With a sense of wonder...

Four years ago today I sat around a wonderfully crowded dinner table in the home of my Syrian hosts and their Iranian guests enjoying a lavish holiday meal enjoying the overlapping conversations about politics, history, agriculture, and education abroad. My hosts were Sunni Muslims, their guests were Shi'a, and while I was raised a Lutheran my beliefs could more accurately be described as being of logic and science. One of the things that had drawn me to Syria was it's status as a secular state and the seeming ease with which various branches of Islam, Christianity, and to a small degree Judaism could coexist in a region where co-existence is rarely easy.

I spent two months living in Syria and have regretted leaving so soon since the moment I realized my plans for an imminent return trip were falling through. When this conflict started almost two years ago, I'm ashamed to admit I avoided the news and tried to ignore it. In the short time I was there I became quite attached to the place and the people. The thought of violence and warfare upon streets which I knew by heart was simply too disturbing. But mostly I was stupefied. I couldn't understand how a country that had seemed so stable and was in the midst of a slow but visible modernization could fall into such chaos. I have more thoughts on the politics and the fallout, but that is not what I wish to write about today. Today is a day of hope and love.

Grandmother and children in Idlib, Syria, January 2009.

Last night while watching my nephew's face light up both literally and metaphorically
with the candlelight church service I was reminded of a little boy I met in Syria who had that same unfiltered joy and wonder in his eyes (upon seeing his own face on my camera). That little boy lived in Idlib on a small rural farm with his siblings and cousins. While visiting with a fellow researcher, I had tea with the men of the farm while my colleague, Micheal, translated. Afterwards, I had the unique experience of visiting with the women and children. Michael was the only person in the group who could translate, and he did not accompany me. I spoke only a small bit of Arabic, enough to talk about family and my travels, the inevitable first questions. For thirty minutes the children and I pantomimed and giggled while my camera played a central role as entertainment. Their grandmother watched quietly, her eyes smiling to see the children playing.

I have a print of this photo at my parents house. I caught myself staring at it the other night, wondering where these children are, if they are safe, hoping the eldest hiding in the background is not now old enough to be involved in the fighting. Yet these children give me hope. It is always the way, but it will be the children who grow up in this internet connected world, making friends with people worldwide without politics/race/religion in their minds that will bring about change. As long as there are children with that look of unbridled wonder in their eyes, there will be a better tomorrow, for with a sense of wonder great things are possible.

Definition of a journey

"I suggested that a journey was a kind of story in itself, providing one had the will to read it, just as a story too could be a journey, providing one had the experience to bring to it, and that both found their mark differently in different people." - An Unexpected Light, Jason Elliot.

I just spent twenty minutes searching old journal notes, blog entries and emails to find this quote, as I left the book behind with a friend in Syria 4 years ago. A new copy will be arriving on Wednesday as I think I must read it again. I originally stumbled upon it in a corner bookshelf overflowing with books in this wonderfully cramped used bookstore, itself lodged in the corner of a zig zagging Istanbul market street. Elliot was a young audacious traveler who decided at the beginning of the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan that he wanted to help, to see the war for himself and document it. He managed to get himself smuggled into the country and his tale was a well written, heartfelt textbook of sorts for my own endeavors to understand the Middle East as an outsider.

Rereading this quote has me thinking about the meaning of the word "journey." Before I left back in 2008, every time I'd head down 19th ave on my way to Target or Belgrade it was all I could do not to hit the highway, run, take what cash I'd saved and not look back. It wasn't that my life was bad. I loved it, actually. I had two jobs I enjoyed, was making enough money to save towards travel, I had awesome friends (still do!) and my family was almost all within a few hours drive. But I needed an adventure. I needed a story to tell. I needed a journey.

About the time I returned I discovered another great quote.

