amateur vs. professional

by now i thought i'd be a rich and famous playwright. for that i'd gamble the whole shebang (a life). unfortunately, as my brother said, i wanted the money without the attention. as my friend jeff shore once opined, "you want everybody talking about you, but you don't want to be there." and my own personal myth is hiding in the center.

yes, in san francisco college days i'd ride the buses, pretending to be invisible and observing people, listening to conversations. that mode of living never quite died. now i do it to take photos in public places. invisibility is an art. many great picture-takers have practiced it. and as my friend marilyn moore observed, "you are always sketching."

ah, dang blast, couldn't i have made a living at it? oh, i suppose i do. what else is a fire lookout but a voice coming from the top of a mountain, heard, not seen? that is definitely hiding in the center, the round mandala fire-finder with the pin-hole in the middle where i sit all day, that is proof enough.

and i've had a chance to be various kinds of a pro. in 1969 i received a scholarship to stanford, one of two directing grad students. unfortunately, i spent a wild and free winter in new york theater the winter before and by fall i couldn't go into the staid academy. was i just protecting myself from corruption? or did it have more to do with loving the art, the theater? after all, doesn't amateur mean lover of?

and i could have worked in a bookstore or library. i did work a bit in the first and i hated how books became a mere comodity, so many bricks to be sold, indistinguishable from each other. libraries have always been a haven and i moved to where i live over 25 years ago for the local university version. had i had to spend all day in one, i doubt my love of the sun would have permitted it.

that said, this doesn't make me anti-commercial. these days i enjoy reading accounts of pro-photographers of all kinds. my god, it seems such drudgery, not glamorous at all. work, work, work. and the five years it takes to get a musical up and running, forget it. i'll stick with community theater. my heart already seems to belong to it.

professionals do take the best photographs, however. probably from necessity and oodles of practice. they must communicate, whereas the amateur can get by doing the art for him or herself. communication is the key. a playwrighting teacher in new york once told us the secret with this illustration. a city girl visited a farm. in the middle of the night she was called out to witness a calf being born. it seemed such a miracle she ran and ran until she found someone to tell about it.

as amateurs, perhaps we can remain too pure. and it's odd that the work professional photographers call 'personal' is far inferior to their commercial work. maybe it's like classical musicians trying to play jazz. they simply can't loosen up enough.

okay, speaking of loose, here are some dance photos taken last week. they'll never reach the classic stage, i suppose, since most of the best-ever dance photos taken under controlled conditions. i end up trying to snatch sparks from the process.

www.pbase.com/wwp/choreo09

heaven in six minutes to ten years

what we tend to forget is how narrow the window of opportunity has been for many great accomplishments. for example, a pilot lands a plane on ice in the hudson river. in half an hour he's made a career as a hero. and many a medal of honor winner entered the rolls with a five minute run through enemy lines. 

i mention this cause we often despair. our whole lives have passed and what has it come to? well, it's come to the next five minutes. van gogh created all his paintings in ten years, and the best in the last six. walking through the kroller-muller museum in holland, i passed a case of awful paintings. what were they doing here amidst the masterpieces by van gogh and monet and dozens of others? i had to peer closely to discover they were the first paintings by, yes, van gogh. he started out pretty grimly, let me tell you. who would have thought...?

actually, my favorite story of an artist is the japanese print-maker Sharaku. he created the most realistic kabuki actor portraits of his time (and maybe any other). they didn't find favor, and as far as we know, his career lasted six months, all we have of him surviving from this tiny period. 

how many more can you name? the ode to a nightingale  written in an hour under the tree outside keat's home on hamstead heath. of course, whistler said it took him twenty years to learn to paint a great scene in twenty minutes (and charge a lot of money for it). but how many things don't require a long preparation. mostly, it's a matter of rising to the occasion. 

if you've got a day, a month, a year left, it's time enough. 

here are some new photos. a couple of rambles in chico.

www.pbase.com/wwp/we 

www.pbase.com/wwp/tracks 

 

in search of the tooth fairy

how the devil did dentists weasel out of being covered by medicare? it makes no sense. my doctor says more bacteria released into our system when we floss our teeth than at any other time. last week, a friend had her dentist yell at her for waiting so long to have an emergency root canal ($1500), her face swollen as a pumpkin. "people die of such things."

yes, i've a mouth full of fillings. two molars lost chips and fillings in the last several months. the problems mount up (and the outrageous expenses). what to do?

there is medical tourism. dental work considerably cheaper in mexico. if you don't believe me, google 'tijuana dentists' or 'mexico dentistry'. their doctors well-trained, many with advanced study in the u.s. the bills run one-third of here.

