Bells Rung Deep

You may have noticed a slight slackening of pace here at the belfry as though the rope puller had dropped his sandwich just out of reach and, try as he might, still can’t quite retrieve it.

Well, you’re right.

The saving grace is the longer a sandwich lays in the dust the less appealing it is, so I’ll likely snap out of it soon and return to pulling my weight again.

In the meantime, please help yourself to some lovely photos.

Yesterday I took the Clarkboro ferry …

… to Aberdeen, and east toward Tower Hill.

To illustrate my state of mind that day allow me to paraphrase a B.C. cartoon published in the 1980s:

A rock rolls down a hill toward a caveman.
“Hey Rocky” says the caveman, “where’ve you been?”
“Around the world” says the rock.
“And what’d you learn?” asks the caveman.
“You can’t escape” says the rock.

Truth be told I’ve not been ’round the world.

But I have been down Drew Road …

… all the way to Tower Hill …

… and The Sunset Estates. This is the view from the the Convenience Store, looking north.

It’s a friendly place to refresh and refuel:

//

And now for something completely different.

This is Kelly pitching for J.J. (totally unedited). Tote uh lee.

The stare down

Checking second

The wind up

Delivery

Zip. Pow. L’il dahlink.

I am a BIG Krazy Kat fan, if you’re wondering what to get me for Christmas.

//

So now I must go. It’s pressing half past ten a.m. and the sun is shining. Things to do I’m not quite ready to discuss but I will either find a stick or abandon the sandwich. Promise.

Muggy. The forest fires in BC are showing up here in smoke and haze; the sun’s a big red, innocuous ball.

Kelly knocked apart a deck this last week, for which he was paid $300, and Bonnie and I finished hauling it home today. It should look good installed by their hot tub; it has a curvy staircase ooh lala.

The Westy parts arrived from The Bus Depot and I have all of them installed but the faucet – had to get some latex tape first; that’s tomorrow’s project, right now I’m mentally preparing myself for my nieces’ (the little darlings) “end of summer” whoop-up ’round the campfire slated for this evening. If that dope with the headband shows up again, the one with the mega boom box, I’m going to… well, never mind.

I’m finally reading Roland Barthes’ Camera Lucida. It’s like reading source material for absurdist satire à la René Daumal, but it’s something to do. And I’ve been spending much of my time taking advantage of the fantastic collection of photography books at the Saskatoon Public Library.

Ker-riste this city puts many a town to shame when it comes to decent public resources. Victoria, where I spent most of my last twenty years, has great pretense towards the arts and learning, but that’s about all; they haven’t a clue what it takes to back it up, never having taken the time, or expended the energy, to actually flesh out a decent collection. Too busy organizing galas I suspect.

I like my camper by the way. I guess after two months together you’d find something mutually respectable but I’ve been pretty fond of this bug since the start, and it hasn’t let me down. It’s roomy, the fridge is super!, and (as is legendary) the body will fall off before the mechanicals die. We should all be so lucky.

Here’s a photo from yesterday’s excursion to the east side of the city where I used to go as a teenager to lean on the fender and think.

The very edge of the Known World

A beautiful morning. Cool air, warm sun. Blue sky, high clouds. Last night was clear with the last of the Perseids and a rim of Aurora along the northern horizon.

We counted 180 Sand Hill Cranes yesterday afternoon; I’ve counted 90 so far this morning. Great weather for flying. 24 more went by.

We had a fire in the pit last night, and roasted our dinner on the embers. Some deadfall spruce for the most part – very aromatic.

I’m just overcoming a summer cold. Feeling a lot better this morning. Just an annoying dry cough left.

The DP1 is on it’s way to Japan, lucky bum. So far it seems they’re giving me warranty. The parts for the van haven’t arrived yet.

Just wanted to say hi, I’ll write more later.

Over the windbreak

I should fill in a little bit I left out.

Last week one of the yard tigers, Marbles, who learned a route up my windshield to the roof (no small feat as the windshield is quite steep and, um… glass) … Marbles, the lovely creature, tore a hole in my bug screen. I’ve been putting off repairing the screen for what? three years, so I took it as a sign. I didn’t go so far as to give Marbles a fish flavoured treat (the bag rustling of which sends all the yard tigers into paroxysms) for his efforts, but I did refrain from punching him, my first plan. Never the less, I got the job done; there’s a new screen in place.

I swear those coyotes are getting closer every day.

It’s been hot. And humid. I haven’t settled matters with Gentec, the camera suppliers considering my warranty appeal of which I made mention earlier, but I’m hopeful. I’ve been pricing Leicas on the web, and so far I’m enjoying the pictures.

My car parts are on the way from Pennsylvania; with luck (no hang ups at the border) I’ll soon have a new faucet, a new power cable door, a new window crank, and a new sun visor clip. I think that’s all I ordered. Seems like there should be more.

