The new Ben at his secret outdoor fitness center.

It’s about time for me to get back on this.

Over the past year or so, I’ve made a lot of changes for myself.  Physically, mentally, spiritually - I’ve slowly revamped the way I do things.  In the process I’ve learned more than I could’ve ever imagined.  This process, though, is only beginning.  So this writing is by no means the marker of a conclusion or an end of a road.  It is, rather, an attempt to share with you some of the intriguing nuggets, tidbits, and factoids that I’ve found along the way.

The most visibly noticeable result of this life-revamping is the weight I’ve lost.  Since last spring, I’ve shed about 75 pounds and lots of folks have asked me about how I’ve done it.  Here ya go…

Firstly, the technical formula is incredibly simple:  To lose weight, burn more calories than you take in.  In a nutshell, that’s all you’ve got to know to get started.  Implementation, of course, presents a set of challenges, which I’ll address below.

For me, the performance comes down to three main areas of focus (in no particular order):
1. Dietary
2. Physical
3. Mental

I’d be willing to be that a majority of unsuccessful weight-loss ventures fail due to one or more of these facets being overlooked.  The truth is, I believe, that nothing sustainable can be achieved without equal emphasis placed on each area.  One cannot stand alone; two cannot stand without the third; the success of one is directly related to the implementation of the other two.  Think of the whole as a three-legged stool.  Each leg has to be the present at the same length as the others.  If one leg is longer than the other, the stool is wobbly.  If one leg is removed, the stool will not stand.

So…  As I write this, I realize that it might be overwhelming to put all this information in one enormous post.  I will expound upon each of these areas greatly in subsequent posts.  First, however, wrap your brain around the formula:

To lose weight, burn more calories than you take in.

Easy, right? More soon…

At any rate, I simply wanted to share with you some thoughts and images from my most recent shoot for Vype Magazine, one of my favorite and consistently awesome clients.

The concept this time was simple: dynamic duos.  Involved were three pairs of footballing duos from the area.  We took shots of the individual pairs as well as some group shots.  Every single one of the guys was a pleasure to work with and meet.  I am constantly impressed by the charisma that emanates from the athletes I meet; these six footballers proved as impressive as any.

The challenges for the shoot were few, but tough nonetheless.  First, it was hot as hell outside, which was attributable to the fact that we were shooting outdoors at noon on a July afternoon in North Carolina.. which, of course leads me to the next challenge: god-awful light.  So solutions included copious consumption of H2O, utilizing shade as much as possible, and just sucking it the heck up and dealing with the fact that the light just really wasn’t going to improve.  All in all, it was a pretty successful afternoon.

Such, I guess, is the nature of life… Always assessing your surroundings, understanding your limitations and moving forward with the equipment you have, trying all the while to make something beautiful happen.

Peace y’all.

That said, I’m not terribly worried. In fact, this open summer is a grand opportunity.

I’m continuously honing a plan for 2010, one which includes a studio, a revamped and reenergized Organic Exposure Photo, and a more focused approach to storytelling, meaningful photography, and freelance work. So keep your dial tuned right here for updates as they happen.

As I’ve grown as a photographer, one thing I’ve come to find is that I have a hard time being satisfied with a photo unless it’s supported by concrete meaning. Really, this goes for anything I create. A photo, a song, a poem, a paragraph.. if it’s only fluff, if it’s there just for the sake of being there, I generally hate it. For this reason, I’ve grown increasingly bored by flickr-style photography. That’s not to say, know you, that I disapprove or necessarily dislike this pretty-photo-pursuit. For the record, flickr was undeniably instrumental in inspiring and crafting me as a photographer. The people, the photos, the community, it was all invaluable. (Of course, that was back in the day before Yahoo, before Getty, before video and all that community-killing BS. Ah, the good ol’ days.) Ultimately, however, I am no longer completely satisfied with a photo unless it is a tool in the pursuit of a larger goal.