"There is a special sadness at the end of a journey. For it is only when you get to your destination that you discover the road doesn't end here after all." - Two Caravans

About twenty four hours after I returned, I itched for another adventure. I needed a journey, I just didn't know what it was. A year later I left again on an open roadtrip, no destination, no plan, choosing directions by the flip of a coin. It was a short lived journey but one which redirected my paths. Fast forward a while and I find myself a semi-proud owner of a Massachusetts drivers license, living in Cambridge, earning my PhD, yet constantly on the lookout for my next plane ticket. And I've done quite well on that count, in a way. Since moving to Boston barely a year ago I've traveled to Montana four times, Utah, Colorado, New York, DC, Pennsylvania twice, and Virginia. I have plans for Utah, Montana, London, and maybe Michigan, Colorado and Scotland as well in the next six months or so. But each trip has been set, planned, short, complete with itinerary and return ticket. I'm starting to crave an open ended runaway, the tantalizing dream of disappearing abroad with no return ticket and a coin to flip.

But when I read the Jason Elliot quote again a new thought struck me. Perhaps "journey" doesn't have to involve TSA, bag checks, customs agents, passports and one way tickets. A little over a year ago I packed up and move from the state where I've lived my whole life, minus travel time, and moved across the country to a city where I knew no one to start on the biggest goal I've set for myself yet. I've learned more about life and myself in the last year than I ever did abroad or in the "find yourself" college years. I've struggled to change parts of me I didn't like and realized that some of those things don't need to be changed. I see my goals getting closer, morphing, and the challenge is wonderfully thrilling.

Perhaps a journey is what happens when you strive to make your life into a story worth telling.

An hour well spent

I met an interesting man today. I was slacklining in South Boston near the water and noticed an older man with one leg walking past me on crutches and watching my antics. He sat nearby and after I took down the line he complimented me on my unique activity and asked about slacklining. Though I was planning on returning to work, I was intrigued.

He told me about how he'd lost his leg to cancer as a boy and how surviving had taught him two things; that he was lucky to be alive, and that he was different. Doctors told him he'd never ride a bike. With the simple addition of a stirrup to the pedal, he was soon faster than his friends. He had never skied before, but decided to try that as well. He has been a 9-5 robot, a magician, a comedian, a business owner, a writer, a producer, and all times an adventurer. We talked about how fear holds people back, how meaningless it is to work for a paycheck rather than a passion. We commiserated on the pandemic known as 'boredom', rejoiced at the magical thing that is the human brain, and agreed that the most beautiful things in life just seem to come together of their own accord.

His simple question turned into a nearly two hour conversation. And to think, I could have spent that time at my computer in an air conditioned office reading papers and drinking coffee.

~~

'The point is to play a beautiful game.' - Patrick Rothfuss

A scientist's perspective - Animal rights

On nice days around campus it is nearly impossible to walk down the street without being accosted by someone from one group or another wanting you to support their cause. So let's get this straight. I'm all for gay rights, planned parenthood and the red cross. Just leave me alone when I'm trying to get from point A to point B.

Warning: Science rant approaching.

A couple of weeks ago the flavor of the day was an animal rights group handing out pamphlets about animal research. At first I walked past, but on my return trip I took a pamphlet out of curiosity. It was far from well designed, but it got their points across I suppose. The gist of the message was that animals used in research are lonely, mistreated, and abused. Additionally, they are unnecessary due to "alternative research methods." I want to clear this up. There is no adequate alternative research method. None, nine, zip. Yes, we can test new drugs/antibiotics/etc. on cell culture. Yes, we know a lot about biochemistry and drug metabolism and gene networks. And yes, we can make predictions based on that information. Predictions. If you wish to be treated with a drug that is predicted to work, by all means, have at it. I won't even get started on studying diseases in animals. That's a whole other story.

So here's the deal. Say someone has found a new chemical that they suspect might treat cancer based on the chemical structure, it's similarity to previously developed drugs, and a fancy computer system that analyzes potential drugs and drug targets based on decades of research. The next step is to test it on cell cultures. For non scientists, a cell culture is generally a single cell type that has been immortalized, which means they will continue to grow (read: replicate) in the laboratory indefinitely as long as they are provided with appropriate nutrients. Cell cultures are generally created from cancerous cells as growing/replicating is what they do best. So while these cells were originally liver cells, or heart cells, or brain cells, they are not normal cells. This is because healthy cells don't generally like to grow and replicate outside their normal environment (i.e. the human body). Cell cultures can tell us a lot about what a new drug might do in the body, but I stress, might.

