In the Deep Mid-Winter

Recently I met a photographer at a holiday arts fair in Walnut Creek, Jess Gibbs. (See her portfolio here and IG here.) I loved her way of capturing nature and how light falls across landscapes, up close and from a wide angle.

So, I wanted to go back out with my camera and attempt to imitate the techniques used. Here are some of my favorites.

Lichen on a branch in Joaquin Miller Park, Oakland, CA.

I wanted to try to hone in on the lighting and contrast of bright cool colors against the dark and damp hues during this rainy season.

Cactus in the Regional Parks Botanical Garden. Tilden, Berkeley, CA.

Lichen close up no. 2.

Lichen close up no. 3. Can’t get enough of this pale turquoise and the organic shapes the algae forms on its home branch.

While wandering around the local regional parks I was struck by how vivid the colors are with such dark and cold hues around. When a shock of pale blue or bright green or orange or red appear it is beautiful against the dark tones of bare bark and branch.

Regional Parks Botanical Garden, Tilden, Berkeley, CA.

Looking for subjects in a space I have already frequented with my camera for years can be challenging. Often, instead of focusing on an entire plant or landscape, I find it easier to narrow in on a particular detail I find charming or life affirming against a wider backdrop. Below is an example of just that. I found a chunk of charcoal at the base of a beaten up public grill in Joaquin Miller. Just in the middle stood one very petite bit of green, which I found fascinating against the deep rich blue of the long-since defused charcoal.

Charcoal with a small sprig of green. Joaquin Miller Park, Oakland, CA.

Sporophytes growing off a mossy rock. Regional Parks Botanical Garden, Tilden, Berkeley, CA.

These mushrooms were less than an inch tall. But in zooming in to their little world, I didn’t realize until after I had taken it how colorful their surroundings really were, including the tight little blue droplets to the left and the small spot of lichen to its right. I will need to look up what type of mushrooms these are with my friend who hunts them later.

I am most proud of this last photo. I challenged myself with this wider shot, where the lighting within and around the subject is so extreme. There is something powerful about a shock of highlights against a gloomy surrounding. Sunlight in winter is something special; it is both warm and also weakened by its distance. So having it pop brightly but be surrounded by dark seemed the most fitting capture for a mid-winter photo shoot.

Thanks for having a look. And if you have any recommendations for places to snap up close up photography, I am all ears.

A different time

I used to ride at these stables. The campus has been long-since shut down. I had a day off from work and decided to take my camera out for a spin. This seemed as good as any a subject for a photoshoot.

I started riding horses at about age 10 and kept it up thanks to my parents’ wallets through age 18. These days I am on the fence on whether I trust the equestrian industry; animal abuse is pretty rampant. Paradoxically, I have fond memories of the horses and ponies I knew over there. There was a particular pony that was a fan-favorite, Boy George. He was a very pale, almost white palomino pony. He looked like a real life my little pony.

Boy George, pulled from the Grizzly Peak Stables website (now defunct)

Boy George was around 20 or so years old when I met him. But he always seemed so full of life, you wouldn’t have guessed it.

Grizzly Peak Stables, May 2023

I’m more writing for myself than anything; this was a huge part of my childhood. I am still not sure how my parents afforded to let me take these lessons. But, it was something my mom did when she was younger, as well as my English grandmother. A picture of her in with two friends in the 1940s, all wearing jodhpurs and riding jackets, hangs up on our fridge to this day. I have another of my mom riding a big chestnut horse in the 1970s at Grizzly Peak.

I took photos of the defunct barn doors, I saw the “for sale’ sign, and an eerily knocked down “private property” sign. It looked like a perfect candidate for yet another zombie movie.

I did not feel welcome enough to linger and get close-ups. This was private property; country folks also tend to avoid the more populated areas specifically to avoid strangers like me invading the land they paid to have rights to.

Before heading out, I met the next-door neighbor’s horses. There were a couple chesnuts and a bay—all quite kind and small in stature. The bay in particular was quite charming and walked up to the fence to say hi. It did not go unnoticed there was a “no feeding” and “electric fence” right below their gate.

When I came home and reviewed my photos, it felt like I was creating yet another Urban Blight themed submission for an undergrad project. It’s hard not to be self-conscious when holding a good-sized camera. By taking a photo and stamping your watermark signature on it, there’s some ego involved. But, I had a personal connection to the space. I thought I would feel like I had “earned” my right to be there. I soon found that wasn’t the case; I felt like an intruder. It was invasive seeing it in such a decrepit state. In direct contrast all around there was beautiful calm nature; trees and flowing fields of grassland.

Tilden Park, just below Centennial Drive entrance

Editing took a minute today because I couldn’t remember how to for the first few minutes; I get rusty when I don’t use a tool for a while and I had to remind myself of the basics of using masks once again.

This wild turkey was a blessing. He kept putting his hind feathers up in full display, brazenly walking into the middle of the road. He was far enough away from me I couldn’t get a strong focus on him. I find turkeys to be incredibly charming because of how ridiculous they are. Not very bright, not very beautiful, but they know who they are and daggonit, turkeys are gonna turkey.

Fog and sunlight through conifers, Tilden Park.

The next photo I am sharing is the one that is the inspiration behind writing this blog post at all. I took the shot because there was something so “perfect” in encapsulating decay as the half broken-off stable door. The drama was too good to pass up. It was while trying to color correct and add texture I noticed the sign.

Below the defunct barn door, it reads: “BOY GEORGE Grizzly Peak Stables.” I started to cry and felt ashamed. You can take a photo of something, you can feel artistic for a moment. But, that was my friend’s home.

I don’t know how to finish this beautifully or elegantly; I think when I was younger I would have found this brilliantly dramatic. I would have used it to carve out some climatic moment to stun the audience with. But, as an older adult, I just feel mournful and sad. I am aware now that things we care about fade, animals really do die, and memories get distant and tinted grey blue. You become accustomed to the past being old and distant. So, when a piece of it comes brilliantly into the present, it is startling, it is arresting. It is cutting in its nonchalant intimacy.

