Motivation

There seems to be some reoccurring themes in a lot of the professional photo blogs I read. One main theme among the industry newbies and veterans is how social networking (i.e. blogs, Facebook, Twittter) has lead to a flood of so-called Rock Star Photographers. Of which I am not. These are the people who charge substantial fees for workshops yet may not have the years of experience to back of their costly expertise. The other hot topic is how the prevalence of digital SLR cameras (a la mine) have lead to a flood of amateurs on the market who charge too little for their services. In particular, I came across this article from the New York Times this evening.

I am an amateur photographer who charges a nominal fee for my services. I wonder if this means I am part of the problem. And if it's an actual problem or just an industry that is choosing to get up in arms over a perceived threat. Either way, I'm not sure what to make of it. The backlash and criticisms on blogs and forums relating to these topics is enough to make me think I'd be crazy to try and enter this field. And I really don't know if photography is something I could do or would even want to do as a full-time gig.

The one thing I know is I love taking photos. And I'm willing to give up most of my non-working hours during the week editing photos, even if it is for a nominal fee. Nothing makes me feel better than being able to hand over an image to someone that I just know they'll hang on there wall and treasure for years to come. Images like those below are enough to make me know that even if I never charge another dime for my photos, I'll still keep taking them.

Let's Be Friends

I am full of excuses when it comes to finding time to head to the gym. It's too hot, or it's too cold, or it's too early, or it's too late. Or I too recently took a shower. Apparently I at times need a swarm of flies circling my head to determine it is in fact time to head to the gym. My friend Lexi thinks she's the queen of excuses. But she has two children, so I reason that her excuses are immediately 100 percent more valid than mine.

Last Sunday though, I set something in motion. I didn't know it at the time, but heading to the gym a little over a week ago would give me the momentum to continue going, excuses be damned. Since that Sunday, I've gone to the gym  five times. That feat has not happened in months. I think I went five times total from November to January.

That's the thing about working out: The more I do it the more I want to keep doing it. Because if I stop, I don't know how long it will be until I go again. This week though, my excuses have fallen away. I've gone and not had any thought otherwise. I've gone even though it meant the earliest train I could take home was the 7:35 p.m. I've gone even though I've worked an 8+ hour day. I've gone even though I've only had 30 minutes to spare. I've gone even though the weather outdoors could not have been nicer. 

Today the weather was downright beautiful. And I decided I wasn't going to the gym. I was going to the park instead. For all my dramatic declarations of I don't run any more, I ran today. Not far, not fast. I got out there though. The weather could not have been nicer - mid 60s, sunny with a slight breeze. I made my third pass around the quarter mile track and was surprised upon internal inspection to find that I was enjoying myself. It was so nice that I did a fourth lap. And then ran part of the way home.

This is the thing I learned. I do like running. But I like doing it outdoors, on a nice day. And I like running without worrying about setting a pace or going a certain distance. When I don't self impose all these pressures on my running performance, I actually do find it quite enjoyable. So running, I have this to say to you: Let's be friends. You may never be a great love of mine, but I'll always look forward to catching up with you on a sunny day.

Eat Your Vegetables

I started off my weekend by watching Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution. Anyone else? I didn't plan on watching it, but some how I ended up on the show and then watched the entire two hour premiere.

It was eye-opening in the sense that I cannot believe how warped childrens' views of food are. Jamie proved that kids are willing to eat anything as long as its breaded, in the shape of a chicken nugget and fried. He also proved that a classroom full of first grade students couldn't tell the difference between a tomato and a potato. I realize kids at that age don't necessarily always know that french fries come from potatoes or that tomatoes make ketchup, but that fact that they couldn't identify the vegetables in their raw form was a bit sad. I would like take this moment to formally thank my parents for sitting us down for dinner every night. We had home cooked food more often than not, and I certainly remember eating my fair share of vegetables - whether I wanted to or not.

I ended my weekend with a photo shoot with a sweet little girl by the name of Becca. She restored my faith in children. And her parents are wonderful. Totally the type that will make her eat her vegetables, even though she currently only has four teeth.

Not This Time

Any one who has read this blog for more than a year knows I at one point in time considered myself a runner of sorts - and that I now no longer consider myself a runner of any sort. I gave it up last year after having realized there was no need to torture myself with an exercise that, in all honesty, I hated. Especially when I have a gym membership and several fancy elliptical machines waiting for me a few blocks away whenever I want.

One of the events that triggered my letting go of running was the 2009 Shamrock Shuffle. Those of you with good memories might recall that the morning of the 2009 Shamrock Shuffle looked like this:

Something about this race always brings the crappiest weather. This year was no exception. It did snow the day before the 2010 Shuffle. Thankfully the morning of the race was just cold, wet and dark. No snow. However, having given up running, as aforementioned, my title that day was photographer not runner. It's a title I'm more comfortable with any way.

My friend Jenny came into town to run the race and did quite fantastic I must say. I, on the other hand, got what I think are some fantastic images. And I didn't even break a sweat.

This crew below was a little late. I passed them as I was on my way to try and capture the lead pack at mile three. I didn't. The lead pack runs so much faster than I walk.

Even though it was cold and rainy, it helped me get this cool shot (below).

I learned that photographing runners isn't easy, especially on a cloudy day. There wasn't really any available sunlight and without it, my shutter was a lot slower than I wanted it to be. Plus, my lens was having a really hard time focusing on all these quickly moving, bobbing faces.

I gave that up for a bit and just tried to capture the movement.

The cool thing about the Shamrock Shuffle is that the loop pretty much shuts down. So sidewalks that I am fighting for space on my daily commute to work become desolate. The street below I walk down every day to work. There's no way I could have gotten this shot Monday through Friday.

The statute in the photo below is in a building's lobby right across the street from my office. I love how it stands out no matter the time of day or surroundings. But on this Sunday, it was a golden beacon.

Also located not far from my office is this plaza (below) with one of the famous Picasso sculptures. Again, I've always loved this sculpture, but I couldn't have gotten this clear of a shot on a weekday. The fact that a girl with a red scarf walked by as I was there was simply kismet.

I thought by the time I got downtown to the starting line that I might be sad that I wasn't running the Shuffle again. It is after all the first race I ever ran. But you know, I wasn't. I find so much more enjoyment these days behind the lens than I do pounding the pavement.

My one regret, however, is that I didn't get a photo of Jenny. I guess she's going to have to come back and run it again next year.