See, cell cultures don't have liver enzymes and all sorts of other bits of human biochemistry. A lot of drugs do one thing in cell culture, but something completely different in the human body because the human body is complex. The human body is not just one cell type. When you eat something, it goes to your stomach which is highly acidic. Well, a pill you swallow follows the same path. The acids in your stomach may modify the drug or change how it works. Likewise, your liver's primary function is to take up foreign chemicals and process them. Often, this means the liver enzymes will modify the drug you just swallowed in an attempt to get rid of it, but sometimes this has side effects. For example, part of the process for getting tylenol out of your body is for the liver to modify it to make it easier to get rid of. As a side effect, a fraction of tylenol is changed into a chemical called NAPQI which damages healthy cells. Normally, the liver can handle the small bit of NAPQI and get rid of it too, but if you take too much tylenol, you produce too much NAPQI and this can cause liver damage. This effect would never been seen in a cell culture, however, as they do not have livers and would not make that byproduct at all.

Animal use in research is highly regulated, though these regulations differ by country and (to some extent) by institution. I will say that my experience is academic. I don't know the procedures in the industrial setting. In academia, however, you can't simply say "I wonder if..." and go inject chemical X into a bunch of mice and see what happens. It is a weeks long process of writing proposals, justifying the experiment, and providing background information to a panel of reviewers consisting of community members, veterinarians, and other scientists and waiting for approval. In addition, there are strict regulations on how animals are treated designed to minimize pain and discomfort. Unfortunately, animal research is necessary in order to provide any reasonable sense of security in chemical testing and even more necessary in studying disease and infections because human beings generally don't like being test subjects and they are too damn complex anyways. So yes, animals are cute. Yes, they feel pain. Yes, I've killed mice in the name of science. No, I don't enjoy it. But there is currently no alternative to using animals in research.

Bike lanes

Disclaimer: Mom, don't panic. I'm fine. Oops, that probably doesn't help.

When I first arrived here and was biking to campus to meet professors, etc., I was constantly warned about biking in the city. One of my professors saw my helmet, practically shuddered, and commented that at least I had the helmet and to be very careful. I shrugged off their comments as those of people who don't bike and only hear the horror stories. I saw billboards for bike activists trying to improve biking in the city and figured I don't have time to take up another cause at the moment and they are probably exaggerating.

Fast-forward a month (which I suppose is rewinding a month now as I write this belatedly). I headed out of the house on a rainy day expecting to take the T (public transit = T) to work but when I stepped outside the rain let up and it was actually fairly nice. I knew if I went back inside to grab my helmet the rain would return because that's simply how life works, so I decided in a moment of haste to forgo the helmet just that once. Of course, I was nervous as hell biking to and from work even though there are bike lanes along my entire route. I simply don't trust drivers.

So the end of a long day I'm heading home, in the bike lane, and of course now it's rainy and wet and cold. I'm distrustfully watching traffic like a hawk but that does me little good when the driver of the the SUV parked along the bike lane, who must have been just hanging out in his car for a while, opens his door at the last possible second before I pass by. My bike hits the V made by the door and his car, and my momentum plus the force of the door opening throws me into the car lane where I landed rather painfully on my knee. Thankfully, no cars were currently careening past and a couple good bruises and surge of aggression were my only ill effects. The second of which waned upon returning home and pouring a glass of whiskey.

A week later on a bright and shiny day I'm late for a meeting at work and biking as fast as I can when the door of a parked cab opens unexpectedly. The problem with cabs is that in the time it takes the passenger to pay before exiting, any bikers coming upon it don't have the visual ques of seeing it park or flashing tail lights to note that someone might be exiting the vehicle. So the passenger opens the door right across the bike lane and I swerve nearly enough to avoid it. Nearly. The door caught the handlebar just above the grip, shattered my gear shifter and ripped the grip clean off. Again, I found myself sitting on the road, though in the bike lane this time. I wasn't hurt, having had enough time to almost stop and only being clipped by the door. In fact, I remember scowling and mumbling "seriously?" as I gracefully landed on my ass. A passerby picked up my grip and I replaced it, not noticing how badly damaged the shifter was at first. The taxi driver very sincerely grasped both my hands and asked me repeatedly if I was ok, apologizing at least three times that I recollect. He was so concerned I couldn't really be mad. I picked up my bike and rushed off but was still in earshot to hear the driver begin chewing out his passenger. I hope he had already been tipped.