As I wrote this out I remember visiting George once after having stopped riding for a while. I want to say I remember him looking in good form and the barn still feeling warm with life. But, even then, I vaguely remember its care and maintenance was waining. I want to believe not just George but all the animals at the stable were given a proper comfortable retirement in return for their service. I want to believe the people who would dedicate themselves to horse sport would respect them in return. But, I just don’t know that that is true. When I Googled “Grizzly Peak Stables closing” all that came up was the real estate listing—complete with drone footage. No article, no fanfare, no press release about a local business that had been around for decades closing down. No news of the beings that lived their lives out there.

I remember when I was in my early twenties an instructor I had by the name of Melissa had called my mom to let her know another horse I had bonded with at a different stable, Slaighter, had passed. He was the last horse I rode often and even years afterwards I would think about him. It was a genuine kindness that she went out of her way to let me know that he had gone; for George I’m left to wonder to this day. There aren’t any obituaries for animals; which in and of itself feels like a form of hubris. Humans aren’t the only animals to mourn, and some of us deeply mourn our animals.

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George at around age 20 and me at age 11.

So here goes an obituary for Boy George.

Georgie was a sweetheart who loved carrots. He would put up with a lot of little kids, primarily rich little girls who were “horse crazy,” kicking him in the side or yanking on the bit in his mouth. I was one of them. He was patient but had opinions. He perked up when horses he liked neighed nearby. He had favorites; he was also a favorite at Grizzly Peak. He was kind to me. He let me clean out his hooves without much fuss. He loved his alfalfa. I’m always amazed at the kind and curious ears a horse presents towards any human; we aren’t a guarantee for kindness and comfort. But, George had confidence enough to go around. He is deeply missed.

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If I can make a living long enough to secure myself and my wife a safe and comfortable future, I just want to provide a home for animals that doesn’t result in this kind of forgotten decay. It is a dream of mine to provide sanctuary for animals like George would love. It was a different time, a parallel universe to my own current one, but being there and seeing again, I am reminded how real it was. Writing out all these thoughts here on my personal blog, full of memories, dreams, sadness, and desires, I am again reminded of that damn wild turkey, walking in full display in the middle of the road, showing off to anyone who happens to come by.

Oh to feel this confident and impervious to cars.

Producing Live Content in an Age of Uncertainty, Aka Live Streaming Events at Home for Dummies

This article was originally posted on LinkedIn.com on May 3, 2020.

Make-shift standing desk and my cat, Lily

For tl;dr crowd, skip to the very bottom under "In Summary"

I think I should start with acknowledging the following: I have the privilege to have a job right now. I recognize that anything I recommend or wax poetic on will not help the majority of Americans with the very scary scenarios we are witnessing playing out over the news these days. That being said, I have had a unique role in these last 40+ days of shelter-in-place and can offer guidance in this particular arena. I am a Bay Area video producer and digital content creator. I have over 10 years industry experience in the performing arts; I have run sound boards and designed digital content since I was a teenager. I understand why people still choose to go out to a concert or a live play, even in the age of Netflix. That being said, because we are in the age of Netflix, the live arts have to be that much better, that much sharper, to keep our audiences engaged. And we are now faced with a true crisis, both for the safety of our citizenry, and the longevity of the live entertainment industries.

In response to this crisis, I have had the privilege of producing live theater productions as streamed films that gave our audiences an opportunity to experience shows remotely. I've also had the privilege of speaking with some of the top executive producers around the country. As content producers, we all have something in common: we're all being asked to make what was once only an in-person affair purely digital—and most importantly to do it all remotely. It is an extraordinary time. Nationally, we are now discussing what it means to make content accessible in ways that I would imagine differently-abled folks have been asking for for years. I think there might be some deserved eye-rolls from that community over our scrambling now.

Who Should Read This Article

This article is aimed at those who have a business / are seeking to amplify their business through video content, but have no background in digital content. For those of you who work in video, most of my advice will likely be a reminder of the things you already know. That being said, I am just coming off the heels of a successful fully produced live streamed fundraiser, and I've learned a lot of specific do's and don'ts I wouldn't have realized until after this experience.

So, Here is My Advice to those Who Want a Live Video But Don't Make Videos Themselves

For those of you who don't work in digital content, but are desperate for your show, your lecture, your fundraiser, your graduation ceremony, your conference—whatever to go off without a hitch: we hear you. We understand the urgency. Your no. 1 priority is to your patrons, your students, your staff, etc. Your relevance as a business is dependent on being accessible right now.

We know what you want. So how do we do that? Here are my tips.

1. Understand Where Technology is Actually at, THEN Get Creative

You know the saying: don't squash ideas, say yes and, be bold, ideate—be innovative. And effectively what I'm telling you is you will only waste your time and your staff's time coming up with ideas or brainstorming when you don't know the lay of the technical land.

Before planning any new digitally-based event, ask your digital team to do research. If you don't have a team, reach out to folks who live stream for a living—dig deep into understanding what is and isn't possible. Then actually listen to the advice you are given.

I'm not saying don't brainstorm on how to make your live fundraiser work on Zoom. What I am saying is actually listen to where the technology is right now—and learn who has the UI that will help you / your team navigate live streaming for the first time. The first speed bump I hit with my team was to dispel a wide array of assumptions: I had to be the one to break it to them that even though we have webcams on our laptops, we do not wield the same power as a tv production studio. And no, we cannot have a group of people sing in real time with each other over Zoom; there's this annoying issue of delay and noise-cancellation we now have to contend with on most streaming platforms. It's a brave new world.

