Looking for Inspiration

As you may know, one of my passions and definitely my favourite creative outlet is photography.  I've always toyed with the idea of getting a bit more serious about photography and attempting to do it for dolla-dolla-bills-yo but have always hesitated to really jump in feet first.  There are a number of reasons for this: my skills aren't quite where I want them to be yet. I don't have the backup equipment to render my services accident proof.  I'm a bit scared of negative criticism. But I also worry about taking the fun out of it.

What's really great is that with my new-ish job I get to do a lot of the in house photography.  I do events, I do stock photos, pictures of the exhibitions...most of the website is made up of images that I shot.  But last night with the opening of Searching for Tom I felt a lack of inspiration.  I still got the images I needed and some shots I really liked.  But it was the first time that photography felt like a job. It kinda scared me.

Time for my usual counterargument: It was a pretty crazy week of work and yesterday was particularly stressful with me not even getting an instant to think about photographing that night until the moment I pulled out my camera to check my cards were dumped right as people started to congregate for the event.  I usually like to give myself an hour before a shoot begins to mentally prepare. Get in the photography frame of mind. Yesterday did not lend itself to that luxury. I was tired. Everyone was tired, stressed. It was a workman like event...not my usual way of shooting. Also, I've now shot in the atrium at work so many times, it's sometimes hard to get creative when you become very familiar with the space. So, it probably was a bit of an aberration. That's what I've concluded.

But as I look through my images from the past few months, I can't help but notice that most of them are related somehow to work. Which in some ways is great as I get to do something I love as part of my every day job. But it also saddens me to see that I'm not shooting as much just for me. There's been a "forced" quality to my stuff for the past few months. You can tell by my lack of posting on Flickr.

So as the title says, I'm looking for a little inspiration. A new certain something to get me back shooting for pleasure again. New places and spaces usually inspire me, so maybe I just need to explore a bit. What I really need is a proper vacation, but that's a whole other post.

Anyway, let me know if you have any ideas!

Attack of the Twit (Part 1)

I've really latched on to Twitter in the past few months.  On the surface it appears to be quite the utopian place - everyone seems happy, everyone sharing information, laughter, giddiness - it's all lollipops and unicorns.  It seems free of trolls and the negativity often found on forums and it's not as creepy as Facebook can be.  Sure you get your occasional spammer, but they're easy enough to spot and it doesn't really bother me if they follow me, I just don't bother following them back.

It all seemed great until a strange encounter with a local Twit yesterday.  What follows below is a top 5 candidate for the most bizarre social interaction I've ever had.  I've had crazier interactions, funnier interactions, more anger-inducing interactions - but I'm hard pressed to remember a conversation where I came out of it more confused.  Maybe there's something very basic that I'm just not getting...an "a-ha!" that is tantalizingly at the tip of my nose...my social combatant below sure seems to imply as much.  I'll let you be the judge.

So before I start, just a little context.  I'm always looking for interesting local people (those from Hamilton, Ontario) to follow on Twitter.  I came across a list of local twitter users that the The Spectator (our local rag) maintains.  Jackpot!  So after following some 200+ new Tweeps, naturally I was going to receive a number of follow-backs in return.  I had left my computer for a while, during which time the follow-backs started to rack up.  And one of theses Tweeps began replying to me  Below is a tweet by tweet commentary from this new follower:

Right off the bat, I am caught totally off guard.  Quite the way to welcome someone as a new follower, eh?  "I'd welcome you, but first we need to determine if you are the Hamilton Jew or Virginia resident w/ disposable coffee cup"??? wtf.

I have absolutely no idea what this person is talking about.  First of all, are either of those options supposed to be insults? complements? some jedi mind trick?

And then all of this stuff about a mission statement.  Once again, no clue what this person is talking about.  Upon reading that tweet, my mind races through the list of my online spaces - my blog, twitter, flickr...no where have I written the phrase "mission statement".  But my assumption is that they are talking about the "Bio" section on Twitter, which for me reads "A marketer, photographer, and filmmaker who's a jack of many trades and a master of a few."  Definitely "stuck-up"...sure.


But I sense that maybe this is just a misunderstanding - I'm not looking to start a flame war.  I meekly respond back:

Who knows what's going on, right?  I don't want to start a ruckus before I give Chris a chance to explain.

 

 Fair enough.  Still confused, but whatever.