I'm even more careful while biking lately. And now I wonder at the logic of bike lanes that don't extend past the reach of an opening car door. However, I'd still rather bike than take the T or walk, or deal with driving in the city. So, *shrugs*. And as a side note, here's a picture of my bike. I've cleaned it up a bit since this picture, so imagine less rust.

The road is home

Since I arrived in Boston I've been planning to rent a zip car and get out of town for a day, explore Massachusetts a bit and indulge my wanderlust. So last Saturday at 7am, fresh from a short nights sleep after a long exam and a long days work, I hopped in a bright red Ford Escape and headed North.

Halibut point

I took longer than planned to get out of the city as I was bent on avoiding highways. Apparently, this is a bad idea at least within the chaos that is urban life. I did eventually find my way to winding seaside roads, however. I perused a library book sale, bought pumpkins, walked along the waves. My main goal, beyond my wander-fix was to scout potential highline and waterline sites to appease my slackline addiction. I did find one potentially amazing site, an old quarry with sheer man-made edges dropping off into deep water. Unfortunately it is protected land and far too public regardless. I guess I'll have to take another scouting trip soon.

Not for the first time, I noted something interested, however. Like initials carved into trees or in more frustrating cases, carved into Stonehenge and Greek temple pillars, we humans seem to have this undeniable urge to mark our territory, to anonymously announce to future visitors that "I was here." In this case, however, the markers made me smile.

I hadn't been myself for the past couple weeks. Exams, work, and trying to continue my slacklining, photography and life in general can be a bit exhausting. Lack of sleep had caught up with me. But on those winding roads draped in autumn leaves, I felt at home.

These city lights

I'm tired, I haven't much to say. But I was biking home from dinner at a friends house tonight and had my camera with me. I grabbed a few shots along the river and wanted to post one before the thought gets lost in my to do list.


A long aimless photo walk is on that list. Fortunately and unfortunately, due to a dinner date with a long lost friend (the fortunately part) and an upcoming midterm exam (the unfortunate, of course) it will have to wait for the weekend.


Elisa - City Lights

This is the life and you are you

I made it through my two days of orientation and meet and greets without any major trauma. I was expecting something much more painfully dull and bureaucratic. After school, I headed out in my new jeans ($210 retail designer jeans, 'but they were only' $17. Yay me.) on my antique bike with my leather jacket and cycling helmet... not quite the normal biker chick look, I know. Running late I passed by a gigantic park with wonderfully useful trees and made note for when my gear gets in. I met up with my friend at a bar called Howl at the Moon, a cross between a dance club and a piano bar.

The view from my bridge

To start it was just him, his cousin, and me so I ordered myself a beer and a round of Crown shots for his birthday (I miss Bozeman prices) and laughed at the look on his cousin's face when he took the shot. I get a kick out of playing up the Montana girl bit. I suppose that was really the first time I've gone out in a big city. For a while it was entertaining; people watching, conversation, decent music and I even danced once. I was nostalgic, reminded a bit of my bartending days. Then it was just OK, starting to get loud and frustrating. I headed to the bathroom a couple times just to get away from it all though this was somewhat futile as the bathroom had an attendant to hand out paper towels and mints.

I'm intrigued at how fast my mood changed. I just didn't want to be there anymore. I said my goodbyes, found my bike, checked directions on my phone and left. It wasn't until I'd crossed an unfamiliar bridge that I realized I was going exactly the wrong way (of course) and was now in South Boston. Sigh. I got back on track and I was about halfway across the bridge I usually take to campus when I suddenly felt like I could breathe easier and thought 'it's good to be home.' The thought made me blink. Home? I've been here less than two weeks. And more interestingly, Cambridge is apparently home; not Boston.

What strange creatures we humans are.