This was hard to sink in. I think most of us didn't realize that technology isn't as ahead of its time as we are all constantly told is is. While Facetime and Google Hangouts exist, there is a reason why those are patented products that happen to also be produced by the two top tech companies in the world: having video be sent out and received live means that data needs to be processed incredibly fast to be sent back out to its viewers again. It is not so simple as a phone call. Comparing a phone call to a Facetime call is like comparing a gif to a feature length film. Having multiple streams coming and going between each other, and in real time, is an incredible amount of data to process instantaneously. As hard as it is to believe, even though your iPhone has Facetime, you might notice that you cannot then also send your Facetime conversation up onto Youtube live for others to see. There is not a universal plug-in or button that we can all push to make whatever you want, or whomever you want, streamed live to anywhere you want. We just aren't there, yet. We are still at the forefront of these kinds of technologies. Edited to add: yes, you can send a Zoom meeting up onto Youtube. But, what if you don't want to use Zoom? Why isn't there a way to simulcast to any platform you want from any platform? Many of these platforms benefit from you staying on their platform only, and that is part of the problem; you will find some don't play as nice with others or they do not have the features you're used to using with others.

Additionally, from a UX / storytelling perspective: stop and think about your audience's experience. It is absolutely awkward to watch something that was clearly only intended to be live forced into a Zoom meeting. Zoom meetings are already weird. Don't make them weirder. Stop trying to make the exact same event you had planned now exist on a digital platform. Create events that are instead intended for this new digital-only world.

If you were planning a 400+ person event and now you're faced with the ugly reality of a Zoomed Gala, rethink how that event should be reincarnated—maybe it's mini cocktail hours with a local mixologist to show handfuls of your donors how to make a new and interesting drink, while an auctioneer calls out paddle raises. Maybe it's an ASK ME ANYTHING with a local celebrity. Maybe it's a musician doing a solo "sold-out" show projected out while audience members can chat / upload their reactions in real time.

I don't know what you need specifically for your company, but I can guarantee it will only help to learn whether or not your Zoom account level has a limit of 30 minutes, if your Youtube account qualifies for monetization (and thus a donation button), or if your level of Vimeo actually comes with access to live streaming and simulcasting.

2. Whatever Wifi Your Guest Has is Now What Will Make or Break Your Event

We've never been so vulnerable to user error or poor signal before. The thing that I found the most fascinating in talking to other executive producers and content creators is this: all of them said when it comes to entertainment and fundraising events, you should avoid actual live streaming. Just avoid it. Pre-tape everything possible, and then upload that video to play "live" over one of the many streaming platforms available, using something like Facebook Premiere. Here's why.

You're Only as Good as Your Worst Signal

First off, we've all become accustomed to being free of the ethernet cable. Remember those? The best way to guarantee good signal, beyond buying faster internet, is to be hard-lined into a router. Even faster Wifi is likely to get disrupted now and then; you need to be connected by cable for uninterrupted signal. But, it is likely folks will not have a laptop that can connect directly.

Now most laptops don't even come with an ethernet port. And it didn't matter before the crisis because even if your office or home internet was out, you could always pop down to a local coffee shop for signal. Except now no one can go to a coffee shop.

So what we have is a problem that is two-fold: we are almost entirely dependent on people's personal laptops/smart phones, and their personal wifi. This is why you should pre-tape everything.

As a comparison, back in normal times when speakers appeared on live tv remotely, those folks were likely still brought into a remote studio, or recorded on cameras that had high powered signal hard-lined to patch them into a studio network in New York or LA. And even then, there is often a delay, and sometimes news anchors would lose their guests. The dreaded, "Did we lose them?" is something we've all heard, right?

This advice isn't news to folks who have already been creating digital content post shelter-in-place. I have witnessed a lot of people slyly doing exactly this, whilst trying to cover it up with the dressings of making it look live—aka, the recent Seder fest with Jason Alexander, Dua Lipa's performance on The Late Late Show with James Corden, and of course the cast of Hamilton's performance on Some Good News.

I think most folks would pick up that some parts of these were likely edited, but to be clear: these were absolutely 100% pre-recorded and meticulously put together by people like me all before it was made public.

But, you might say, I watched the hosts talking live on tv—it was live, I swear! Perhaps. Perhaps the hosts are being streamed live, but when they go to "chat" with their friend Dua Lipa over Zoom, and she "invites" her musicians and dancers into the chat, that's where you can bet anything that was live has now ended and someone has pressed play on a piece of pre-made content.

If you don't work in video, and even more important, do not have a production team who does have video streaming experience, and you are still asking "But can't we . . . ?" Nope. Here's why not.

If Famous People Who Own Production Companies Can't Guarantee Good Signal Neither Can You

We've seen what happens when we are left to be dependent on personal remote setups in real time. Or to copyright not being cleared before going live with a song. Or to hardware failing to connect. Stephen Colbert's interview with Daniel Radcliffe is a great example of a technical snaffu happening live. While it is still entertaining to watch these particular "failures"—remember these people are professional entertainers, which means they, more than the average person, can still entertain you even when things go wrong—I think we're all aware that our Online Only Audiences will grow fatigued over time. They will not find it so cute come this Fall when yet again someone's mic is not connected or the show has had a massive delay.

BUT YOU MUST HAVE THE LIVE STREAM THING

If you must, here is my advice: pre-tape as much as possible as you can and limit exactly what it is you want live to a very narrow world that you can test and tech (I use that term in the theater-y-way, not a Silicon Valley way). You must be able to rehearse switching between the worlds of live and not-live over and over again.

And that is exactly what we did. You can see our live streamed fundraiser here.

I am proud to say because of our production team, we had an incredibly smooth event. I challenge you to guess which pieces were live and which were pre-recorded. We even planned the lighting at times to match the actual lighting we would have during the event. The role I played in this event primarily consisted of making a lot of the pre-taped content, and stewarding many conversations between production challenges and our administrator's goals with the event. I was also the backup Board Operator should things go wrong.

3. Practice Streaming (Privately)—Know Your Weak Points in Advance

Now, of course, there was one moment in our show when things got a little scary for us: and guess where the problem was? One of the live moments, of course. Someone gave $1,000 (hurray) and our host pulled their name out of a hat to celebrate them and give them a shout out. We took a break to a music video to call that donor and to pull them in live to our stream for a personal thank you—a special unannounced treat for our audience to enjoy—this was all part of the plan. However, the donor didn't pick up their phone.