Years ago, a good friend of mine, Lamar, gave me some of the best photography advice I’ve ever received. “When I am about to take a photo of something, I think to myself, ‘what do I want to say about this thing’? If I’m shooting a flower, I try to figure out what makes this flower important to me.”

More and more, I’ve tried to implement this philosophy in my own work. Now, if I’m walking with my camera through town, my goal is to minimize the frivolous photos. I try to continuously ask myself why I care about a particular shot or series. If I can’t come up with a good answer to that question, I don’t shoot. And all in all, it feels much better. The work I do produce is less clouded by superfluousness. And really, this philosophy works well in the rest of my life also. By working to eliminate the superfluous and non-essential, I create for myself an environment that is much richer, much purer, much more satisfying.

As a result, I’ve been working on a few projects that attempt to use my skills - photography and other - as tools in the pursuit of a larger goal. At this time, I’m working particularly intensely on an ever-evolving project with my good friend, Phil Bailey. This project is a part of a larger undertaking that’s been floating around my mind for a while, involving persons who I greatly admire. “Heroes” is the working title. In lieu of a verbose description of the project (as I said, it’s ever-evolving), I’ll share with you a short audio clip that will become part of the final product.

Phil is an incredibly engaging, sincere, and interesting individual. I am enamored by his stories and I cannot wait to continue to work with him on this project. The audio will be accompanied by photos, eventually. I’ve contemplated making this sort of piece a product available to customers, and in time I think that will come. In the meantime, my time involves work, saving money, enjoying the hell out of the summer, and continuing to search for meaning in all that I do. I recommend all the preceding to each of you. Enrich your life. And drink lots of coffee.

Peace.

I wanted to share with you an excerpt from a bit of thinking I did on this.  Additionally, my thoughts address the silliness I find in worrying about the implications of “mushiness”, which is at the heart of why most folks (including myself) find mushiness off-putting.  Here you go:

—
I decided about two years ago that I was going to live with a vivid appreciation of the present, the now, the facts that actually exist, the truth. For really, the past and the future are mere fabrications of our feeble human brains.

The past is nothing more than a recollection, which, as science shows, is actually a process of mental creation as much as it is of actual retrieval. As such, when we think of the past, we aren’t actually remembering it perfectly. Instead, we are simply creating a personal version of reality that is inherently imperfect.

The future, similarly, is an obvious fabrication of reality. Just as our brains rely on evidence, cues, and instinct to re-create an image of the past, we use the same materials to create an image of the future. And of course, the image we create of the future is in no way immaculate.

Both the past and the present, then, contain no perfect truth. The present, however, does. It is only the present that offers us an accurate, reliable, infallible picture of what actually exists. And worrying about the mental fabrications that surround it is absolutely futile, for this is in essence as useful as worrying about a bad dream.

So for this reason, I take great care to bask in the present. This isn’t to say that I don’t try to be prepared for the future, to be groomed and ready, learned and primed. It simply means that I try to let my emotions live in the reality of now rather than in the speculations of my mind. I try to react to what happens now rather than to what I recall happened in the past or to what I think might happen in the future. When I meet a beautiful girl, the verses and poetry that come to me are not hyperbolic or imprudent, for they are simply a product of my reaction to the now. Thus, they are organic, real, and reliable reflections of the state of my Being at any given moment in time.

Mushiness, to me, implies poetry or floweriness that is intended as a means to an end. If I forced myself to write a poem or a song for you because I wanted it to make you fall for me, that would be mushy. What I do, however, I try hard to do for no purpose other than capturing the truth of Now. So when I tell you you’re beautiful or close my eyes while I play you a piano, it is utterly real. It is true. It is now.

Take it and savor it.

Because really, worrying about what its implications might be is, as I said, futile. My poetry, my truth, it doesn’t even reach the point of being affected by implications. It’s way too raw for that. Way too now.

And it’s this whole philosophy that makes me shudder at the thought of simply “seeing what happens”.

