Regular Life
The other day I was wondering through the French Quarter taking pictures of "regular life."
Or, as regular as it can be.
P.S. The church was just outside the French Quarter.
Sarah
Sarah graciously let Katie and I shoot her Saturday morning. We set out in the lower Garden District, did a little entering (but no breaking--the doors were all open), found a lot of good graffiti, and had a really fun time!
We all took pictures in front of the AztekMonkeyThing.
Teaser!
Had great fun today shooting Brandon's Senior portraits. While walking through the city, we came across this great find. Here's a little teaser--more coming Monday!
Editors Note: Mrs. Cheryl, if you're reading this, I would like to take this time to go on record and say it-was-all-brandon's-idea!
Okay, okay, it was a collaborative thing, but it was totally safe. In real life it was only, like, 14 inches off the ground.
Or something.
I don't really remember exactly, but we had loads of fun shooting it!
in the city
The other day I put myself on assignment: go into parts of the city you've never been in, get kindof lost, and take pictures. In other words, do some much-overdue urban exploring.
p.s.
i love graffiti. One day in the ridiculously distant future I'll catalog and post it all.
live greenly
Me? A photographer? Whaaaat.
A month or so ago, Donald posed the question on his blog: what makes a photographer? This is something I also had been pondering for quite a while now. If you're absent on the dilemma, here's the long and short of it. A photographer is one who takes pictures, right? That's the literal definition. But when do you become a photographer. If I had just stumbled off the boat, happened upon one of those cheap drug-store disposables, and snapped the last two remaining frames, do I qualify? Does this make me a "photographer"? Surely not.
But if you extend this thought to the opposite extreme: one who earns a living from photography, has mastered lighting, composition, and, the ins and outs of their equipment, it becomes easy to impart the title of photographer.
So, the fuzzy comes from the in-between. Where does everyone else who takes pictures lie?
I've gradually settled into the thought that being a photographer comes from within. This appears to be the only variable that is consistent when pushed to it's logical extreme. Put another way, do you let an event dictate when you use a camera? Or does your insatiable appetite for taking pictures dictate what an 'event' is? Ultimately, it's a question of priority.
I've gone so far as to wordsmith (I have no shame, I do this often) a new tag for this post, philosophying. What do you think about all this? The larger idea of being a photographer--not my new word.
To close, I'll dramatically switch gears, leaving no continuity in tact. Here are some graffiti shots from the Bywater area of New Orleans I took yesterday afternoon. I gotta tell you, I don't know what I'd do with those little juvenile delinquents. They give us all the good shots!
I cheated. This one wasn't taken in the Bywater; it was on Martin Luther King Jr Blvd. Go figure.
the Chronicles of Sam RETURNS! (feat. Que)
It's been quite a while since I've been able to do a Chronicles of Sam episode, but I'm proud to announce it's back! And featuring the very talented Que as guest Urban Explorer.
If you're new to the blog since I've last done a Chronicles of Sam episode, here's the lowdown: Sam and I both share the love of urban exploring, but from different points of view. Sam for the thrill of finding the old and abandoned; me for passion of documenting the life that surrounds the two, Sam and his adventures.
Oh, and there's always smashing.
And now for the smashing.
Did a little Baton Rouge today
Rachel and I drove to Baton Rouge this afternoon to wander around and take some really cool pictures. As it turns out, there was also a two-day memorial service in progress at the LSU BCM for Frank Horton, the former leader of the then BSU. We met up with my parents who were happily catching up with some old long-time-unseen friends from their college days. One of their especially close friends was Kenny, pictured below. Yesterday, my Dad mentioned to him I was planning to be in Baton Rouge today and wanted to stop by. A little backstory: the last time I saw Kenny I was somewhat preoccupied ...being born. He asked if he'd be able to hold me again.
Probably not.
All in all, it was a good day!
Willie Mae’s
If you're from New Orleans you've undoubtedly heard of Willie Mae's, one of the cities seminal, neighborhood restaurants. As a matter of fact after being badly damaged from Hurricane Katrina, many of the local, well-known chefs helped pitch in to restore and bring it back to life. As I was sitting in the corner table I noticed the stark contrast between the old walls that look they must have survived the first flood and the new home-depot 12x12 tile flooring. Don't get me wrong--I'm not complaining. These small dichotomies are usually what I remember about places like this. Oh, and the food. With a little salt the beans and rice were wonderful. Not that hard to mess up, but I've been victimized a few times. And, since I wasn't sure when I'd be back there again, I would have felt remiss without trying the fried chicken. After all, some food channel critic did rate their fried chicken the best in the country. Go figure.
P.S. Don't eat the crackers. I think they've been open for a very long time.