That was it. That was the big uh-oh moment of the night. So, we took some time (around 30 seconds) beyond the pre-taped music video we had as a fail-safe, held the live stream view on a frame saying something like "and next up...", and connected a second donor who also gave $1,000 and they did pick up their phone. Once that was done by our first PA, and communicated to our Board Op and SM, we communicated it back to the second PA who gave our host a countdown of when we'd go live with his live guest. Once everyone was on the same page, we successfully lifted that held frame and went to the two live video feeds together at once.

This is why you need to actually practice a full run-through of tech. You need to know who does what when things go wrong because things like this will happen.

As someone who has worked in live theater for over a decade, I want to make it clear: live streaming is not the same as a fully-rehearsed and honed theater production, where you are (mostly) in full control of each sound, light, and choreo cue. Contrary to the stereotype of theater people being aloof or artistically estranged from reality, theater production/technical people are some of the sharpest people I've ever met. They think of how everything could go wrong and then put redundancies in place. These are the people who tape down the loose cables backstage so when the actors are moving in a blackout they won't trip and bang their head on a set piece. If you know a theater production person, I can pretty much guarantee that they will be the kind of person who not only plans for s*** hitting the fan, but also stays calm under that pressure when it does.

4. If You're Going Live At All You Need a Production Team—Not Person—a Team

This piece of advice clearly is only helpful to those who can afford the staffing. But, if you are able, anticipate that you don't just need someone with a laptop to play host—you need an entire crew of folks to make that person look good.

This was our technical team for our live event:

1. A live stream Board Operator

2. A Stage Manager

3. A PA dedicated to being the go-between the host of the show and the production team

4. A PA dedicated to contacting outside guests

5. An events staff member keeping track of the night's programming

6. One, if not two people, running our social media feeds

7. A backup Board Operator with the full-show pre-loaded onto their computer, in case of massive technical failure

We were all connected over Discord during the event, most of us on mute, while listening in to each cue being called between SM, Board Op, and PA who visually signaled to our host when he was going live.

This Should be a Bat Signal to Developers Everywhere to Invent the Next Major IPO That Makes Live Streaming Better

Where we are at technologically will change. I can imagine the dev team at Zoom alone is working double, if not triple time right now to find ways to improve their products.

And eventually, maybe not this year (I think we can all agree that the year 2020 is being written off as a huge pause button on life) streaming will become one of many options for connecting to audiences once more, and not the only method we have.

But, for techie entrepreneurs now is the time to create the next Uber: here is a huge vacuum of need waiting to be filled. Find a way to encode faster, better, slicker. Build the next brilliant codec. Make streaming so easy anyone can do it and we never have to suffer through celebrities fumbling for the mute button again.

In Summary:

1. Find out what your technology can do for you

2. Hardwire your signal

3. Pre-tape, pre-tape, pre-tape

4. Practice your show, even if it's mostly pre-taped

5. Make sure you have a team handling the production

And last,

For Those of You Curious, This is What Our Technical Setup Was

(See our team roles summary above.)

First, I made sure our Youtube account had live stream enabled; this can take up to 24 hours so make sure this is done well in advance of your event. This is the equivalent of the pre-heat instruction on a cooking recipe. Do this first, else you'll regret it later.

Second, we did not live stream solely using Youtube. We have Vimeo Premium, and for our live stream we used the third-party application provided through our membership, Livestream Studio. Livestream Studio allows you to simulcast to multiple platforms and pull in up to 5 guests at a time from remote streamed locations; it also creates a digital "waiting room" for guests to be held until your Board Operator chooses to bring them into the actual live feed. Vimeo had the foresight to acquire Livestream in 2017, which had already spent years developing a truly user-friendly digital live stream board. Its UI is what drew us to it. It's sort of the more amped up version of OBS, which is what a lot of Youtubers use to stream themselves. StreamYard is also a very popular choice, which I believe allows you to have up to 10 people in the digital "waiting room" at one time. But, be warned: if you hand remote guests a link to join a feed, they will all want to immediately log in. And if you have a number of guests over that limit, you will have to boot someone out in order to bring someone new in. That happened to us during one of our many pre-recorded sessions; I got booted but our guests didn't.

Additionally, we used the gaming comms app Discord. Our Board Operator had the foresight to get our entire tech team hooked up on Discord so we could both watch his operating the board (he shared his screen), and be able to talk/msg each other in real-time as it was happening. Discord is similar to Slack but allows for multiple forms of audio-communications; imagine an incredibly nimble, high-powered conference call software, that allows you to mute and deafen individual feeds, share screens, video chat, and host multiple chat channels (with gifs and emojis) all in real time.

We connected our Livestream Studio app to our Vimeo account, sent that Livestream Studio feed to a live event we switched on in Vimeo, and from there sent that live event to Youtube Live and Facebook Live using the simulcast feature that Vimeo provides. Sounds simple, right? Maybe not. But, I will say Vimeo and Livestream both make using their programs incredibly accessible to anyone willing to learn.

Good luck. You can do this, and better yet, you can choose to do this in a way that has redundancies, is humble, and can still be quite effective. I mean, if Sondheim's people can't get a live stream to work correctly, you shouldn't feel bad you can't, either. Just don't do what they did.

I Watched Grass Grow. It Was Oddly Exciting?

My cousin-in-law got us cat grass for Christmas. Our cat has few teeth, is rotund, and incredibly friendly. We weren’t sure, however, if she would be open to salad.

Whenever you get gifts at Christmas, it’s always a gamble of getting the same thing bought en masse for everyone (we did Amazon gift cards last year, don’t judge), or that one random weird object that you can’t understand why someone went to the effort to design, manufacture and ship it, let alone decided you should be the rightful owner of a banana shaped lantern.

Side note: I did actually see a banana shaped lantern recently at a high art gallery in the Mission. It was disappointing. The highlight of that night was when a fuse blew in the building, and the banana’s light snapped off. A suddenly less exuberant phallus, it became even more disappointing.