so, i did as i've suggested, and january 5th i had an appointment with http://www.bajadentistry.com/ as recommended by the brother of a friend. then fate intervened. i house-sat in berkeley for xmas and new year, intending to drive to san diego on the fourth, a place to stay with a friend all set up. alas, all the museum-walking i did during the holidays lambasted my left knee. i'd decided to return to chico to recover before the drive. and as i walked into a cafe with my friend laurie for one last chai latte, a tendon stretched too far and i almost hit the ground.

luckily, i could still drive. back in chico i hobbled around for a few days. laurie found some alternatives: local dental schools. i knew they'd be cheaper (not cheap), students would take a lot more time, the work would be skillfully done, and yet...

okay, to make a long story short, i made an appointment at the uc dental school in san francisco. the student to which i'd been assigned turned out to be a pleasure. and i enjoyed standing up and seeing all the people being examined in little cubicles around me. she called in a couple of specialists who were nearby, older doctors with hundreds of years of experience between them.

yes, the comprehensive exam cost $47 and every tooth in my head got attention, both from her and the faculty doctors. xrays had been taken the day before ($84) and had brought up new problems. at least i finally knew the condition of my mouth. and yes, the treatments will still cost thousands of dollars, my savings taking a big hit.

many people lined up at the dental school to have the treatments they needed. how can they afford even this? and a number beyond my age. what's going on? how the devil did the dentists get out of it?

on the other hand, the museums were wonderful! you can see the pictures here:

www.pbase.com/wwp/museum

the wine of life

this is the fourth attempt. three times completed blogs have disappeared. now i feel like crying. it could be the wine. i've taken to drinking a glass in evening. if the french live longer...

but maybe it's merely an excuse to forget, a return to childhood, when someone else was paying the bills. (the true source of all addiction). maybe we never really grow up, even if we become responsible adults, sire offspring, dedicate ourselves to the good.

personally, i feel at five years old we were doing what we wanted to do: building mythical cities, acting out worldly dramas, reading books with beautiful illustrations. if we could only recover that impulse and put it action. maybe we would find god in the closet and invent fire.

truly, i avoid longing and popular songs. timothy leary, as he was fading away, said, 'senility is underrated.' and the ancient chinese believed you were blessed if you had a bad memory.

it makes sense. forgetting hurt, you can love again. forgetting failure, you can act graciously in the present. at the same time, when i listen to the recording of my mother recounting my childhood, i feel relieved. yes, i've lived and had a life. or i feel i've been loved, and that's enough.

i've spent my house-sitting xmas going to museums, living in history and watching life imitate art. you can see the results here:

www.pbase.com/wwp/museum

for the new year i wish you nothing but good luck. that's all we truly need.

love, wayne

it all happens at once

the news is such a drag. all it does is give you disasters you can do nothing about. true, it can be entertaining, but more often it's merely disturbing. and most of it is merely speculation about what might happen!



if you read the headlines only, you know all you need to know: BOMBS DROPPED, BABY TRAPPED, HURRICANE HITS THE COAST. the repetition is absolutely maddening.



and the worst thing, it clogs up your ability to think for yourself. at seventeen i decided you either watch tv or do something with your life. i've watched very little since. movies seem to me more true and always shed a bit of enlightenment. have you ever heard anything from a news commentator worth remembering?



as bob dylan said, more or less, 'vague and useless knowledge.'



i'm being cranky cause i suddenly lost the blog i was writing, mainly, i feel, to the news suddenly invading the living room. and yet it's strange, i once found news comforting. it made me feel i was part of the world. yet, i suppose, i resent it will go on without me.



the lost blog described the blessings of forgetting (a chinese concept). when we forget hurt, we can love again. when we forget childhood when all our bills were paid, we can find a way to enjoy being on our own. and timothy leary sad, as he was fading away, 'senility is underrated.' and a nurse friend said, 'bleeding to death is a very pleasant way to go.' all this reverses the common conception.



why be reminded you once wanted to be a movie-star, an astronaut, president? the dream you have today may be the best one of all. you've learned something from life. maybe if you're a terrible, nasty person hated by your family and friends, you'll become a benine buddha thru alzheimer's? it happened to a friend's aunt.



perhaps this year the best you could do is to forget the past. what do you think?



personally, i've been haunting museums during the holiday season. boy, it feels better to remember someone else's history than my own. wouldn't you rather be recalled as a greek statue, a coutire hat, a zen poet?



my wish for you during the new year is the joy of forgetting. turn off the tv and visit an art exhibit. i guarantee it will be good for your soul and your spirit.



and you'll have a happy new year.