Because of the fact that Now is all that actually exists, it is consequently the only time in which we’re really able to affect things. So when I think of simply sitting back and seeing what comes without applying some kind of affect to it all, it seems depressing. If I do this, I effectively sit out reality. And I can’t swallow the thought of simply being an observer of my own life. I need to be an affecter, a conductor, a doer in my own existence. I, as I say often, like to make to shit happen.

—-

Keep in touch, y’all.

Best to you.

Life seems tense these days.  It’s a combination of things, I think.  Much of my stress comes I believe from the general undertone of worry being felt in this country these days.  Just as economic troubles seem to propagate themselves, so does the bad mood that accompanies them.  I’m feeling it.  Additionally, my chosen field - media - issuffereing a doubly intense period.  For the media business, the paradigm is mid-shift.  And it’s painful.  I’ve been anticipating this shift for several years now just like many, many others.  The problem these days, I believe, is that so many of the folks who actually run things in this business didn’t anticipate this inevitability.  As a result, things are pretty much chaotic.  Of course, the debate on why the media business (especially print media) is suffering so much is well documented and ample, so I won’t dive too much into detail.  As it stands now, I am certainly feeling the pressure.

I wholeheartedly believe that this business - the business of storytelling, truth-searching, accountability - will survive and flourish once again.  It will be different in form, but essentially, the purpose will be the same.  The need for journalists, be them writers, photographers, radio anchors, has not diminished at all.  In fact, we need them more than ever in this country.  And I think that we’re beginning to see the resurgance in the demand for our leaders to be held accountable, as well as the demand for the telling of stories.  It’s apparent to me in the way that President Obama has been thoroughly criticized (though not necessarily maliciously) even at a time when many people believe beyond doubt that he is perfect for this country at this time.  Perhaps it’s a result of years of inaccountability and social complacency, but whatever the impetus, it’s undeniable that there are people out there who want to keep a close watch on what’s happening.  This is a good thing.  Though empty criticism and sensational outbursts of thoughtless malice (see: Fox News) is totally unneeded, real, true, pure journalism is absolutely needed.

At this point, there is no shortage of folks who want this pure journalism.  The problem is that the new pool of concerned citizens aren’t particularly schooled in the art of non-biased investigation (see: Huffington Post, Daily Kos, CrooksAndLiars, etc.).  I do believe these types of media have a place, but they should not take the place once held by newspapers.  Admittedly, I subscribe to some of these blogs and read them quite regularly.  Though unfortunately as the demise of newpapers continues to progress, I am more and more discouraged by the fact that some of these outlets, particularly Huffington, claim to fill newspaper’s slots.  It is utterly impossible for a company like Huffington Post to produce pure journalism while continuing to embrace a voice of purely non-journalistic timbre.  In a case like this, every “journalistic” piece is tainted by the residue of bias and agenda, thus stripping it of its legitimacy.  Subsequently, Huffington Post, et al. and Fox News really are hardly different in journalsitic legitimacy, they simply appeal to different demographics.  This is why we need what we used to have with newspapers.

Like I said, the debate on how to revive this function is copious.  Nobody really knows exactly how to proceed.  But I am confindent that one day in the not too distant future, we’ll see it again, revived, more mature, and as vital as ever.  The simple fact that this conversation is now very audible is encouraging to me.

So, me….

In the meantime, I’m struggling just like anyone else with how to make it through the shift.  I’ve seen a substantial decrease in work and compensation.  Finances are as tight as ever.  And like everyone else, I’m not only struggling with how to keep my wallet stocked, I’m also struggling with how to maintain positivity in my attitude, my mood, and my spirit.  And it’s not terribly easy.  I am susceptible to despondency.  The energy I require to keep myself up is great.  That said, it is absolutely worth the work.  I’ve returned recently to a few truths, a few constants, a few eternal verities.