Two Door Cinema Club - This is the life

Small town girl in a medium sized city

When I came to Boston to interview, the four day trip was a non-stop story of missed connections. Due to an oversight in packing, I spent a whole day shoe shopping (and exploring). This involved a lot of using my phone to google map shops. Eventually, I bought a pair that, five minutes after walking out of the store, killed my feet worse than the heels I'd worn on the plane. I then found myself semi-stranded an hour from the city after taking the wrong train with a dead phone (due to the mapping) and running late to meet friends 5 minutes from where I'd started. Trying not to limp, I rushed past a Payless shoes making note of it to stop back later, and found my friends. Dinner, drinks, and three hours later I headed back to the Payless, got turned around, took a large circular detour (while hiding from my friends I'd just left promising I knew where I was going) and finally arrived at Payless to discover the store had closed five minutes prior. The whole trip was like that. This was just one day. Flying home was a whole other headache.

Fast forward. I accepted Boston University's offer and six months later I'm frantically packing up, finishing photo jobs, and compiling the last data and figures for one of my papers at the lab while hiring new staff, apartment hunting via email/craigslist, savoring my last Plum Street Porters, playing as much soccer as my body will tolerate and getting on a slack/high/longline as often as possible. After my last day at work, I rode with my Dad and his business partners to Colorado Springs. My sister and I spent a day with them at gluten free convention playing spokeswomen, handing out samples, and selling a truckload, literally, of their products. The next few days included lots of time with my niece and nephew, a very good bottle of wine with my sister, and my first professional massage (by the way, Mel, there's a Massage Envy right by my Trader Joe's!).

So, Boston. Other than once again losing my knife to airport security (I NEVER remember to pack it), my travels were rather uneventful. And I have since recouped my loss in duplicate.

My sanity balances on a slackline

Living in Boston may force me to return to vegetarianism, or at least a less carnivorous diet than I'd grown used to in Bozeman. Long day at the lab/studio plus two soccer games? No problem. Medium rare steak, a sliced up red pepper, maybe a bit of raw tomato, and a cold microbrew and all is right in the world. Not that my days here have been exceptionally stressful yet (classes don't start until next week) but I've been craving a good steak. Unfortunately, just ground beef runs at $6/lb and I've actually seen tomatoes listed at >$2 each with a sticker like that was a sale price! Anyone with a hunting tag want to contribute to a poor graduate student? You can ship on dry ice. :)

Other than the expense of meat and tomatoes (potatoes, fortunately aren't too obscene), Boston suits me. Hurricane (or tropical storm as she was later known) Irene was disappointing compared to a real Montana storm. Cambridge is a wonderfully quirky neighborhood. I live in apartment #5, but there is no 1, 3, or 4 and 2 is split into 2L and 2R. Google can't find my apartment. And I actually saw a bike with a frame made of bamboo today.

I've spotted quite a few potential longline parks and tons of places for teaching lines or tricklines, including the middle of Commonwealth Ave, just outside my work. The divider there is basically a long narrow park with a little path, benches, and plenty of useful trees. Also, I am now the proud owner of an ascender and a few steel carabiners, the first bits of my longline 'investment' to arrive.

Hmm. Speaking of porter (yes, I know it was a while back, but it stuck in my head) I've got one chilling in the freezer and I do believe it is dinner time. Then back to photo editing.

Cheers.

"When there is nothing left to burn...

...you have to set yourself on fire."

I've been contemplating purpose and passion a lot lately. I feel like I've spent the last few years chasing after something I can't catch, reaching for something that isn't there. I miss the idealistic passion of my youth. My father told me once that such idealistic dreams and ideals can't last. I don't think he meant to be disheartening; he was warning me perhaps. I think I knew the truth of his words even then though I chose to hold on to my naivety as long as possible. I miss the drive and focus of having an impossible goal.

In six weeks I drove over six thousand miles with no destination, no plan day to day. I cherished the days of open road and my own company, my own thoughts and the time to work through them. That serenity seems so far away already, disappearing into the well of memory. And yet I won't lie to myself and pretend I was completely content on those empty roads. If I had been, I wouldn't be back in Bozeman now. The problem is that I am not content here either. If it wasn't for my crazy bridge jumping friends, beers with the boss, and my slackline I'd probably be climbing walls by now. There is a plane trip in my horizon, and that is my happy thought these days when I start dwelling on my confinement. I'll be spending a week in Hawaii soon, and I'm daydreaming about sand between my toes and sun and ocean and the comfort of insignificance at 12,500 30,000ft (my sister must not have read this or she'd be nitpicking that commercial flights fly at 30,000ft while skydiving flights only go to 12,500ft).

