the answers vary as much as the individual blondes I work with.

Personally, I've dated both blond and non-blonde women and honestly I don't have a preference when it comes to hair color. However, when it comes to my photo work I would love the opportunity to shoot more brunettes. Not much of a point here, just a few thoughts.

LOVE, Part One: Doubt

2008-12-26T20:21:00.001-08:00

Countless blogs will be written here on the topic of Love, so I've decided that I should just number them from the beginning. Here is the first:

I subscribe to the Greek theory on Love and have tried continuously to keep everyone I know as closely contained within the three categories as possible. The three inimitable Greek kinds of love, or at least how I learned them years ago, are as follows: Agape, a general affection or appreciation of, Philios, a much more virtuous love bestowed upon friends and family, and lastly Eros, a sensual, passionate attraction, the kind of love that involves a lot of huffing and puffing after two people are done expressing it.

In the last week, two women who have never met one another have said the same phrase to me, that I should "never doubt" their love for me. One of these women is someone I have tried to excise from my life for over a year now to no avail, and the other is someone I've tried desperately to get more involved with for over a year now, to no final romantic conclusion.

Many people have told me they love me, but only these two people, aside from my parents, have ever used those words, "never doubt", while expressing it. Truly, most of what one grows up experiencing as Eros, or romantic love, involves immeasurable amounts of doubt. From the very beginning of meeting someone there is doubt about whether they feel the same way as you do, how you should divine the answer to that question, what the next step is, etc. Once a relationship is established, invariably one person involved doubts the future of the relationship, the intention of the others' actions, and so much more. Even after a relationship has ended there is some doubt as to whether the split was a right choice or how it could have been handled better. Honestly, doubt is very familiar in what we Westerners see as the average relationship.

In my specific case of these two women there are two complete opposite experiences. I gain nothing but frustration and anger from the immaturity, lack of understanding, and overall creepiness of the first woman's undying love for me. I avoid her altogether. In the other case, the deep, loyal friendship that has been established is one that I wouldn't trade for anything in the world and hope will never end. Thankfully with the latter, the closeness we share lessens any sense of loss that still might linger from time to time.

So, what am I left with? The concept that, if there is a God, he has an amazing sense of humor when it comes to my love life? Do I have a penchant for only being drawn to women I can't have and pushing away those that are too easy to attain? Fortunately, I know the answers and what to do, at least in each of the situations involving these two women. Still, as I have said countless times before to others when giving romantic advice, the right decision may be very simple, but they are never easy. "Easy" and "Simple" get confused far too often. In the end, its simply about doing what's right.

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Check out the other pics of Monica in bed.

Pretty is boring.

2008-12-15T03:49:00.001-08:00

Last year I was approached by an editor of JPG Magazine to write a little about how I find models. My approach to finding models, and photography in general really, is not the industry standard by any stretch of the imagination. I tend to make it up as I go, taking it as it comes, relying on my instincts, hoping for the best. So far, its worked out alright. We'll see what the future holds.

THE KIND YOU DON"T TAKE HOME TO MAMA, published in JPG Magazine, April 2007

We've seen it all before. The "cute girl", the "pretty face", the "radiant smile". Blah blah blah. Don't get me wrong, I'm a fan. BIG FAN. But it gets old after a while. Okay, I may be a bit jaded after having taken photos of over two hundred women, but it just takes a lot more to hold my interest now. Sure, I've been suckered in by a pretty face, we all have. But I'd like to think I'm getting past all that. Which is why my current work is evolving: the beauty queen who likes to fight, Eve selling her forbidden fruit on the street corner, people being exposed in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Having worked with a few very professional-grade models, I learned fairly quickly that the mystique attributed to them isn't all its cracked up to be. A bit dense, a tad phony, with a slightly askew notion of what is deemed relevant and important for a good life. Which is why I now find my models in my small home town of Santa Maria much more engaging.