Recently I learned that a friend of mine who also works in the media business (television) had lost her job as a result of company-wide layoffs.  Though I’ve gotten used to hearing about broad layoffs like these in this industry, I was frankly surprised to hear that someone like her - young, passionate, dedicated, and immensely talented - had been laid off.  I sent her a message in hopes of offering some sympathy and encouragement.  In the course of writing my message, I stumbled across something that I realized I should personally be fighting each day to implement:

“I believe that now is a great time to take stock of our blessings, invest heavily in our friends, and get a return on something beautiful like a summer evening or a springtime sunrise.”

These sorts of things happen when I write.  Even in the form of a brief facebook message, writing for me isn’t so much about creating as it is about finding.  (More about that here.)  So when I found this little nugget, it marked somewhat of a revelation for me.  I’ve consequently reconnected with a part of myself I’d more or less abandoned in the past few months.  Namely, I’ve done things like hike, enjoy the sunset, listen to the wind, sit on the edge of the river alone and write.  I’ve turned on some music that I’d let lie dormant for a while.  Acoustic stuff, soulful stuff, the kind of music that is born of those organic, eternal verities.  Right now, I’m listening to “Driftless” by one of my favorites, Greg Brown.  The ethos of this rediscovered philosophy is perhaps best encapsulated in this haiku I wrote while meandering around the river yesterday:

Touch things.  Walk on things.
Experience the sunset.
It doesn’t last long.

So, for what it’s worth, that’s that.  I actually intended to write something today about what projects I’ve been working on, what work I’ve done recently and such.  I’ll do that soon.  For now, though, I guess that it’s appropriate that my writing is about this deeper, more prevalent project - that of figuring out how to live.  I’ll finish with an excerpt from another poem.

Life
its decay, its perpetual forgetfulness,
its breath, so pure, so fleeting
moves timelessly
for time is only ours
and meaningless to god.

Come
beside me fly a moment
North, up, away from moments
stuck, forth, we’re only listening to
rules that whisper and grin,
flicker and then recede.
Be a breaking force against the
course followed, straightening for
the souls swallowed, distilled, in
stillness perpetual, inevitably
still uninspired.
Be apparent, live alive
or lie and die -
a corpse with blood and breath.
Come and with me
move, exist persistent,
restraint-free
You, me, your coffee, our dreams.

It was around 1:00 AM on a Wednesday night.  I was in Boone, North Carolina, she in Washington D.C.  I assumed she was lying on a bed in a hotel somewhere near the Capitol, but it was equally possible that she was at a bar with her father and sister, or perhaps standing outside a restaurant on a cold D.C. street.  My body tightened when I read it.  Suddenly, and with absolutely no forewarning, I felt a deep sense of sympathy, perhaps the way a mother feels when her daughter wakes her after a nightmare.  I wanted to be there for her now.

I wanted to hold her.  And wipe away her tears and reassure her like I know only I can.  I wanted to be there.  “I’m so sorry darling.  How can I help you?” I responded.

She was sad.  Nothing bad, she said.  Just sad.  I felt infinitely too far away.  I couldn’t help.

“Love you,” she said.
I responded.  “Love you too.  I miss you.”
“Miss you too.” she said.

I had nothing else.  If I were close, I would have put my hand on her arm and squeezed gently, perhaps stroked her forehead with the palm of my hand, just held her.

I wasn’t close.

——

I sent her a text an hour later.  “Asleep?”

She responded affirmatively by saying nothing.  I closed my eyes and hoped for her.

She lay still, slowly breathing, by all measurable means asleep.  I left quietly.

——–

Later, I wondered if I should’ve stayed.  On my phone, I typed out a text.  “Can I come back?  I won’t keep you awake.  I wish I hadn’t come home.”  I didn’t send it right away.  I couldn’t decide whether I should.

