Hemingway (Slight Return)

Updated: Aug 12, 2019


In this creative off year, I remain grateful to all the things I have accomplished, and of all the beautiful souls and opportunities that have found me. I am still overwhelmed with this feeling that every time I want to quit, or need to take a break, the Universe steps in and demands that I keep going, giving me opportunities that I never thought I would have, and leading souls to me who seem to go out of their way to make things work. I respond to all of it the best I can, but am still anchored to all those creative conundrums.


I fight my way through them, in my own way, I smile (in my own way), and I just keep juggling all of it, like an old clown whose circus has left him behind, but he just keeps painting the smile on and doing the show for whoever shows up. I guess in my case the make-up is more a deadpan face, but my face only reflects the contemplation, not the genuine, deep-rooted feeling, whether you like it or not.

My boss mentioned the other day that he didn’t understand what my end game was with all of this. That plunged me into that same old “what’s the fucking point?” spiral, where I begin to choke on a definition and purpose. Even if I can’t articulate a significant response, I fail to understand why all of this can’t simply be a celebration of the beauty that exists in this featherless biped, the most beautiful and mysterious thing on the planet; why can’t we just appreciate that?


My “end game” I suppose would be to create a movement of beautiful souls that defy social expectation, recognize actual corruption and control on the planet, and fight their beautiful asses off for the nature that they were robbed of at birth, but that requires those beautiful asses to actually understand and apply the philosophy, and most are unconsciously incapable of stepping off the hamster wheel.

At the end of the day, everything is irrelevant if no one is paying attention. As much as I genuinely appreciate those who continuously pop in, read and comment, I will always be looming in the shadow of social media algorithms and analytic realities. Even as I type this, I feel doomed that at least one of these photos will be flagged on the facebook, then I have to go back into that absurd defensive state until they are returned a day later; all for naught when I reach 100 people and get 5 notes. I get far more attention on IG than the FB prison, but in exploring those analytics I found that 2/3rds of my followers are people from my little mountain town, which has like 3,000 people in it… 2/3rds of my followers are people who know me… that is a sobering realization to someone who is all but incapable of making friends, and absolutely incapable of marketing themselves.

So, 2/3rds of my followers may or may not even like my work, they just know me? How do I get more people to take the time to get to know me, or know people who know me, or recognize my name from somewhere and think they might know me? These numbers also create an awkward reality about working with anyone on my little mountain, because they know them, too, so potentially creating something beautiful is negated by whether or not you want Joe-hippie-drum-circle-mushroom-peddler who part-times at the local coffee shop (not a real person, but kind of all the people) to see you naked, or near naked, or even remotely vulnerable.

I do, however, continue to do this because I love it, and am genuinely following a higher purpose, so the numbers don’t matter, right?… that’s been my attitude for a decade, so I’ve ignored the numbers. Peeking into that rabbit hole is like walking into a train; then you have to patiently collect all the parts of yourself that have been scattered all over the field, place them back where they go, hope they heal properly, get your busted self back out there, and keep doing what you love with a borderline ignorant faith that you will reach your dreams someday,


because if we didn’t do things because we loved them, a significant amount of the beautiful things throughout our history wouldn’t exist; quite possibly all of them, with the aesthetic argument that the heart and soul we put into our work creates the beauty that moves hearts and souls. Typing this has opened somewhat of an inspired, evolutionary light at the end of the tunnel for me.

Wait.......

... nope..... that's another train.

Shit.

Vivian Cove was awesome. The shoot started with my new-to-me Bronica falling over and smashing on a rock (the back, not the lens), then she stepped on a cactus, but we keep going, and we get what we get, which will always be beautiful. Keep it coming, Universe.


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