Anyway. Grass. Pet grass! We got it. And I was game to grow it. I give you Exhibit A.

Whenever I try out a new low-key hobby, say gardening, for example, it is oddly exciting; I never know what to expect. And because the stakes are low, I can enjoy the soft unknowns of what’s to come.

So, there I am: instructions say the seeds poured onto the coir soil will grow. The coir soil pellet instanTANEOUSLY grew when the water hit it, so I feel a boost of confidence. Maybe I am secretly a green god? But, it’s hard to imagine how putting a dry thing into a slightly moist-er thing will result in anything happening. Don’t I have to do something to it? Nurture it? Give it a pep-talk at halftime? Post about it online? Analyze its feelings? No, no. Set it. Forget it. Walk away.

Nothing happened for a day, and another day, and then another. I honestly forgot about it.

And then:

Sometimes Change Sneaks Up On You With Your Favorite Bag of Chips And Guac. And You’re Like, “Oh Hey Change. Thanks! You’re Kind Of Cute.”

There is something incredibly kind and heartening about positive change over time. I’ve been thinking a lot about change recently, as I find I’ve hit a couple markers this weekend. Yesterday marked four years since I first met my wife. And serendipitously, we realized it while sitting in the very same restaurant we met at while out with my mom, having just watched a play I had been wanting to see for literally 20 years since I missed its first run at Berkeley Rep in 1999.

While the play didn’t live up to the expectations of a 13-year-old in love with hyper fantasies, now a 32-year-old that has worked in the arts for ten years, I am so grateful I can mark that item off the bucket list. I am so grateful I got to experience that bucket list item with my partner and my mom, who inspired me to love stories and mythology and storytelling in the first place. And I am so grateful for this stinking cute cat grass plant as it re-invigorated a small love I have for macro-photography.

Slow Progression, Incredible Results

When looking at the grass, victoriously green and hearty, I saw the tops of several of the stalks had a single droplet of water. I found that odd, as the instructions clearly stipulated that I stay away and not to overwater at all. How could this liquid be here? Who put that there? Did the grass seep water? It then dawned on me after staring at it for a while that the droplets were probably originally on the soil. With the grass’ slow determined progress upward, the water kept to its spherical shape, didn’t evaporate, and rose with it. Perfect synchronicity.

If I had tried to make this happen, if I had tried to set it up to catch water just so, it wouldn’t have worked, I don’t think. The weight of the water would have dropped down, the stalks would have bent or been inundated and died from being overly watered. This was purely a moment of serene progress and beauty lifted up on its own merit.

Taking out my macro lenses, I decided to document it. Because this is why one goes into macrophotography: you want to take pictures of tiny things like droplets because they’re magical and now you are magic.

I’m going to make sweeping metaphors Now

But, it rings true. And every time I have a peaceful meeting of my past and present, I feel the urge to document it. The future always feels scary, particularly when my family’s health is under threat, climate change is getting personal, and our political system is more violent than ever. But, it is important to recognize that there are probably many more grass plants growing underneath me without my noticing right now.

A personal example comes to mind: I have been working as a designer and storyteller for a decade. It has taken me a long time to get to the point of doing it at the level I currently am. You can see my latest works on a 20 ft screen at The Strand Theater in downtown San Francisco. My portfolio is regularly being updated with those and other works I’ve made online at www.act-sf.org. I am very proud of these projects and the others I have accomplished as a freelancer, particularly in the last year.

I feel invigorated by the challenges presented each day I go to work. I have had to ask questions like, “Can I film a rehearsal of a pianist on a Friday and the performance on Saturday and use footage from both to create the illusion of a five camera shoot for a final music video?” and “What if we animated the credits of the costume designer for the Christmas show so that it was snowing? What are the physics of snow falling?” and “If we have the title treatment sitting on top of a dimmed theater light, can the title treatment start off hollow and then get opaque and brighten when the light turns on?” Every time I’ve been presented with a design question like this, I have come up with a solid product in response. For the record, I did indeed make it snow, the title treatment is currently being approved for publication, and I filmed Alfredo Rodríguez two weekends ago, and could sync up his hands moving across the keys on Friday to the same song shot as a wide-shot on Saturday. (It helps when you’re filming a world-class piano player whose internal rhythm is so good he sticks to the same bpm.) When we are cleared to publicize that project, I will be sure to show it here.

I’ve grown so much over the years. I am so grateful for the opportunities that have presented themselves. And simultaneously aware that growth has happened with or without me nurturing it or paying attention at every juncture. It’s hard not to be constantly self-aware, constantly questioning how I got to where I am, and where I am going to.

Another positive thing about growing pet grass, though, is that it helps give a moment of true distraction and break from those thoughts.

Please enjoy the final photo shoot of the day with the grass, taken by my wife:

Making something with nothing

I met with my supervisor yesterday to discuss a video that I will be developing later this season.

The cast of Vanity Fair, adapted by Kate Hamill from the novel by William Makepeace Thackeray and directed by Eric Tucker at the Pearl Theatre.
(© Russ Rowland)

The video I need to make is to promote an upcoming production of Vanity Fair. It’s a familiar title and story for those who know it or have been exposed to Reese Witherspoon’s movie. But, this adaptation is not a normal production—it’s new and purposefully rough around the edges: multiple actors play multiple roles. The design of the set employs bare bulbs in the background of the walls to demonstrate scene shifts. The show art is also designed like a beaten up theater marquee. This is a production trying to get back to the basics of how to tell a story.

Show art for the production at the Pearl Theatre utilizing marquee light bulbs.

I got inspired by the design choice to use bare bulbs in the set as well as the artwork: why don’t we actually light up the title Vanity Fair, like an old theater marquee?

Only problem was: I do not have a green screen in my inventory of gear (my predecessors, as far as I can tell, never filmed footage to animate). And while this design exists as part of animation preset packages you can buy, I didn’t want to buy something if we ended up not wanting to stick with this idea and waste the company’s money. But, I knew I had a few spare minutes of time to freely experiment (which I just learned is key to creativity in this podcast episode).

