12.26.06
Posted in Uncategorized at 8:00 am by Bryan
What is it about December that just seems to swallow time? It’s almost as bad as playing a game on the computer. One minute, you’re sitting there thinking you’ve got plenty of time to spare, then the next thing you know it’s time to change the calendar.
2006 was a year that, for the most part, I’ll be happy to say good-bye to. But December has shown a hint of the promise 2007 has for me. I feel good about next year. Actually, I feel good about December… it’s just that I’m pretty sure we must have skipped a few days somewhere because it’s nearly over already.
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12.19.06
Posted in Uncategorized at 12:00 pm by Bryan
I saw something yesterday that I’ve never seen before.
Every day as the sun starts to set, the town’s pigeon population takes flight and begins to circle, gathering up the stragglers as they collectively look for a good place to roost. Why they do this every night when they roost in the same places all the time, I don’t know. You’d think they’d just say “Hey Bob, I’ll meet you at the post office in about five minutes.”
Maybe they’re just surveying their domain or something.
Well, it’s become predictable. Too predictable apparently, because last night the pigeons had unexpected company. They were strafed by a pair of hawks. One of them missed. I don’t know if you know this, but pigeons are fairly adept at avoiding mid-air predators. They just… stop flying. And since pigeons aren’t really very aerodynamically designed, they drop like rocks. Well, pigeon #1 did this and hawk #1 missed.
I guess pigeon #2 was busy laughing at hawk #1 because he never saw it coming. TAG! He was dead or unconscious almost immediately.
As I watched, hawk #2 brought his dinner to the tree in front of the library and started to pluck feathers. A few moments later, hawk #1 stopped by and joined in. I’m not sure if it was a dinner date as they watched the sunset, or two buddies swapping war stories, but either way it looked like they were getting ready to enjoy a good meal together.
Now you may ask about the score above. What about pigeon #1, you ask? Should he get a point for his team? I don’t know if simply not getting killed counts as a score, as satisfying as that may be. It simply means you didn’t lose 2-0.
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12.18.06
Posted in Photography, Images at 8:00 am by Bryan
Well, it’s official. I am now an artist. I know, I know, you’re going to tell me I’ve been an artist for a very long time, but it feels different now. On Saturday, I dropped off three of my photographs with the Curator of Art, Artifacts, and Photographs at the Kinsey Institute for Research in Sex, Gender, and Reproduction.
The first thing that happened to me took place on Friday night when I picked up the prints in their mattes and frames. They were beautiful. I almost didn’t want to let them go. The prints themselves are eleven inches by seventeen inches, with a three inch matte around them and matte black gallery frames. I’ve never seen my photographs looking like this. Keep in mind, my photography is either “for me” or “for the client”. “My stuff” is printed anywhere from 1×1 to 11×14. I do have a few landscapes matted and framed, but it’s haphazard, and it’s really just so I can hang them on my own walls. Seeing my prints like this put them in a new light for me.
Then came Saturday, when I delivered the photographs, and talked with the Curator.
She showed such an interest in me, and in the models in the photographs, and in the stories behind the photoshoots. But the most rewarding thing was that she thought the pieces were as beautiful as I did. It was then that I realized that much of what I’ve done “for me” didn’t necessarily have to be “just” for me. And that is true of my landscape work as well.
Truthfully, I’ve been told this before, and recently too. But somehow, you don’t take it as seriously when it comes from friends and family. You don’t quite dismiss the praise, but you do discount it so that it seems worth less, as if they might be saying nice things because that’s what friends and family do.
Today, I received an e-mail telling me that Amy Leigh is already hanging on the wall of the hallway just outside the entrance to the gallery. I’m officially an artist.
I don’t feel any different. Well, actually I do. Two things are different. First, I’m looking at “my stuff” with a different eye. I’m looking at possibilities for the future. Second, I’m listening to friends and family with a different ear. Just because they are close to me doesn’t mean they aren’t serious about what they say. And that goes for my writing as well.
I’m committed to entering these pieces in a juried art show (which essentially means that there is a judge who decides whether or not they are good enough to be displayed, and then, of those displayed a “best of show” winner is chosen) as well as shooting a new series toward the middle of next year in order to prepare for the 2008 show.
Being an artist is… invigorating.
The images at the gallery are below the fold. They are nudes, so if you don’t want to see them don’t go there. Also, if you comment, the permalink will show the images, so you can comment on a previous post if you prefer.
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12.08.06
Posted in Writing, Samples, Mallory at 8:00 am by Bryan
So, I’m sitting there the other night trying to think of a habit for Ian that didn’t involve running his hand through his hair or rubbing his temples or something else I’ve probably over done. Then I thought, what if…
What follows examines this, but since it’s something Ian would never do, I had to create Mallory.
Finished. I slipped the typed report into a manila envelope and tossed it onto the chair next to my desk. I lit one up and reached into the bottom drawer for the bottle I kept there. You gotta love cheating spouses. They’ll never make you rich, but they pay the bills.
I dug out a particularly irritating booger and rolled ‘im up between my thumb and forefinger while I took a long, satisfying drag off the cigarette. Three days. Seven-hundred and fifty bucks. Not bad. I started doing the math, dreaming about what might be if only there were more cheaters out there.
About the time I flicked my gooey buddy at the wall was when she walked in. The dame was easy on the eyes, with legs that went on forever and a face like fine china. I shoulda known right then, when she looked at my twenty-three and a half years of performance art plastered on the wall and didn’t yak up her lunch, this case wasn’t going to be no cheating spouse. I shoulda told her to leave. But I’m a shallow son of a bitch, and like I said, the dame was fun to look at.
“Is this Mallory and Mallory?” Her voice dripped honey all over the floor.
“Yep.”
I saw her glance at the wall again and for a moment I thought she was gonna bolt. But she simply swallowed and asked, “Which one are you?”
“I’m the one that’s not dead yet.”
She didn’t laugh. She didn’t even smile. I shoulda kicked her out right then, but I kept thinking about eighteen year-old scotch and Camels instead of Lucky Strikes and Rock Gut. That, and those legs. I shoulda known better.
Oh, well. At least I wrote something. Right?
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