Yeah, I get teased by my family and friends about it constantly. We'll be at a restaurant, in a store, at a car wash, and I'll approach some attractive waitress/clerk/attendant with my standard, "Hi, this may sound weird, but have you ever modeled before? Would you like to?" Then begins the series of questions, reassurances, passing out of business cards, displaying of sample images off of my camera phone, all in an effort to show I am legitimate and not some pervert. Sometimes this can take a while.

These women are real, with opinions and personalities, and more often than not have always wanted to model. They have just as many issues and baggage and hang-ups as everyone else. Thankfully I have an innate ability to put them at ease and build up a mutual trust, to get them to open up about themselves, and eventually capture their true nature. Again, this can take a while.

However, with this trust, and eventually true friendship, comes a willingness to try new things, exploring not only my ideas but their own. Yes, they are all attractive women and I will be the first to admit that "sex sells", but these images are a lot deeper than that. I try to slip a little reality in there, a bit of brutal honesty and an uncomfortable familiarity that hopefully takes a simple image of a woman in a straight jacket and makes it into a sad and real metaphor for how she lives her own particular life.

Why capture a supermodel in a designer outfit when I can get a lovely woman to act out a slice of everyday life? Who can honestly identify with a size zero model walking down a runway? I'd much rather see an image of a pregnant woman saddled with two kids displaying her vices and dreaming of a better life. Make me a little nervous, a bit confused. Make me say "Hey, I know someone like that".

Just make me think, and I'll do my best to return the favor.

Here's just a sample of what I do:

"The Racial Stereotypes"

2008-12-13T14:30:00.000-08:00

I'm definitely not one to shy away from a little controversy from time to time. My personality is what strangers have called "outspoken" on good days and downright "rude" on bad ones. I can't deny that there is a large aspect of my personality that tends to be a bit extreme, but I like to think I also have a quiet, thoughtful side, too. Well, that is not the part I am going to mention in this post.

I get some crazy ideas for images now and again. Often I am told to shoot more photos of men, to stop being so confrontational with my images that tend to make women look bad. So, to answer those people I decided to make some really controversial images of men that made them look really bad. My most popular, if that would be the correct adjective, has been "The Racial Stereotype".

I got a kid who works in the photo department of my local drug store to model, had an official-looking Ku Klux Klan robe made and personally sewed the hood, shooting on location in a one-hundred year old barn. The hood was easy to make, convincing the model was much easier to do then anticipated, and aside from the dirty look from the woman who owned the embroidery store where I had the robe made, everything went smoothly. Even the shoot itself took less than twenty minutes, taking longer to drive out to the barn than actually setting up the lights and doing it did.

I have many websites on which my photos are seen, but to my surprise the one profile where I have received the most actively supportive, complimentary, and vitriolic comments has been on a very simple modeling site, ModelMayhem.com.

Click on the image above to read all the wonderful comments, they are a rich tapestry of writing all on their own. I enjoy and pay attention to the negative ones, mostly ignoring anything too positive.
Or, you can just view my profile here: www.modelmayhem.com/member.php?id=60635

Okay, now THIS is my first real, official blog post. Thanks for coming along for the ride.

In the beginning...

2008-12-13T13:48:00.001-08:00

For a long time now, people have been asking what my blog link was. Though I consider myself fairly up on modern technology I also am a very old-fashioned type of guy, making the concept of blogging seem questionable at best. Why would you just keep posting random thoughts and images online like a diary? Not only is it too personal, but who the hell would really care to read such drivel? I do that already for the most part on my flickr profiles, and even so I often am concerned whether people care about what I actually write versus just wanting to see some sexy, scantily clad young women.

I know many people who are really into the whole blogging world, or "blogosphere" as I've been corrected numerously about. Most of the time I am proven correct by seeing blogs that are trivial, sad, self-indulgent, and just plain silly. Then there are well thought out, insightful and creative pages that truly enlighten, inspire, and educate. Seriously, I have no idea which of those groups my little bloggy is going to fall into. Let's just hope it isn't too horribly odious.