Twice lately I've related my feelings of frustration at my unreached and unknown goals to friends. Unsurprisingly they gave similar advice. "Why can't this be what you are doing with your life?" He was referring to my researcher-by-day, photographer-in-my-spare-time routine. Perhaps he is right. I still find myself searching for something more however. I feel like the main character in a fantasy novel right before he finds out magic/vampires/time-travel/etc is real and that the world really is as amazing as he always wanted it to be. I think I read books like this because I'm jealous of the purpose, the quests, the characters always have.

For some reason I always feel like I have to run away to find my goals. The highway looks so tempting some days and I've taken to looking up plane tickets to random destinations simply to remind myself that I'm always only a plane ticket away from an adventure.

"If I am lost for a day; try to find me
But if I don't come back, then I won't look behind me
All of the things that I thought were so easy
Just got harder and harder each day"
- Stars - calendar girl

By the flip of a coin

So a few days ago I was in Eagle Mountain, Utah, visiting my goddaughter and her parents. The morning I was to leave I was at a bit of a loss as to where to go. See, here's the back-story. A bit more than a week ago, a lot of things happened at once. The money I was waiting on hit my bank account, I got a job offer in Bozeman that I wasn't expecting, and I made some choices about my life. I decided to take the job, to start a bit of a new path for myself in Bozeman. This gave me two last weeks of freedom before returning to the 9-to-5 life. I spent some time with my sister and her family in Colorado while I had the freedom to do so, likewise in Utah, but then I had a week of freedom left and looking at the weather forecasts and mileage, I could see no good plan for how to spend my last week. I wanted to drive back to the coast, spend some time contemplating the ocean and the sky, but looking at the forecast decided me against a week of rainy, hiding-in-my-car contemplations. Everywhere I wanted to go was either raining or snowing all week. So I decided to leave it to chance.

Monday morning, in Utah, I took a shower, got dressed, and before putting on my compass shaped necklace, I shook it like a die and dropped it on the dresser figuring I'd head which ever way pointed away from me. South. I said my goodbyes, packed my car, and headed south. I was rewarded with a gorgeous view of Utah Lake following me south for the next half hour. A while later I came to a T in the road. I flipped a coin. West, it said. West, I went. I continued thus, my coin leading me through back country dirt roads where I saw all of two cars for the next six hours. It reminded me of the serenity I find in the ocean or flying, the sense of being smaller than the world around me. As it was getting dark, I found a highway, and headed to the the next decent size town to find a hotel parking lot to car-camp in; Ely, Nevada.

The next morning I continued this trend, using my necklace when I had more than 2 directions to chose from, the coin for the rest. I let chance decide at every fork or junction, and by early evening I was in northern Idaho on highway 93 heading north. About this time, I realized that if my coin didn't lead me otherwise, I would be in Hamilton by nightfall which is when I usually stop for the night anyways. By the fates, my sister lives in Hamilton with her three gorgeous children (and a sweet husband). However, I continued to let the fates decide. Four more coin flips later, I was in Hamilton. The nerd in me has to point out that the probability of those four coin flips leading me here is a measly 6.125%.

Long story short, I'm spending the next few days in the Missoula area, visiting family and hopefully doing some more portrait sessions. Then back to Bozeman, back to work, though I plan to continue with the portrait jobs and photography in general. I've got lots of ideas still running around in my head demanding attention. My aimless wandering may have been cut short for now, but I think I got what I needed out of it. And I find myself actually looking forward a bit to becoming semi-stationary again. I say semi-stationary because I fully intend to wander away as often as possible flipping a coin to find my way.

