Beancounting

In a way, I'm not sure why I'm posting right now. I have nothing of value to say.

I just don't want to be owned by you, and that's how it's been for a long time. That's how it's always been. In fact, I can't remember a day when it wasn't like that. I want to be your peer. Your friend. Your equal. You are not better than me, and I am not better than you. It just drives me crazy when you act otherwise. I know I appear stupid, clueless, dumb. I know that you're ashamed to expose me to your friends. I know that I'm worthless to you. In fact, I think I know a lot more about what you think about me then you even know... you don't hide it very well.

No, I'm not as fit as you. No, I'm not as good looking as you. No, I don't have a girlfriend. And the only time I give a flying fishstick about any of that is when I'm thinking about you.

And I'm sick of it.

So when you're ready to treat me like a normal human being - I'll welcome you back. I won't hold anything against you. I've lost too many friends that way.

I made an honest mistake. I'll admit it. Yup - I wasn't thinking when I went over that ridge. I'll own that. I owned it, swallowed it, and sprayed it out the other end a few hours later. But you could have addressed me like a human being. Oh, but right - I'm not as good as you. You're right. I deserved that. Yup... and when I'm bored, I'll come crawling back to you right? Hahaha.

Not this time.

You could have thought before you mentioned anything about SAR - you have NO idea what my "bear awareness" training consisted of. I'll give you a hint - "if you see a bear, take your co-ordinates, and your bearing to the animal, and phone it in. If it attacks you, fight back". The Effing End. I hate to offer advice, because if it's not being asked for, it's the worst thing you can offer to anybody. But because I'm sick of being a spineless, self-depricating push-over, I'll offer some for you here.

THINK BEFORE YOU SPEAK.

I'm sorry Ok? I realize I made a mistake. Let's grow up and get on with our lives.

If you ever decide to treat me like a friend, and not a client - go ahead. I won't be waiting, but I'll take you back.

Until then, thanks for all the fish.


-Ryley


PS: I've been putting on downhill ski boots for YEARS longer then you have. I don't need to be lectured on how to do it. Again. Think about it.

Juggling Photons, Protons, and Morons.

Good evening all,

I found myself today asking: What is photography? What is its value? Why do I do it? What does it mean? What story am I trying to tell? And then I realized that the most important question was: Who am I taking this photo for?

A camera is a fascinating thing. A bunch of light gets bounced off things, and then somehow, by some miracle of physics, finds its way to to the polarizer of my lens. The light that makes it through this bless-ed filter then proceeds to play a game of pool with itself as it bounces around the dozen or so other elements that are still barely clinging to their precisely machined places inside the lens (I imagine this like the fight that occurs in the rotating hallway in Inception). The few rays of light that survive this process then kamikaze onto a little strip of gelatine with some silver halide crystals on them. Or for the modern day equivalent, a digital sensor (which makes no sense to me).

So what's the big deal. It's all just a bunch of bouncing light, right?

Hmmm.


To me, a photo is a story. It is a few moments of time (but, a moment is timeless, so a singular moment can never be captured) trapped in digital singularity for as long as the user decides not to erase it. It's a painting showing emotion as real as it can be short of actually being there. It's an art form, it's a political form, it's a anthropological form. I dunno. I'm just using big words here...

Regardless. Why do I take photos? Why is it, that when I see something beautiful, or someone beautiful, or something funny, or interesting, I want to take a picture of it? It's almost instinct to reach for my camera, or my phone. Just cruise facebook, and you'll find out that really, everybody seems to be suffering from the same thing.

When I did my trip to Europe last year, I had to really consider the purpose of photography. There were times where literally, the choice of whether or not to take a photo was the difference between joy, and regret. Part of me said that it's for the memories. How will I ever be able to remember a trip that long without taking thousands of photos!? So what did I take photos of. I don't know. I don't remember a single one. That's a lie... I think that I can consciously remember five photos that I took. The interesting thing is that the memories of the trip are all still there whenever I need them - and I've never shown the photos to anybody.

As I write this, I have the joyous experience of reflecting on the fact that one year ago today, I was in Iceland. I took some 4000 odd pictures in Iceland. Given, it's probably one of the most photogenic places on earth, but still... I can't remember all but three or four.

My mother once said something that began to alter my view on photography. Having travelled to India for half a year, I naturally assumed that she would eventually sit my sister and I down, and show us a few hundred slides accompanied with some stories. Then one day, that day never came. She told me that her camera broke on one of the first days she was there. She told me about the sigh of relief that she let fly when she realized it was broken. And then, she goes on to tell the most vivid stories of the country that she fell in love with. Never does she say - "here, let me show you the picture of..." but somehow she explains it in a way that makes me understand something deeper than a photo can show.