I stared.  Into my computer screen.  Into my future, hazy, bright, somewhat noisy, but a bit more alluring than ever before.  My mind weighed the alternatives.  All at once, a battle raged within my brain between what I wanted, what she wanted, what I needed, what she needed, and what would satisfy us both.  None was much stronger than another.  My thumb fixed itself atop the “send” button on my phone, its pressure increasing, decreasing, increasing; the tiniest intensification in pressure would easily forward my message.  I waited.  My thumb grew sore.  Then in an instant, the pressure, by no deciding of my own, perhaps simply as a result of my expanding anxiety, became too heavy for the button’s resistance.  The message sent.

I set the phone down on my desk.  No response.  I hadn’t considered this scenario, actually.  She was asleep.  The text, as the case most often is, did not wake her up.

She’d see it in the morning, I realized.  And with that, I relegated my night to a more dispassionate level and retired from the bother of too much thought.

So 5:45 am rolled around and I decided that I’d had enough laying in the bed not sleeping.  I showered, stopped by Chick-Fil-A for a spot of breakfast, and started driving (with no destination) and listening to Morning Edition on NPR.

I ended up at my favorite coffee shop on Ninth Street in Durham.  Not sure how, but I’m here now.

So I thought that with this stolen time I’d take a moment to throw down an official update on what’s been happening with Ben McKeown.  (That is the theme of this website, for goodness’ sake.)

A few notable items have been on the plate lately.  I’ll get to the juicy stuff in a second…

First, I’ve been working for a few weeks now with an indescribably talented group of people at New Raleigh, an online magazine devoted to covering the culture and happenings of my hometown.  Being that Raleigh is an incredibly dynamic and exciting place to live at this juncture, the opportunity to focus some creative and professional energy here is invigorating.  In the works for New Raleigh - an assortment of multimedia projects (see some teasers), a podcast, and plenty of original writing and photography.

Also, on the editorial front, the February issue of Vype Magazine has been released, and I am incredibly psyched about how it turned out.  The cover photo is one of my favorites I’ve shot for Vype so far and I was additionaly thrilled by the shots that were chosen for the inside.

Finally (and the crux of the title of this post), I’ve been spending quite a bit of time shooting Duke basketball for WRAL.com.  See galleries here and here and here…

As a result, I was asked to travel to Winston-Salem last Wednesday for a Duke vs Wake Forest game (by now it’s old news) that turned out to be an absolute heart-pounder.  Those who know me would confirm that it is no small secret that I am an enormously devout Wake Forest fan.  I’ve been a true-black and old-gold fanatic from the earliest moments I can remember.  In my elementary school days, I attended Dave Odom Basketball Camp, where (in addition to learning to ball quite well, I must say) my affinity for the Deacs became immovably entrenched in the depths of my sports heart.  As such, I attended last week’s game with a dual-personality: photojournalist/fan.

Lawerence Joel Coliseum was veritably explosive.  I have attended high-profile games now at all of the Big Four’s (Duke, UNC, NCSU, & Wake) home stadiums and I am absolutely not remiss in telling you that Joel is second only to Cameron Indoor Stadium for the most intense venue in college basketball these days.

If you didn’t see the game, watch the highlights of the finish.  Briefly, first half is tight, Wake erupts to start the 2nd, Duke goes on one of their signature runs and ties it with 2.8 seconds left, Wake wins at the buzzer.

It…. was…… awesome.  (Shut up, Richard!)

And with that I want to publicly throw out a few ACC Basketball predictions that I’ve been privately propagating since the beginning of the season:

1. UNC will beat Duke twice.

2. The ACC standings will shake out to be 1) UNC 2) Wake 3) Duke 4) Clemson 5-12) who cares.  (In fairness, I originally predicted Duke would be 4th, but I have since revised this.)

3. UNC will finish the season as the number-one team in the country.

4. There will be two ACC teams in the final four.

5. An ACC team will win the national championship.

With that, I’m going to stop typing.  It’s 8:44 am now, The Killers are on the speakers at Bean Traders Coffee, and I have a lot of work to do if I’m going to take this all to the next level.  Happy February.