Last night was a real big shindig here on the ranch: bountiful bonfire, shooters and beer, fireworks, lotsa’ “yeehaws” and giggles. I went to my camper ’round midnight but damn these kids have powerful stereos. It’s the “boom boom” part that’s insuperable (insuperable?) There’s not an ear plug invented can withstand it. I sat for an hour on the edge of my bed practicing loving kindness toward all sentient beings. (And I knew where a sledge hammer was too!) As it turned out I was the only one happy and whistling this morning. Loud whistling mind you.

That’s all for now. The thunder storm has ceased (didn’t amount to much anyway) and I can now put the roof back up. I’m still stewing up my choice/emotion thought combo haberdasherianism thingy; it’s not yet ready to ladle so goddag, yer jus’ gunna’ hafter wait. Yeehoo.

And good night.

The trampoline, during quieter times

I wonder what screwed-up philosophy,
what claim to a god’s indulgence
made men decide their own importance?
And what is great music and art
but an alibi for murderers?

Al Purdy – The Beavers of Renfrew

As a follow up to that bug helmet post, I will tell you, although it’s not all clear yet, I am formulating an idea of the western world vis two prime (and largely subliminal) motivators: choice and emotion.

Why that should follow on the wearing of hats is “beyond the scope of this essay” and, in particular, beyond me. But it follows the last post, which was haberdasherian in nature, hence the title of this entry.

Hats off to the cataloguers for making the choice! but a slap upside the head of the metaloguers who let their emotions get the better of them.

Have a listen to this TED talk with Sheena Iyengar on the art of choosing:

Now this by Jerry L. Thompson, author of _Truth and Photography: Notes on Looking and Photography_:

“But what is the word emotion but a metaphor itself, a representation as physical motion of some inner change, a change not of place but of state? How can we name that change, except as a metaphor? There is no word more basic, more concrete. We are left with feeling, which names physical, not metaphysical, experience. But we know what we know: there is something else, something further, a thing beyond what we know from the senses, a thing we feel in our hearts, in the skin of our faces heated from within, in our accelerated breathing, in our brimming eyes. And we know we are able to feel these things not only at the sight of a predator, or of a loved one in distress, but also in the presence of a work of art, a harmless fictive construction: at a play, in front of a picture, during a musical performance, even in solitude, silently interpreting the meanings, and perhaps the sounds, of words.”

Embedded in our lives is choice for the sake of choice, and tears for the sake of tears: we think we’re alive because we choose, we think we’re vital because we emote.

“And what is great music and art but an alibi for murderers?”

If we really took responsibility for ourselves we would change utterly. We don’t, which is why we come off as childish in the defense of our choice of who we are, and our tenacious belief we can keep it that way.

Western art seems to be mere playing with emotions; stimulating ourselves like thrill seekers on a roller coaster. We feel anger, hate, love, loss, from the safety of our seats, and in a time and place of our choosing. We play with our emotions, fascinated. Magnificent thrill seeking, vicarious stimulation, experiencing the other at a safe distance; a voyeurism, “slumming it”. In this sense there’s little difference in the motivation of imbibers of grand opera or of day time soaps, of monumental sculpture or stuffed animals. It’s only a matter of degree. We choose our game.

Anyway, these are raw thoughts. I’ll work it into what I’m doing and see if it takes me anywhere.

Must go sew up the bug screen now.

Two good things have happened this morning, possibly more, which is a good thing in itself.

First: the weather broke. That is, the heat wave has blown up in good old fashioned thunder and rain. Cool, clear water. Aah. I was really dragging my butt this last week, drained by the oppressive air… everybody was feeling pretty well fed up, but being stoical prairie people with good senses of humour and an attitude of wait and see, etc., we thought it was our fault, internalized it, and started getting a little testy with each other. So, the weather breakage is a good thing.

Second: I got a reply from Gentec which kindly asks me to ship the DP1 for warranty consideration!

Yay!

Maybe someday I can take the bag off my head…

The author in his bug helmet

The camera is toast. I’ve contacted the distributor to see what options I might have, no word yet. I’ll contact the manufacturer as well but I’ll give the distributor a chance to reply first.

Quite a dilemma.

The problem a photographer faces in the digital age is this: there are few cameras that will produce good images, are built well, don’t fight you in use, are quiet in operation, small and lightweight, and within the budget of the bulk of us. Actually that last point ensures they simply don’t exist. The state-of-the-art reached in the film era has yet to be reached in the digital, hence we have beautiful image makers the size and weight of small televisions, loud, obtrusive, intimidating even, with too many features and a high redundancy rate. The only alternative is either priced beyond belief or built on a shoe string, and falls apart in a year and a half. We can’t realistically go back to film; expense, lack of variety and availability is slowly squeezing that route shut. The only options are: carry the RPG around and to hell with what the neighbours think (the modern DSLR); buy disposable junk that happens to make brilliant images (the Sigma DP*); or find financing for the last of what cameras used to be (Leica).