A wise friend once told me that to be somewhere is not to take a photo of that place, or of you in that place, but rather - to sleep there.

That was probably one of the most powerful things that I have ever heard regarding a) Life, and b) Photography. And it's so true. What is it that I remember about Iceland? Wild camping for six weeks in the most stunning fjords, on top of mountain passes, and on the highland plateaus. Waking up to the sound of crashing waterfalls, and the blissful silence so pure that it seems a sin to even think. What is it that I remember about the sailing trip we did in grade nine? Waking up to the gentle rocking of the boat in a calm bay. The smell of the thick salty sea air. The feeling of wind blowing through my hair as I stood at the bow watching flocks of seagulls argue about their latest findings. What is it that I remember about New York? The buildings so high you can hardly see the sky. Music and peopled filling the streets everywhere. A culture of enormous proportions, from the people, to the food, to the cityscape.

I don't remember the photos.

Huh. Maybe I should sell my cameras. But yet, there must be value to it. Why else would I have that gut reaction? I'm no photographer... I don't need to sell my photos to put food on my table. I don't have a calling to go everywhere with a camera around my neck. Heck, I'm embarrassed to pull a camera out in just about any situation... even here at home when I'm hiking in the rockies - "oh, sorry guys, I wanna take a picture of this" (say that in my stupid person voice, and you'll see what I mean).

But I shouldn't feel bad. Maybe I won't when I find a legitimate reason to take the photos. Maybe I won't when I start taking photos for me. Not for the people who I think will see them. Not for the adventure I went on that will make them jealous. Not for the Like on facebook. Not for any other reason then that I feel inspired to pull out my camera and attempt the impossible - to translate through a photo, an "incapturably" timeless moment in space and to recreate that emotion, that feeling - both in me, and in the subject - after the fact in the darkroom.

Bed Time.

Goða Nott.

-Zigs



"You Are Loved. All Is Well"

Quit Thinking About It

Mikael: "Well, I do have some standards, believe it or not."
~she takes off her top and pushes him onto the bed~

Lisbeth: "You need to stop talking."


-Zigs


"You Are Loved. All Is Well"

Oh Logi Boy

This one's for Logan 'cause he told me to post more frequently today!


HHHHHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII   LLLLLLLLOOOOOOOOOOGGGGGAAAAAANNNNNN!!!!

**Making Risotto - My Kitchen - Copyright 2012**

There is much love for you here,

-Zigs


"You Are Loved. All Is Well."

Joon

The wind in the mountains is the Sound of the Earth Breathing.

Wind in my hair,
I feel part of everywhere,
Underneath my being,
Is a road that disappeared,
Late at night I hear the trees,
They're singing with the dead,
Overhead.

                             -Eddie Vedder


-Zigs


"You Are Loved. All Is Well."

Chestnut Eyes

Good Evening,

I find that sometimes the best solution to all situations is to just relax and distract yourself.

I'm not responsible for making her smile. I'm not responsible for the fact that every time she looks at me she smiles a smile that I can't get out of my head. Not for minutes, not for hours, heck, not for weeks.

But I am responsible for the feeling that I am, in the timeless moment that we're connecting - the most desired and adored human on the planet.

Every thought we think is after all, our own distinct choice. I could look at that smile and choose to think otherwise - but not with eyes like those. I guess that in a way this sums up my idea of the idea of love. The idea that love is not the emotion that you feel for another human, object, or experience, but rather the emotion that you feel about yourself when you are exposing yourself to those situations.

Love is the ultimate selfishness. And without selfishness, humanity could not survive.

And the only thing we have in common is that we are human. We don't even speak the same language.

Or that night Adam and I chatted in the car. I couldn't stop thinking about her for days -- I was useless! Sitting there truing wheels at work, suddenly realizing that the rim was nowhere near true. Disappearing back into thought, only to re-emerge with a broken spoke, and the wheel splayed open in front of me laughing.

And then there's that wonderful feeling you get when anybody, male or female, looks you in the eyes the first time you see them, and with a genuine smile, greets you by name. I don't know what it is about that. It makes me feel good, that's all I know. And I suppose that's what life's about - feeling good.

Anyways, sorry, I feel like I'm getting preachy. Also, I have started a very large percentage of these sentences with "and", which indicates that I must become sleep bound.

Goða Nott,

-Zigs


"You Are Loved. All Is Well"