photos: www.pbase.com/wwp/museum

fiction is the only reality

where does our hunger for stories come from? isn't it odd how a movie can shake us awake, a poem can suddenly bring us back to where we are, a fairy tale sum up our life?

when i tumbled off my bike for the umpteenth time and injured my knee (they say you finally feel old when you have a wound that can't be healed), i resorted to numerous sessions of acupunture. this particular practitioner would weave me into the tales she told like an expert hypnotist. perhaps she got the idea from the teaching pieces of milton ericsson.

i wrote a few of my own: www.pbase.com/wwp/trances

both believed a story could circumnavigate our defenses, getting us to really listen. after all, part of our training is not listening to parents, teachers, the state, and an infinite number of wise-guys. being told what to do becomes an anathema, so we eventually don't even listen to ourselves.

consider religion. christ was a poet, that's one reason he had such an effect. and the adventures of our divine heroes captivates us and leads us to attempt similar lives. this goes for sports gods and movie stars. if buddha hadn't lived such a good story, or muhammad, would we listen to what they have to say? I much doubt it. arduous episodes, miraculous escapes, unbearable suffering, these get our attention.

the writer thomas berry once said we need a new story. alas, they aren't that easy to come by, not without the gesture of a human being caught in a divine act and situation. we must be able to identify. then we become larger, stronger, and better than we are. yet, without vulnerablity, a superman doesn't interest us.

along with this notion of identification comes my theory breaking the circle of our thoughts. we become trapped in the way we personally see things. every premise leads to the same conclusion. we can't escape believing we know what is real. a good story (movie, play, dance) takes us into another chain of events with unexpected outcomes. people come up with solutions we didn't think possible. and when we walk out of the theater, the world feels refreshed. the myth has brought us to the point of physically feeling the sunlight, smelling the freshness of the rain, and setting our feet more firmly on the ground.

speaking of dance, i've been taking pictures for several weeks. and i realized during the dress rehearsals, the only dance i couldn't get my head around was the first one. as lively and colorful as it was, it told no story (all the rest did) and so i couldn't find images to sum it up. lacking a storyline, it didn't awaken my sleeping imagistic reserves, the power of my imagination. i took fewer of it than any of the other dances.

the most powerful influence on me: those childhood picture books. i can still see certain pages in my mind. i've never wanted to do more than create those of my own, that magic.

you can scan the dance pages at www.pbase.com/wwp

and i've just added a story of the campus rose garden, following the dictum photograph what you love. www.pbase.com/wwp/rose2

the way it is (for most of us)

i've been wanting to pass this on for the longest time. but i didn't want to scare the young or depress the old. alas, this is the best description of our lives that i've ever read. it's by bill jay, a photographer who writes for lenswork magazine. read at your own risk!

In recent weeks an unsual number of casual conversations with wannabe artist have harped on the same theme: "I'm still searching for what it is I want to do"; "I want to be poet/painter/writer/photographer or...but, no, I haven't I haven't actually written or created anything yet"; "I feel creative but i cannot decide what to create."

Give me a break. These are energy-vampires. I'm so tired of trying to appear interested in such self-indulgent whining (whingeing for those of you in Europe). So, one last time here's my answer to them, and to you, young photographer, ever-hopeful that the world is waiting for your art while you are waiting for your inspiration.

Certitudes do not exist. There is not one field, one specialization, that is destined for you. Chances are that you are not great at anything; most of us are just average, ordinary. Life's early peregrinations willy-nilly land us onto an unexpected habitable patch in the mud of everydayness. That's where you get to work; you sow, build, and procreate right there. You might occasionally notice that life seems easier, more glamorous, more rewarding somewhere else, but you ignore the fantasy. You dig deeper, plant more, right where you are. That's it.

You don't think that I have my own fantasies of what might have been? Perhaps with earlier luck, money, contacts I could have changed the world, done something important? Of course I believe I was destined for greatness in some other field, where I could enrich the lives of millions. You think I would have chosen, in the best of all possible worlds, that I would have spent so much of life's time and energy in thinking, writing, talking and practicing photography? You crazy? Who gives a shit? I could have given up every aspect of my photographic life at any point in the past and no one would have noticed.

Yet, yet...I have no regrets. This is where I landed and every day I am content to turn my attention to the small, even trivial, tasks at hand. I am content, and I pity those who are still wondering and wandering. I just don't want to hear about it.

you can read bill's essays at http://www.billjayonphotography.com/writings.html

at the moment i'm taking pics of the preparation for chico dance theatre's performance this next week.

www.pbase.com/wwp/finale

www.pbase.com/wwp/cdt08