Couple of months ago the local sheriffs dept. did some training with their K-9’s at an abandoned office building. A couple of the exercises had me just a few feet away from the jaws of a dog looking to bite somebody, but I like this one the best.
The dogs got a running start from the other end of the building and this particular dog is so young, he decided to leap over the counter instead of running around it.
That is what I call a crazy dog.
A friend says goodbye after the funeral service for U.S. Army Pfc. Jennifer Cole as the California State Honor Guard moves her from the Cornerstone Ministries santuary. Cole was killed in Iraq on Aug. 2, 2008. An investigation into the cause of her death is ongoing.
I wrote this little first-person story on my White House press pool experience for the newspaper. I think I sprouted more than a few new grey hairs during the madness.
I was sick. Sick to my stomach from thinking that I managed to miss one of the more important photos of my Register career; a shot of President George W. Bush during his July visit to the Napa Valley.
I should have gotten him emerging from Marine One when it landed at Sutter Home Winery. Except his motorcade got in the way, of course.
Why, motorcade? Why? I had a perfectly good shot lined up, ready to go. But nooooooo. You had to be in a huge hurry and pick up the President. What, afraid there may be traffic? A curse on your house, motorcade.
I’ve missed shots before. I miss shots every day. That’s fine. I do not mind making mistakes and learning from them. Usually, it makes me better. This one did not. It put a dark cloud over my head.
I shared my lament with one of the photographers traveling with the White House press pool. He provided no Pepto for my ego. “You’re living in fantasy photo-land,” he said.
While shuttling from Sutter Home to the Republican Party fundraiser at Harlan Estate, I took pictures from the press van window of people standing on the side of the road. Normally, this little piece of therapy would have blown the storm clouds away, but not this time. This was too big.
After a working dinner in the Harlan Estate cellar — where, by the way, I had the glorious task of revisiting my failure by picking through what shots I had to send to the newsroom — I looked to members of the traveling press for glimmers of light in the darkness.
You know how that went. Apparently, I was living in “fantasy photo-land.”
Since I missed the clear, albeit brief, opportunity to capture a picture of the president when he emerged from his helicopter, I was hoping against hope I might get something of him when he departed.
Once we were told to gear up for the ride back to Sutter Home, I made it my mission not to miss again. Since the press vans traveled in the back of the (cursed) motorcade and the President’s SUV was up front, I figured my only chance might come from hanging out of an open window. I asked, and the van driver let me sit in the passenger seat.
Once we hit the road, I double-checked my camera settings and took a few shots through the windshield of cars and bystanders.
Finally, we turned from Highway 29 back into the Sutter Home distribution center. The front of the motorcade was nearing Marine One while our van was still football fields away.
I rolled down the window as we got closer. The doors to one of the President’s SUV’s started to open. The SUV disappeared behind Marine One, only to come into view on the other side as we rolled closer.
The driver of my van slowed to a stop, thanks to the gentle commands of a local TV photographer. “Take your time. Take your time,” he told the driver. She did, otherwise we would’ve blown right by the action.
Out popped the president while I leaned out the window, my elbows forming a bi-pod as I braced against the door. He waved to a few people, turned to Marine One, saluted and was gone.
During the whirlwind 19 seconds that I saw him, I took 20 pictures of the President, thankful for the moment where preparedness and opportunity met.
And as wind from the blades of Marine One blew my hair back during take-off, the dark clouds over my head began to part.
Couple of weeks ago I found the blog “Ground Glass” by photographer Cara Phillips and ran across a post of hers (as well as one by Andrew Hetherington) that reminded me of a “feel good moment” I experienced earlier this year.
Every year, a local non-profit sponsors a t-shirt decorating table to raise awareness on sexual assault for what is called “The Clothesline Project”. A booth at the junior college was set up for people to drop-in and I was supposed to get a picture or two for a story.
Anyway, long story short, I basically formated the storage card in the camera when I shouldn’t have and lost all the images. Stupid mistake that was more annoying than anything. The photos were not all that great to begin with, so I wasn’t heartbroken. Still, I felt like an idiot.
So I go back the next day because the booth was going to be up for a few days and this time a student actually came by to decorate a t-shirt; something that failed to happen the previous day.
I chat with her for a few minutes and find out she herself was a victim of sexual assault at a young age. She didn’t really go into details, but she had a lot of good things to say about staying positive in life, considering what she’s been through.
“I wanted to be part of the prayer to end sexual assault,” she said. “I’m not ashamed anymore, it’s not my fault and I’m still standing.”
At that point I was just thankful for not only having the second chance to get a photo for the story, but also for meeting someone who is a real inspiration.
And thankful, once again, that I am a photographer.
Took this portrait of a high-jumper for a story on him before heading off to the state finals. Had him use a track & field measuring tape to illustrate his personal record.
Something about his backyard was cool. Lots of weird stuff leftover from a previous property owner. Saw the sun coming through the trees and totally bit the idea that others have done.
Other worldly. Eerie. Creepy. Unsettling.
These are some of the words that come to mind when I look at this photo. No, it’s not one of those “smack you in the face” good fire pictures, but I like it anyhow. Guess you have to be in the mood.
My friend Jeff sent me a link to public radio WNYC’s exploration of New York City street photography; its roots, what some photographers try to achieve, and even a street shot challenge open to everybody via Flickr.
There is almost too much here to see at one sitting, so either clear out your schedule for an hour or bookmark it and come back, because it deserves your attention.
So far, my favorite part is the videos of street photogs at work talking about what they do. I love hearing other photographers talk about photography, and the three I’ve seen so far have not let me down.
Jamel Shabazz
“When it comes to the drugs, the violence, enough of that stuff already. I’m looking for something different.”
Sandra Roa
“The truth is it’s not that easy…It’s about trust and that means time.”
Bruce Gilden
“If you can smell the street by looking at the photo, it’s a street photograph.”
I spent a few years living in Rego Park, Queens just over 10 years ago and did some street photography while over there. Actually, I had no clue what I was doing, so calling it street photography might be a stretch (usually a grasp of f-stops and shutter speeds help when you take a picture). I did come up with a couple of shots, some how, some way, that, at least to me, still stand up. Maybe someday I’ll go through my negatives again and see if I lucked into anything else.
A few photos from a two-day series the paper put together on our local emergency room. Day one focused on the people who work there while day two looked at the patients.
I took my Rolleiflex film camera in and did what I could. I was actually really happy with the way these came out. It’s strange using a manual focus camera with a viewfinder that makes you look down instead of directly at the subject. On the other hand, it forces you to go slow — in a good way — while increasing the connection to whoever you’re photographing.
Plus you get to work with film, which I still love. Just something about it…maybe a warmth, but not in a color sense.
Girls playoff soccer — a fun game to shoot that went into double overtime with the home team putting together a come from behind victory. One of those games that made the hair on your arm stand-up.
Time to pull out the sunscreen.