Images in my mind

Eagle Mountain, Utah

I've never been much of an artist. I can draw well enough if I'm willing to spend the time, but only if I have something to look at. Yet I've always had these images in my head with no satisfying way to get them out. For a while I played with magazine cut outs, making collages of images I found interesting, juxtapositions that said something to me, even if they seemed nonsensical. But still, this wasn't quite right. I wasn't putting the images in my head into solid form, I was simply arranging the images in my hands in a way that was pleasing and meaningful to me. I've hoped for a while now that photography could be that outlet for me, that method of making real the unobtainable visions that float through my mind.

While trying to fall asleep about a week ago, I started seeing these images more vividly than usual with more emotion and meaning to each composition than I've ever felt before. I was inspired. I had a plan. A week later, I've been thwarted by the weather at every turn (snowstorms make for poor portraits...) and the one attempt I've made at putting these images into digital form was less than satisfying. Fear not, though. I do not give up so easily. Perhaps my methods will have to change, and my technique will have to improve, but I will manifest these images one way or another. In the meantime, I have but to practice and learn. I've got a few techniques I want to experiment with as soon as I'm able.

By the way, my updated website has been loaded. There is a minor problem of aesthetics with the thumbnails in some galleries, but I'm working on that. Overall, however, I'm pleased with the modifications. The portraits section contains a gallery that I will continue to expand as I increase my portfolio. Also, I'm scheduled to display some of my art prints in the Co-op (upstairs cafe/art gallery) in May.

Chasing passions and buying shoes

Aberdeen, WA

I love the rain. I hope I will always love the rain. I have long since accounted my near spiritual emotion towards rain to having grown up in the plains of Montana when rain was scarce to the point of being nearly non-existent. I've always especially loved that rain that drenches you, the road, and leaves puddles to jump in. Today, however, I'd trade my left shoe (I have a few extra pairs) for a dry, sunny day tomorrow. See the problem with rain is that it makes it difficult to take pictures. My camera doesn't like the idea of getting soaked, even if I don't mind for myself. I drove down the coast along the Olympic Peninsula today, enjoying the view but unable to take many pictures.

I've rambled before about how I've been chasing my passions. Until I was 24 years old, I always had a goal, a plan. It changed, but it was always there, along some distant path. Once I left on my trip abroad, I had no plan. I had accomplished my current goal. And since then, I've been searching, groping in the dark, for an inkling of an idea as to where I am going. I keep trying to remind myself that the biggest changes in my life have come from the simplest decisions (going shoe shopping for example). The frustration often builds, however.

Of freedom and frustrations

Seattle, Wa

I left home the last week of January, off to wander and photograph and think and do. It had been exactly a year since I returned from Syria. Wanderlust is a powerful thing. It can make you walk away from someplace so perfect, so comfortable, so easy, in search of adventures, daydreams, and unknowable futures. Wrapped up in the wanderlust, it's easy to forget the loneliness and frustrations that go along with those daydreams and adventures. You learn a lot about yourself in those moments, especially the first ones; walking out the door, the first night away, the first time you pick a direction and start driving.

I'm still learning, still driving, and the moments of frustration are well balanced by the peacefulness of the open road, a good cup of coffee (I am in Seattle after all) and the knowledge that I have no idea where I'll be a week from now. I'm heading south tomorrow, along the coast. I figure I'll drive to Port Townsend, sleep in my car in a hotel parking lot, and wake up minutes from the ocean. The ocean has always been enchanting to me. I crave the comfort of insignificance, of knowing there are things out there bigger than me and my problems, even bigger than the problems of the world and its peoples.

In the last couple weeks I've done something like twelve photo gigs, mostly taking portraits of toddlers and families. I'm looking for jobs in Oregon now. I'll go where the work leads me for the most part. I'm in the process of revamping my website a bit, Sydian Photography, and when that's updated (very soon I hope) it will have a portrait gallery on it. In the meantime I've also been posting my favorite portrait shots on a picasa album which I'll link on the right asap. And now, back to my book.