So, the challenge was set: I needed to make light bulbs light up, and in a pattern of my choosing, in the shape of letters.

I got to work.

First problem to solve? Find an old-fashioned lightbulb.

This actually took some doing because my office has only environmentally friendly bulbs in all our free-standing lights. Again, you can buy stock footage of bulbs. But, I did some digging, and found one outdated bulb in the lamp of our HR Manager’s office. She graciously let me borrow it.

Second problem to solve was finding a lamp that I could adjust the neck and height. This proved to also be difficult to find as most lamps in our office aren’t built to be taken apart, let alone are short enough to easily manipulate. I eventually found one on a coworker’s desk in Publications. She also was kind enough to let me steal her lamp for the shoot.

Last, I needed a black backdrop. Since I didn’t have a green screen, I needed the next best thing, which was light absorption on a neutral background. This was probably the strangest thing I’ve done to date at my job. The closest match I could find without asking our production teams to get involved (they are very busy people, who don’t need a marketer to ask them for fabric scraps on a Tuesday afternoon during Tech) were some leftover black mousepads. The fabric of those mousepads provided enough coverage behind the lamp that I could film quite easily without any noticeable light bleed or wall behind it.

Once I had everything collected, I was ready to begin.

Lightbulb provided by HR, lamp provided by Publications, black fabric (aka mousepads) found in our office supply closet.

I took two shots where I manually plugged and unplugged the lightbulb and captured its glowing light (as well as the camera’s auto-adjustments to the light). My office mate thought the entire thing was hilarious. Although, I had to warn him that the bare bulb would cause an uncomfortably bright light in our office for a couple minutes.

You might ask: why?

Why in the world would I spend time forcing something to happen—with mousepads—when I could have planned it out, done a formal request for gear purchases and / or stock footage? The answer is simple: money is tight and I like the challenge.

I am one of those people who enjoys coming up with solutions and finding wiggle room for development, even when it looks like there’s no point in trying. I knew I had time to try to make something happen, whether or not I succeeded. Plus, I don’t like to just sit and wait for feedback on the projects that are out for edits—I like to keep moving. In waiting for feedback on five other videos in rotation, I could take that 20 minutes to set up a shot, and make something out of nothing.

Given all that, I think the end result is a great start.

Little Rituals

Every Saturday, once my wife and I have a moment to sit after breakfast, I have a little ritual. I go to the Sierra Club weekly calendar I bought for my mother (which she didn't end up needing, so it promptly became mine) and turn the leaf over to reveal the next photograph, which will define the following week. As I write this, it's an image of the Vermilion Cliffs National Monument in Arizona by photographer Rex Naden. A personal goal of mine would be to one day contribute to this amazing collection with the likes of Mr. Naden.

Turning the pages over on the calendar brings me great peace. It's my way of acknowledging time passing, and giving in to the anticipation of what's to come, rather than dread what's ahead. A sort of star to light up the dark unknown of the future.

When I was a kid I would draw incessantly. I mention this in my bio on this website as the background to my understanding of light and composition. And it's true. But, at the time, that wasn't the goal. I was bad at being social with kids outside of school; I didn't feel up to the task of parties and normal adolescent adventures. Sketching was an escape for me. I would tune in to my handheld CD player, sit down at the dining room table and just draw. I got quite good at replicating things with pencils. 

Overtime, I eventually stopped drawing; music began to be my outlet to get me out of the house. I felt like I had outgrown it. The ritual no longer was needed to keep me safe. The hobby faded away.

Then, a few weeks ago, I kept seeing a beautiful and unique looking bird on our porch--a purple finch. I picked up my journal, originally used just to jot down important names and dates, and decided to sketch it using a black pen that was on our coffee table. By the end of the sketch I was pleasantly surprised. It looked like a bird. My wife looked on, charmed by the entire thing, and promptly ordered me a set of micro pens, which came in the mail to my surprise a few days later. "It's what all the artists on instagram use." I took the hint and tried my hand at a few more.

What you're seeing in this post are the drawings I've done in the last month or so, including that first finch. In drawing, I realize the urgency to FINISH, to have a product done hasn't gone away--the pure adrenaline of having something to show for my efforts. But now, as an adult, I find it a meditative training to give in to the process--if a drawing is done in one night it might be good. But, how much better might it be after three?

Maybe it is an escape, or yet another ritual, but I find in revisiting drawing, it is now something even more. It's an acceptance of time, a reminder that I can create my own stars to light up the future. 

Urban in nature

I could be wrong, but a lot of museums have a section inevitably dedicated to urban blight, urban decay, or just the (sometimes benign) input humans have on nature. And I think there was a time where that was a deep, innovative connection to be made. It was authenticity on display. Now it just seems passive.

Basically, I bring this up for two reasons: I'm wary about art that traffics in, or profits off of, its genuineness. It's why anything that is blatantly emotional is suspicious to me, with a few minor exceptions. And why things like Pop art tend to look more authentic in capturing an era these days than those that were trying to do so at the time they were taken! Second, I have tried to capture natural subjects in conjunction with human objects, an attempt to find the beauty in the ugly. And time and time again, I feel as though the natural subjects are where my eye lingers; I don't see the beauty of manmade debris. 

Art? A deep commentary on the impact of "man" ? Or just another tire on the beach because they're that easy to come by if you walk around for a few minutes?

Now, there is no way for me to carve open another artists' brain to see if the intent behind their work was calculated or instinct or honest--or all three. But, I was trained as a kid to be wary of the Thomas Kinkade's of the world. He was a scam artist. He produced a lot of material, which is why you can't escape him in every dentist's office waiting room you've ever been in. The scam he did was pretty simple; he'd paint something, say there were a limited edition of copies of said piece--when he made 100,000s--and sold them all at those limited edition prices. What annoys me most is not the dishonesty. What's upsetting is that his art is terribly sentimental. And he profited off of people wanting emotional connection.