Hand in hand and slowly
in my mind they walk
and wave not fading so much as
transcending,
the warm and brilliant light of
eternity
casting their hopeful image on the
photographic paper of benevolent
immortality.

Change awakens.

—————

Yesterday for me was in a word, intense.  In a way that I don’t believe I have ever experienced, the events of yesterday made me feel proud.  Intensely proud.  I felt good, deeply good, stirred somehow.  The feeling was so intense, in fact, that I have yet to completely emerge from the moment.  Each wonderful photo I find online brings me again close to wonderfully joyful tears.  It’s truly as if the energy of the millions on Washington’s National Mall somehow reached me; I finally feel it: We.

We.  My country, my community, my neighbors, the strangers I see each day, my world… We.  Yesterday brought beautiful expansion to a far too empty concept.  We.

We did something amazing.  Really, amazing.  We crossed a bridge.  Built one, in fact!  We grew, we learned.  We - we - proved that humanity, as it happens, does have the ability to progress, to never be satisfied with injustice, to truly flourish.  It is this collective energy, this human ability that embodies for me what I feel is truly divine.  We.

Still now words seem pitifully insufficient.  I don’t feel remotely close to able to articulate the deep and raw elation I feel.  I do feel strongly compelled, however, to document these raw feelings, even if only for my own future recollection.  There were a series of glowing moments yesterday that truly resonated with me.

As the inauguration ceremonies began, I felt that my feelings came too quickly to rely on memory for recording.  I decided to write, moment by moment, what I was experiencing:

It’s the second time in a few months when I am simply overwhelmed with the gravity of the moment.  I want to write about it, I want to record it for posterity, but I am simply too full.  I am lost in enormity of this morsel of time, which I believe will forever glow as purely monumental.

There are over a million people standing on the National Mall in Washington, D.C.  I am seated comfortably on my couch watching the events on TV.  It’s snowing outside.  It feels good.
11:00 AM
I feel like we are seeing a regular citizen move into the White House.  It’s a wonderful, American feeling.
11:12 AM
Just saw Al Gore walk through the Capitol Building.  Amazing that 8 years ago, he should have actually been the president.  What, I wonder, would have happened if the supreme court hadn’t decided in favor of Bush?
11:15 AM
Bill and Hillary walking through the Capitol Building.  They were preceded by George H.W. Bush, Walter Mondale, Al Gore, Dan Quayle, Jimmy Carter, among others.  This is a venerable parade of modern American history.  Simply phenomenal.
11:19 AM
The wide shot of the National Mall really makes me realize how monumental this event is.  Words simply cannot describe it.  Bryan is there.  We are all a part of something simply incredible.
11:22 AM
Bill and HIllary just introduced to the crowd.  Big ovation.  I just asked Philip what will happen when George W. Comes through.  This is incredible.  History books are literally being written.
11:25 AM
They showed a shot of the movers at the White House.  Cardboard boxes being unloaded from white moving trucks.  I thought for a moment about how it must be terrible to not be able to watch the inauguration ceremonies for those movers, then I quickly realized what an absolute honor it must be for those workers.  They are as much a part of anything as anyone.
The Obama girls and their grandmother just walked through the capital building.  I hardly have words to describe my feeling.  I gasped.  So proud.  I will vote for one of them for president in several years.
11:30
Malia just pulled a digital camera out of her pocket.  Again, I feel like we have elected a real, authentic, and humble family.  We can absolutely relate to these folks.  We can relate.
11:32 AM
George Bush and Dick Cheney walking through the capital.  Cheney in a wheelchair.  He was rolled to the side, Bush left alone to walk at the back of the line.  No one speaking.   We have been waiting a long, long time to see this.  They are leaving.  They are being asked to leave.  It is peaceful, it is based on the consensus of the majority.  History is being made as he walks, and to the undeniable vindication of many, it is absolutely not redeeming him.
11:35 AM
Cheney now being wheeled through to the platform.  He looks old and quite honestly decrepit in his wheelchair.
Bush and Cheney just introduced to the crowd.  See my above thought for reaction.
11:36 AM
A purely beaming Joe Biden is now walking through the Capital.  Again, I am proud.
11:38 AM
The first shot of Barack Obama as he walks through the capitol building.  He is solitary.  He looks pensive.
The camera pans across the enormous crowd on the Mall.  I am breathless.  Just breathless.  My heart is beating faster… he will be introduced in just a moment.  I am not sure I’ll be able to write it…
11:42 AM
A woman in the crowd is holding a sign that simply says “Wow”.  Perfect.
11:44 AM
He is introduced.
The crowd.  They represent him.  He represents them.  This election is not about those gathered at the Capitol Building.  This election is about what Lester Hold described as the “roar” that just echoed across the entire country.
11:46 AM
Got a text message from my mom that says “Really proud to be an American.”  I respond, “Me too.”  I am near tears.
11:50 AM
Rick Warren delivers the invocation.  It is passionate, it is humble.  “May we have a new birth of clarity in our aims.”  Today is a day of acceptance, of understanding, of humility, of progress.
11:54 AM
Aretha sings My Country Tis of Thee.  Chills.  I say Amen.
“Let Freedom Ring.”  Again, Amen.
11:51 AM
Joe Biden is sworn in.  Cheney, I realize, will never again be Vice President.  Wow.
11:59 AM
I am truly thankful for the ritual, for the ceremony.
12:01 PM
Yo Yo Ma (and others) play an original John Williams composition.  It is beyond beautiful.  I hear myself think “God Bless America.”
12:04 PM
The music made me truthfully breathless.  I am breathing heavily.
Dianne Feinstein introduces Barack Obama.  I am completely transfixed.