Fiery doom and island life

I'm sick of the news. I'm frustrated with biased reporters and poorly written articles. The quality, not only of the writing, but also of the research put in to contemporary news is severely disappointing. If I read one more typo-filled report in which half of the quotes come from vaguely relative anonymous blog comments or Wikipedia, I think I may spontaneously combust becoming a badly written/researched news report myself. On top of this, half of the "news" in this country consists of which celebrity/politician (perhaps I don't need to differentiate) is cheating on his/her spouse, who's dog got eaten by a coyote (funny, but not news), or Sarah Palin's head wear. Let me make this clear. I DON'T CARE. Perhaps I'm a idealist, but I have this image of journalism as honorable, courageous, independent and defiant in previous times. I want to think that reporters find their way into the profession as a calling to discover and tell the truth of important matters.

To save my sanity and prevent my impending fiery doom, I'm going to attempt to blackout this so called news from my life for a while and live on a virtual island. I'm curious to see how difficult it will be. When I leave on my extended wandering road trip I mentioned previously, I plan to read no newspapers, watch no TV news, and cnn.com, bbc.com, and other sites will not grace the address bar of my laptop. Wish me luck.


P.S. And quit with the H1N1 bullshit already. You might as well warn of the dangers of the common cold.

New Adventure...

So in the midst of an interesting week, I've come to a decision and I'm setting off on a new adventure come January. I've been wanting to travel around the US on an extended road trip of sorts, visiting people, couchsurfing, and taking pictures. While trying to make the decision between being a responsible adult and finding stable work where I'm settled already, or being somewhat irrational but albeit more fun and wandering randomly, I came up with an idea which has sort of made my decision for me.

I'm going to be a wandering portrait photographer... Granted, this is only a side "job" to help pay for gas while I build my portfolio with everything else photo-worthy (or not) that I come across. With the wonders of the internet, and digital photography, I plan on advertising online as I go that I'm wanting to do portraits in ____ City over the course of a few days, for a low sitting fee. I'll then provide my subjects (I like that word...) with a CD of pictures they can print for themselves. To this end, I've been working out how to set up a portable studio set on a budget. A friend of mine came to my assistance yesterday and patiently allowed me to photograph her while shooting the breeze and playing with my lights. The best of these photos are here.

Now I'm just waiting on my kitty companion. O.o

Art shows

I spoke with the art director for a coffeeshop here and I'm scheduled to display my photos there during the month of May. I'll post more details when I know them. Not a bad birthday present huh?

I also have talked to the art director for the Staggering Ox in Helena, and he wants me to bring some photos in to talk to him about when and where to put them. That will have to wait til at least next weekend, however.

Business cards!

So I've been trying to put some effort into Sydian Photography, hoping to turn it from a side project to side income. To this end, I've recently ordered and received my first three canvas prints, and 500 business cards. This is the image used on the cards, though with the name and website written above and below respectively. The back side of the card is home to my rainbow picture. :)

I've started talking to some people at the coffee shops around town looking to get my work displayed as well, and posted the canvas prints for sale on a site called Etsy.com, online sales of arts/crafts/supplies. I'm trying to be realisitic in that photography is a vast market, especially without a real niche. Also, I'm very much inexperienced and untrained, learning as I go but without the finances available at the moment for classes or more equipment. So at the moment, I'm carefully optimistic that I should be able to progress from this being a money drain to at least a sustaining side project where I'm not just dumping cash into my prints and equiment. Either way though, I'm having fun.

Deviant art

So I've posted a few of my photos from Sydian Photography on Deviantart, an online art community. Part of the reason I did this is to hopefully gain some criticisms and ideas, but also because they have a simple set up for purchasing prints and such, though they also take a large chunk of the profit. Easiest way for me to try and sell anything though at the moment, until I have the time to set up a system on my own site. Anyways, if you'd like to check out my gallery on deviant art, click here. There are also some older photos of mine up there that are not on my Sydian.

:)

Adventures in HDR

So I mentioned HDR photography before. I've uploaded a few of my attempts to a picasa album and thought I'd share the link here. The software I'm using is a trial version, so the final images are tagged with a watermark, but you get the idea. There are three sets of four images so far, each laid out in the following order; normal exposure, under exp, over exp, HDR image. The one of the windmills is my favorite.

I set out to get more photo's yesterday to practice with different focal points and such, but my battery died and I'm unable at the moment to find the charger. I think I may be purchasing a new one tomorrow. Grr.