I feel like a whining frat boy – there are bigger problems than this. But it’s a problem none the less, and one that has me at sixes and sevens.

On the bright side, I’m using the DP2 more, and the E1 as well.

Boring huh?

Today is very hot and muggy. I’m in the camper with the side door open; reflective panels in the windows. It’s still frickin’ baking in here but I can’t concentrate in the house; the girls are watching their soap, The OC.

This is the last photo taken with my DP1:

Put out to pasture

My camera just quit. I turned it on and it locked up.

I treat all my gear with kid gloves, believing if you take care of it, it’ll take care of you, but it didn’t do any good this time.

Its a DP1, its sensor and lens are of high quality but its construction is super cheap. As a result I got the image quality I paid for but only for 18 months.

It’s now at Cheng’s Cameras for repair and my stomach is in knots as I’m faced with finally taking myself seriously and investing in a Leica.

Jayzuz.

Walking around with a $10,000 camera demands investment beyond the purchase price. Not in terms of skill or insight, but in commitment to being a photographer.

Time to put away childish things?

Back in 1978, when I applied to the Banff Centre Winter Cycle for the third time, the response to my portfolio was “a lack of commitment to becoming a photographer”. I knew what they meant and although the criticism was ultimately subjective, I agreed: I didn’t want to become a photographer, I wanted to learn photography. There is a difference.

As an artist I wanted to keep at arm’s length the history-building of photography, the ossifying thread of consensual agreement among the pipe-sucking (in those days) geeks. I’ve been quite successful at it. So much so that I’m completely alienated from the mainstream.

So yes, carrying a Leica would be like selling out, crossing the line, stepping into the pot.

Afraid of commitment?

I’m afraid I can’t commit to being a photographer and remain an observer. I have to be on the outside. I’m committed to that.

Oh horse shit! What the hell does that have to do with a camera? besides $10,000 and a badge that says “unction spoken here” or “mug me”?

Maybe it is time to put away childish things. Time to get over my distaste for those tweed jacketed (with elbow patches), Van Dyked, pipe-sucking geeks at the photo club, mere wraiths from an incipient negative education, and step into the light!

But first I’ll wait for Mr. Cheng to call.

Don't gimme' that look

Yes they surely would, but they won’t be tossing any pennies in the well that’s for sure, not when I get through with it. Besides, don’t beggars carry their own wishing wells? Aren’t we supposed to feel assuaged when we plunk a coin in their can? Doesn’t that make beggars of us all? I’d say so.

Anyhow, knocking down the wishing well is good for you. It’s a self motivator.

The roof’s ok by the way. I managed to get the sheared-off bit out of the mechanism, and it closes now. But it’s not right, and I can only hope (!) it will last till I get home.

Here’s something:

The sign says: “Love of Beauty IS TASTE! Creation of Beauty IS ART!”

Verily, I say unto you...

If only they hadn’t chosen such an ugly way to say it. But it’s a good example of how we more often than not talk a mean streak but fail to practice it.

At least I think it is. And I hope (!) I said it nicely. The photo’s a real beauty though ain’t it?

Well, I’d like nothin’ better than to hang around the barn jawin’ wit yez but the day is getting on, the sun is coming ’round the house and the van is heating up. I have a well to demolish.

Sorry, sorry, sorry. If there’s anything bad for a blog it’s nothing new to read.

The weather changes every day. Today: high cumuli nimbus in a blue sky and a strong wind flying to Manitoba. Last night: major downpour surrounded by lightning. Left the pop-top up while in the city. Very wet when I got back, but dry now.

Mosquito hordes still feeding on us. Wind is knocking the sh*t out of them but they’ll be back.

I turned 58 yesterday. Bon and crew took me to dinner. Cake when we got back, and games around the dining room table; late night, especially for the girls. Clear, star-filled sky when I went out to the van. An hour later it was overcast. Dropped the pop-top; I was wearing earplugs (the girls played on the trampoline till three) and figured I wouldn’t hear the rain when it started.

See? Nothing of note to note. Not bored though, there’s plenty happening. It’s just all weather related that’s all.

JJ and I are destroying the wishing well with his Kong. So far I’ve had 4 direct hits. I just have to watch that I clean up the shingles after each hit so he doesn’t get a nail in his paw. Not much to ask considering the satisfaction derived.

JJ and his Kong

The target

I’ve had to do a lot of compensating for the wind today, but you can see we’re coming along nicely. Scored a major whack today on my first throw.

I’ve a lot to say on this subject and some day I’ll say it but not today; I’ve just discovered the articulated framework that holds up my pop-top tent has come a cropper – the cross bar has come out one end and the cam has chewed right through it. I can raise it, but I can’t lower it.

So I’m going to go now.

I’ll be back.