I watched the speech enraptured.  Later, I wrote this…

I remember these moments from the speech:
- holding back tears in the presence of Philip (my roommate)
- Dad texts me “Really proud to be an American.”; I respond “Amen, amen, amen!”
- The image of a helpless George Bush watching with an expression that looked reflective, small, and a bit frightened.
- From the perspective of the Capitol, the throngs upon throngs of admirers and American pilgrims are a part of an image of history in composition.
- Joseph Lowery’s benediction left me spiritually overflowing.

Finally, while I was sitting in the quiet press room at Cameron Indoor Stadium, I wrote the above poem.  It’s obviously too soon to truly recount in any organized fashion, as indicated by my formless sputterings here, but I feel I should at least try.  As the moment drifts into the past, perhaps my analysis will become more astute, more describable, more concrete.  Now though, I still feel elated.

And I am hopeful.

I let it sit,
forgot it entirely,
moved on in full form
and somehow,
somewhere in the immateriality of
a season’s changing,
you stayed you
and I fell for you again.

I may find futility
sitting conspicuously at the end of this path
and for that I wonder
should I stay?
should I retire?

Or should I march swiftly
and resiliently
forward,
accompanied by a trumpeter’s love tune,
brushes on a steady snare,
footsteps in a quiet garden.

I am one small seed.
You are all the seasons.

Photographers often seek to approach their subjects from a different, unusual angle.  As a photographer hero of mine, Joe McNally, once put it (and I paraphrase), “The world is much seen; find a perspective that will enlighten your viewers.”  Essentially, the ethos of this theory is that new and valuable understanding can be gleaned by simply looking at something - even the mundane - in a different way.

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button does just this.

At it’s heart, the story of Benjamin Button is familiar.  It is a life, a much-seen tale of growth and the perpetual “intersecting of lives,” as Button himself states.  Nevertheless, the story is immensely charming, romantic, and alluring.  We are guided through the happenings of Button’s life from start to finish by his own voice in the form of a diary.  The story - a person is born, grows, learns, falls in love, goes to war, returns home, etc. - and the method are ubiquitous.  The genius, however, and the factor that makes the story of Benjamin Button truly “curious” is that we approach it from a truly peculiar angle.  And subsequently, we are able to derive an abundance of new understanding from this otherwise common tale.

