ISO: Work!

I don’t know whether the skills — and by inference the capital in equipage and knowledge — exhibited in this space are going to work for me, as it were.

This morning began with my editing a friend’s resume — yes, I can do that too even though approaching my own (there’s a new section on the above tabs) plainly scares me.

Oh my God, what have I done with my life!?

From one perspective, I can answer that without cringing: if deflected, discouraged, or inhibited early on,perhaps, I’ve nonetheless spent my life reading, writing (well, “journaling” at least), playing music, and engaged with photography.


Of course.

From another perspective, I may not be anything like what America’s combined accounting, engineering, and political cultures want.

Had I gotten any kind of smooth launch into music (one with much less other traditional intellectual enrichment), I’d have hoped by now to have transitioned to underscoring films.

In another life — that train needed to take me to Boston.

This other organic thing, less one-track minded, has sprawled a bit, and here am I squeezing it back into form, casting for “tasking” and otherwise molding it, kneading it around projects.

A combination of the two — direct service relationships and income; independent creative entrepreneurship — comprise my needs.

Offered: a terrific broad editorial and research capability bounded by English only and not by geography at all, such may be the “life of the mind” on the World Wide Web; general photography, where one indeed has to go somewhere with a camera, making the same an east coast (mid-Atlantic, New England, southern states) sport from my location close by two major American Interstates: I-70 and I-81.

Troubled manuscripts — academic, business, creative — may be welcomed here!


Also, schedule permitting and pony car willing, speeding with Nikon glass away from this desktop on a client’s mission would be welcomed here too.

It has to happen.

All kinds of things are just ready for it.

A Note Regarding Models

They really do move on.

As drive costs have come down and capacity gone up, I thought I would try to recover old shoots from DVDs (and then, one day, toss them).

Why DVDs?

As many my age know, the computer purchased for the ages some ages ago has been long gone or long crashed, and the optical disks, so carefully written to and labeled have indeed become a part of the record of what we did.

* * *

Model-photographer culture, which is what I’ve called the phenomenon that has been mixing guys with cameras (GWCs), sometime gals, with at least modestly exhibitionist ladies (and guys) since the earliest of digitally communicating days had seen boom days at — I sure did a lot of wild stupid-clever writing around that venue — and (I think I need to reappear there).

Another favored term of mine from that era: “faux fashion photography”.

What was I thinking?

What was she (or he) thinking?

Should I caption these old pictures? — “Mother of Three, Westchester”?; “Copywriter, Los Angeles”?; “Actor and Comedian, San Francisco”?

I can see if I’m not careful writing here, I’m going to catch a bad case of Valley Voice (?).

* * *

Do you believe in magic?

Some of these cats are makin’ it!

Model, Ten Years Ago, October 26, 2003

I could not be more gratified!

Sooner or later, especially as I post from these (model-released) archives, someone’s going to recognize someone (or himself).

Should I get in touch?

* * *

And some are less easily found.

A common name within an ethnicity; few details, even about interests, left from the shoot: and they are gone, Out There.

Model, Ten Years Ago, May, 2003

If your screen is hot, you might see artifacts.

Although some work on the DVDs travels back to the Nikon D70 era, others persist elsewhere in 35mm transparency files: those may have been scanned on equipment primitive compared to the Coolscan 5000 ED, which is itself now a bit behind the age, but it will have to do for a while longer.

Perhaps I should dive right into those old slide files, choose a very select few per age or set, and see how they look 10, 20, or 30 (or 40) years after I sat or stood somewhere and pressed a shutter release.