Personally, I can't stand his stuff. Painful to look at. Like if Lisa Frank went full blown Americana. I take that back. Lisa Frank at least was up front about her mass commercialism.

Today especially, I feel the urgency to question art that traffics in sentimentality. I feel as though our country is ripe to give in to the next Kinkade on a massive scale. We might already have.

If I could spend years in Academia I probably would write my thesis on the cultural neediness that comes from generations of young adults who lack emotional security. From my peanut gallery view, I am wary now of my generation wanting authenticity at the risk of being too easily guarded or too easily triggered: millennials have an odd paradox of extreme lack of trust, high levels of depression and anxiety, and the deep-seated need for authenticity and connection; I think it no surprise that we are living through a deluge of eye-candy replacements for real interpersonal interaction (snapchat filters, and binge-able candid-camera moments of people being surprised by enormous generosity, dogs being reunited with their soldier companions, etc.) But, we don't know how to hold a conversation with a stranger when our phones go dead.

Personally, I don't think human waste is beautiful. I find it sad when even the parts of nature humans don't visit often still are heavily impacted by us. Videos of animals choking on plastic being saved by humans doesn't make me go "Yay! Humans are good for saving animals!" they instead make me think, "Humans clearly aren't doing their best, because if we only see this one getting saved, the other thousand probably aren't." And it's still for the humans' pleasure of viewing that that animal's life being saved has been shared at all.

I'm working on a series of photos that touch on this theme, although I'm not quite sure what to call it. Angry ramblings of a photographer wary of industry? Why is this engaging even though the reality is kind of crappy for the animals that make it worth looking at? A whiney liberal wanting to hug a tree? Probably. More than anything, it's just about respect. I sincerely believe Americans lack respect for the things that are truly the most important in our world. And, sadly, I think it's due to the fact that we just don't respect ourselves, or each other to begin with.

I do think it is possible to change this, though. There are havens of thoughtful connection even within the vacuums; friends of mine choose to go out and make connection--host book clubs, meet up with friends long since not seen, cook dinners with familiar and not-so-familiar faces, spend nights in active conversation across a table and not over a text. But, the areas of our country considered most adept and innovative, I think, are also producing the largest amounts of environmental and emotional disconnection per capita. And I think they're related. I don't know anyone who lives in Scottsbluff, Nebraska. But, I am curious how good or worse they are in finding connection, and knowing about their local environment.

More soon.

Visiting Murnie

My wife and I went for a small trip to Monterey recently. It's one of my favorite places in the world. My mother was born and raised in Monterey. My sister and I visited our grandparents frequently. 

When she was very little my sister coined the name Murnie ("mer-knee"). Murnie, we believe, was her attempting to say the word "Monterey." I guess, to a small child, Monterey and the man who lives in Monterey, were one and the same; they both inspired the same feelings of love and wonder. So from that day forward, our grandfather was and always was Murnie to us. To this day, when I think of him, I think of Murnie. Not Eugene C. Haderlie, not Professor Haderlie, not grandpa, grandfather, etc. Just Murnie.

Monterey is a key part of our childhood memories. And Murnie's love of the natural world was absolutely key to our love of him and the city.  I'll let his obituary from the Monterey Herald do a better job of summarizing his life than me, as he did so very, very much. 

"Eugene C. Haderlie
March 23, 1921 - January 1, 2015

He received his PhD from U.C. Berkeley in 1950; and was part of the Monterey marine biology community for over 60 years. He taught at the Naval Postgraduate School of Monterey, at U.C. Berkeley, and at Stanford's Hopkins Marine Station on the Monterey Peninsula. He was the co-author of Intertidal Invertebrates of California, published by Stanford University Press in 1980; a Distinguished Professor Emeritus at the Naval Postgraduate School in Monterey, and served on the first board of trustees of the Monterey Bay Aquarium. In WWII he was a Navy diver under British command defusing underwater mines in the English Channel, and was part of the first assault on Utah Beach on D-Day. He was a world traveler, a skilled carpenter, and a great lover of the natural world — a born teacher who always retained his sense of wonder about the world around him and the creatures in it, particularly his beloved dogs."

Please enjoy some of the photos I took while visiting. They're of the animals he used to take us to go see in his beloved aquarium. It is bittersweet returning. However, I think of the otter I saw in captivity happily bashing its toy against the glass window to expose the food inside, and it shakes me a bit of the gravity of losing loved ones; nature can be humorous as well.

Turtles all the way down.

Joining with the non-profit Sudcalifornian Association for the Protection of the Environment and the Sea Turtle, AC (aka, ASUMPMATOMA, AC), we were given the incredible opportunity to pull live baby sea turtles from man-made nests in the effort to help protect and reaffirm the at-risk populations of sea turtles. It was late in the season, but there were 100+ babies ready to go on the third day we were in Cabo.

Welcome to Sea Turtle Sanctuary Asupmatoma A.C., Cabo San Lucas B.C.S. MX, Do not litter, do not park on the beach, thank you

Signs are stuck into the sand over each nest, indicating the date the nest was laid. 

We were told to put on some gloves, and pull away sand until you felt something.

The turtles we recovered were Olive Ridley. 

One nest alone can have over 100 eggs. We pulled 108 turtles from one.

Stacked crate covers for nests and signs indicating date eggs were laid. 45 days after a nest has been laid, the turtles are ready to be pulled out of the sand and put onto the beach for the long walk into the ocean.

Something Completely Different

Right before the cold started to seep in across Northern California, before the dew in the morning was a special kind of icy, and all the porch furniture, the house walls had yet to ingest that deeper chill, we were in a much, much different place, Cabo San Lucas. 

Sunrise over the Pacific, Cabo San Lucas

It was our honeymoon, and there aren't pictures enough to get across the grandeur of this part of Mexico. 

In the Deep Midwinter

We are heading serenely into winter. My wife and our friends went to a cabin this year in the North Bay to celebrate Thanksgiving, and while I did not manage to shoot any proper photos of the turkey (I was too busy cooking it) I did get time to snap shots of the environment around the cabin, which included a lady bug swarm, as well as our furriest companion, Edie, the Springer Spaniel. (You can follow her on Instagram at @ediethespaniel).