When Benjamin Button is born, he is an old man.  He is wrinkled, small, blind, exhibits all the features of a person who has existed for 90 or more years.  This of course is an unpleasant surprise to many, most notably to his father (Jason Flemying) who upon seeing his child for the first time (his frustration exacerbated by the death of his wife during childbirth) , whisks him from his cradle and abandons him on the steps of a house in the middle of New Orleans, Louisiana.  Here, a young woman who we know as Queenie (Taraji P. Henson), finds the newborn and quickly adopts him as her own son.  The story of Benjamin Button thus begins its exceptional progression.

Benjamin lives with Queenie in the nursing home she maintains, where he physically finds commonality with his housemates.  Those around him are puzzled that he hasn’t died quickly, even Benjamin himself.  Despite his elderly appearance, he begins to learn and develop as would any other child.  He learns to walk, to speak, to read in this house, even finds mischief and resulting reprimand from his adopted mother.  Throughout, though, we discover that Benjamin’s body ages backwards.  This will ever be his impairment.

At around the age of 5 (physically, around 85), Benjamin meets a girl, Daisy.  She is also 5, though her age manifests itself much more normally in her physical appearance.  Daisy seems to recognize the childlike nature of Benjamin and the two develop a bond that will become the main thread of Benjamin’s story.

From here we follow a growing (mentally forwards, physically backwards) Benjamin (Brad Pitt) through his life.

A series of vibrant and lovely characters are introduced: a man in the nursing home who has been struck by lightning seven times, an eccentric urban nomad who takes Benjamin on his first trolley ride, a rugged and burly tugboat captain who longs to be an artist, and many others.  The portrayal of these characters is simply delightful.  Animated, while remaining pleasantly non-melodramatic, they serve as the charismatic landmarks along Benjamin’s road.

The performances of Brad Pitt and Cate Blanchett (the adult Daisy) are sincere, passionate, and full of respect for the story that moves them.  Simply put, these two performances are both wonderful and enchanting.

The ultimate triumph of the film, though, is the story itself.  The great F. Scott Fitzgerald’s original short story provided merely an outline around which writers Robin Swicord and Eric Roth have crafted a resplendent story.  Director David Fincher portrays the story in a manner that is whimsical, sincere, and dense.  Amazingly, and to the audience’s ultimate benefit, not once does anyone involved try too hard.  As a result, we find a tale that is enthralling because it is both believable and incredible.  The insight, then, that this story delivers is bound to linger long after the credits have concluded.

In an age where melodrama and hyperbole too often rule, and insight and understanding suffer, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button manages to circumvent the prevailing modus operandi and delivers for us our story - birth, growth, triumph, defeat, love: life - simply from a different angle.

Just a few days after spending a night at Hillside, I had the privilege of meeting eight area high school girls basketball players.  We met at the local YMCA for a cover shoot for Vype Magazine

As I’ve indicated before, I’m a huge fan of high school basketball.  It was a pleasure to meet each of these girls, all of whom have demonstrated an admirable level of skill and leadership for their respective teams.  If you’ve watched the aforementioned multimedia, you may recognize one of the girls from this shoot, Kelsey Evans of my high school alma mater, Wakefield.

As always, lighting these shots was an interesting challenge in a gym.  With only about 30 minutes to unload/set up/prepare, a lot of the procedure was improv.  For the group shot shown here, I lied on the floor (looking quite foolish) with a softbox just to the right of my head pointing upward towards the girls.  The basket is lit by one light pointed in its general direction.  Unfortunately, without time to adjust significantly, much of the wall behind the basket is also lit; I would’ve liked to have toned this down a bit.  However, with time restraints also come creative restraints - in addition to the group shots, we had to finish 8 individual portraits (a few displayed here).

I expect the shots to yield another intriguing Vype cover.  This issue is due out in January.