At this point, I'm just feeling things out.  After the initial craziness, maybe this person is settling down.  Maybe they're just a bit strange, but nice enough...you know the kind.

Ok, maybe not.  This is the tweet that sends shivers down my spine.  Part of me is a bit freaked out because they used the phrase "the others" and I'm in the middle of re-watching every episode of Lost.  And part of me is freaked out, because...well, because wtf.  I immediately began googling "Chris Halasz" to see if I can figure out what is going on here. Nothing out of the ordinary turns up.  I press on...

 A seemingly innocent response.  Let's see what I get in return.

Is it time to start panicking?  Yeah.  A bit.  I don't even know how to respond to this anymore.  And if you're like me, you have no idea what castrati means either.  From Wikipedia:

"A castrato (Italian, plural: castrati) is a man with a singing voice equivalent to that of a soprano, mezzo-soprano, or contralto voice produced either by castration of the singer before puberty or one who, because of an endocrinological condition, never reaches sexual maturity."

Creepy. So me and a bunch of castrated Italians should go and eat at a fast-food giant of our choosing?  How quaint.

Once more into the foray:

I'm kind of a stubborn person.  I really want this conversation to end, but I want it to end on my terms.  A bit of snark here probably wasn't the best idea.

Again with the fast-food assertion.  But perhaps this person has dropped a clue "but your photography tells me you already eat there-as does your "vision"'.  I scour my flickr photos and the only thing I can come up with is half of a golden arch from a picture in Times Square NYC.

Hardly anything to rouse up this kind of conversation.  Not to mention it's buried 5 pages deep in my photostream.

At this point, I've given up hope on figuring out what the deal is with this person.  I am defeated.

Another stab at me.  What have I done to deserve this?  My body of work?  What the hell is going on here??  What body of work?  And what does this imaginary body of work say of me?  So many questions!  Too many crazy answers!

After this tweet, my eyes are glued to the screen - waiting for the return volley.

Nothing.  No response.  The threat has been neutralized apparently.  Is this a troll?  Is this someone who had a bad day?  Have I met this person before?  Offended them?

After a bit of detective work, maybe some answers in part 2 of "Attack of the Twit".

Should have made that left turn at Albuquerque

Nothing good can come of this

I love old cartoons. Cartoons were way funnier back in the old days when violence ruled the day. Unfortunately (although correctly) society has dictated a restriction on the gratuitous cartoon violence in children's programming today.

I'm definitely more of a Looney Tunes guy, but Goofy is pretty awesome too...especially when he's teaching me how to play a sport from a 1940's perspective

Yes random youtube commenter, Swivel Hips Smith IS ridiculous

Cartoon conventions are what really get me though. The running gags that run consistently throughout the canon of the genre. Like seriously, who decided that a banana peel should be the universal object of slippery-ness? That person deserves a pat on the back. Genius. And we just accept the fact that if you step on a banana peel you will be sent on a gravity-defying, bone-splitting journey; likely through drainage pipes, into oncoming traffic, and eventually off a cliff. Of course the dive off the cliff will be accompanied by that "skreee!" sound effect until eventually you turn into a puff of smoke upon impact at the bottom of an apparent 10,000 foot drop.


Seriously, has anyone actually stepped on a banana before? Prepare to be underwhelmed.

Speaking of smoke, my all-time favourite cartoon convention is the physical transformation a character goes through upon the receipt of a gunshot or explosion.

It's surprisingly difficult to find a picture of an "exploded" Looney Tune

This calamity is represented in a few ways...none of them involving the death of the "inflicted" character of course. Case #1: the character receiving the business end of a gunshot or stick of dynamite will revert to a black and gray (smoked?) figure, dazed, stumbling like he or she is drunk. Usually the clothing has become ragged as if the character has spent too much time with the Swiss Family Robinson. Case #2: the victimized character's clothing or fur is virtually blown completely off by the gunfire or explosion, leaving a mostly naked but unharmed character stumbling around in a daze. This is used to humorous perfection by the characters of Wile E. Coyote and Sylvester the Cat. Case #3: this is unique to the character Daffy Duck but is so damn funny that it deserves its own category. The duck bill. Words really don't do this justice...

How despicable.

P.S. Other favourite cartoon conventions include perfectly shaped mouse holes, anvils, dynamite (has anyone even used TNT in the last 80 years?), Powerhouse