You might notice a new watermark has made its appearance; with a new computer in tow, I have redoubled my working in photoshop and illustrator and quickly created a watermark of my actual signature. I think if I were a little more obsessive, I would go back and re-stamp each individual photo you'll see appear on this website, but for now, it'll do fine and dandy to just move forward. If anything, it could be like an archeological dig for years to come where I can see the evolution of watermarks on my work.

In the meantime, please enjoy these snapshots of winter (and Edie!) in Northern California.

A Meditation

I've been shooting the landscape of Redwood Regional Park every month or so, using a variety of extension tubes, fixed macro lenses, and one steady kit lens. All of this was in aid of a photo compilation idea I had since earlier this year.

My original goal with this piece was to create a snapshot of just the big giants that live a short drive from where I live. Whenever I would go, sure, they were there, impressive as always. But, it was the sweet, dense, thriving life all around the trees that really caught my attention. 

Think of this video as a mediation piece. You will see how the seasons changed the surrounding leaves. You will see how the lighting through the year warmed, going from colder blues to soft oranges. You will also hear the actual sounds of the redwood forest, which I captured using an H2 Zoom.

I'm happy with the results. It has been a long time coming, collecting these different perspectives over a 10 month period. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did collecting and editing.

Feels like Fall

My favorite time of the year has arrived. All of us in California could do without the wildfires that spring up this time of year, particular for 2017. If you haven't given yet today, I recommend a local group like the Napa Valley Foundation to help with fire victims' support.

Even still, through all of the anxiety of smoke and embers, the trees nearby are on beautiful display. Contrary to what one might think (even I didn't know, and I grew up here), there are lots of changing leaf colors to be found on the California coast.

I went out to shoot some of the trees that have started to turn. Inspired by artists like painter Albert Bierstadt, I love to go out into the hillsides of California and get up close and personal with what is on display now that it's October.

I've just acquired a set of extension tubes (thank you, Carol!)--and so, the name of the game for me now is to practice, practice, practice with the crisp sharpness they provide.

Make it Rain

I learned something new while out on a shoot recently. This time, I was in Roberts Memorial Redwood Grove up near the Chabot Space and Science Center. It was around 8am and the early morning Bay Area fog (or as some call it, Carl), was there as usual.

I was told the trees do something weird with the fog and I should check it out. So, I paid for the $5 parking, nodded to the guy on duty with a leaf blower (apparently leaf-blowing is still needed in a forest, who knew).

And after walking about ten feet into the grove, I noticed something odd. Just outside the grove it was an overcast day. But, once inside there was a misty rain, droplets coming down quite frequently, like real rain, between the trees. 

Apparently, these giants capture fog and turn it into their own miniature rain system to drink; it's how they keep themselves hydrated. It was beautiful and I would've stayed for longer had I not been suddenly aware that I didn't bring an umbrella or protection for my lenses. 

The Hills Have Eyes

While out training myself on a new 100mm lens (on loan, thank you, Carol!) I decided to walk alongside a fence that looked oddly familiar. And it should, because when I was a kid, walking around the Berkeley Hills, I would see it now and then in the summertime and upon touching it, receive a small electrical shock: its purpose, just as before, was to keep its inhabitants within the boundaries of the fence.

I walked on a little further down a steep path just off Skyline and Keller Ave, and sure enough, just as before, I saw--really heard them at first--hundreds of goats, happily chomping away at the grass. They're my favorite wildfire prevention tactic in the Bay Area--if you don't know about them yet, you'd be surprised how far and wide these guys get around, from Lawrence Hall of Science to the Oakland Zoo. They've been out here each summer for at least 15 years, eating the would-be tinder.

I have to admit, after hiking for a while, and feeling a bit run down by how much debris had been thrown everywhere I walked, running into the goats was a silly, wonderful surprise. As far as photo ops go, they turned out to be great practice for me to take pictures. The goats were understandably wary of getting too close (remember: electric fence) and the ones that did were on the move. But, this forced me to hone my dexterity in switching between aperture levels, and to play with waiting them out for specific shots I wanted. 

Audio in the Outside

I've been trying to capture audio while out on shoots.

I am lucky in that a friend of mine gave me a Zoom H4n. But, the battery life on it is short-lived--I'm thinking it might be misconfigured for the battery type I have--new trouble-shooting project! So in the meantime, I decided to use a combination of my iPhone and ZoomH2.

My goal was to record the sound of the flies and cicadas. To me those noises immediately mean heat, sun, crunchy-dry walking paths, and sweat creeping down your temples. I set out in 100 degree heat, the paths were definitely dryer than the last time I had visited. But, unfortunately, the bugs weren't chirping. Apparently it was too hot even for them. 

Shooting for the Oakland Civic Orchestra

The Oakland Civic Orchestra is about to begin its new season, rehearsals will be getting underway soon and I managed to snag a few photos at their final concert last season. It was truly a pleasure to hear Beethoven's 5th in person again and to get up close and personal to a clarinet or two. 

Lake Merritt Flowers

A friend of mine plays and shoots media for the Oakland Civic Orchestra; they perform seasonally and will be launching a documentary in the coming season. As part of that project, I've been tagging along on photo and concert shoots, shooting footage of the Orchestra's audiences and the surrounding Lake Merritt scenery near where they perform. My favorite moment during our last b-roll shoot outing is that I got to step away to shoot the flowers and brush near the Church where the Orchestra performs.

Small Worlds in Big Places

I've recently been exploring the redwood groves in the Oakland Hills, specifically Redwood Regional Park. The area is vast and runs deep into the hillside, far from any cell phone signal and quite secluded from the busier Bay Area life below. 

I keep returning to this park because I keep finding new small worlds speckled around these massive giants. I have yet to fully capture the majesty of those trees. But, I'm gaining traction in capturing the many animals, plants, and symbiotic relationships that surround them.