Break

Well I stopped writing here fairly quickly, didn’t I. Five entries and then nothing.

So why did I stop?

I felt invigorated, confident, self assured, and getting my thoughts out was liberating, but at the same time, I felt like I thought less. Like there were moments in time where I just wasn’t thinking at all. The self narrating, had quietened, and the idea of silence was petrifying.

But looking back now, there was also less, if any, negative self talk. No belittling, no constant criticism, no incessant self evaluating, or relentless hair-splitting over the utmost minute detail. No “you should have done this”, “why did you think that was a good idea”, “<insert name> wouldn’t have said that”. I don’t mean there was no self reflection at all, but the tone in the way I spoke to myself shifted.

I was kinder.

Now was I scared of the notion of not thinking, or was it a subconscious discomfort in treating myself with a touch of empathy for once?

I’m going to start writing again, and I’ll let you know.

Cheap

I unpublished yesterday’s post, it just felt inauthentic, and cheap.

I’ve come here to be as open and true to myself as I can, to write daily in my own voice. And what started as an intriguing idea, slowly turned into a filthy mash of synonyms and pseudo thinking.

All day I walked around with an ickiness, like I had betrayed myself, and now I was on display. My inner dialogue acting as if I was the victim and perpetrator simultaneously. Over an entry that was no more memorable than a shopping list shy of two weeks in age. All because I was swept up in the desire to publish something before falling asleep, to keep this daily streak of posting alive.

I was halfway through another topic last night, when this train of thought pulled in. It was new and fresh and I liked where it was headed, so I swapped lines. But the more I indulged the idea, the greater the sense it wasn’t heading in the direction that I wanted to go and there was no hopping off. Instead of being on this voyage of grandeur, I was on the last graffiti-riddled train of the evening, with a handful of unsavoury characters in my peripherals.

I continued to write, cull, swap segments, revise words, and the longer I spent the more determined to carve out a magnum opus I became. I don’t know where this urge to write infallibly had emerged from all of a sudden. I was no longer writing for self exploration and expression but for showmanship. With how empty those eighty-eight words turned out to be, I wish I’d not written anything at all.

So I decided to remove it. Instantly along with it, the days veil of angst. Maybe I’ll come back to it in the future, let it sit in my subconscious and possibly rehash the idea another time, or maybe it was always at its strongest as a sentence of support. To be appreciated as an appetiser, and not the main course.

Desktop Rest Stop

I’ve tried to publish multiple thoughts this evening, but my mind is taking on a mirror image of my desk, and this clutter has reached a ‘Marie Kondo’ point.

Handwritten notes, glasses, a half-full bottle of Gucci cologne, a silver Seiko 5 and gold Casio Databank, a tall frosted bottle of Polish still water, packets of antibacterial wipes, nail clippers, four brand new serrated steak knives wrapped in too-thin a plastic for anyone’s peace of mind, a handful of rolls of film and a ream of crinkled petrol receipts.

Trying to type has felt like I’m swimming towards the surface of a crystal clear ocean and my breath is faltering. The distance to where water and oxygen meet, unceasing. Even with this increasing level of discomfort I still felt compelled to write something, to give of myself, just anything.

I wonder if any of these haphazard items will be with me next year. The Seiko and Casio unquestionably. The rest just desktop hitchhikers currently in passing. Who will come by this way in the future and how often or not will they be as forgettable? Pictures of a future lover, heartfelt cards of the passing birthdays and holiday seasons, unexpected fines for driving through a crimson light, or a bill for that trial subscription I’d forgotten to cancel?

This desk is a highway rest stop for inanimate objects. A place to pass through whilst they travel from here to there.

And now it’s come time to whisk away this bric-a-brac, and make space for the newcomers to filter through.

Christmas Event: Part II (and a thought exercise to myself)

Well the shoot went swimmingly, but here we are and now I’ve walked away with mixed emotions.

I thought I was going to enjoy cutting through the crowds back and forthing in witty banter as I lap the attendees. Except by minute 45 the exchanges were fizzling and taking a turn for the flat and repetitive; “You’ll photoshop me to look younger won’t you?”, “Can I see what you got?”, “We’ve had a picture, come back in another while”. Was this just an exercise in the grass is greener now I shoot architecture? Or have I just been romanticising the days of my past, a young gun starry-eyed photographer shooting underpaid events just to secure a gig and a paycheque that’s sent with burden from Centrelink?

I can’t help but wonder, am I just clinging to the identity of being a photographer? If I picture where I am five/ten/twenty years ahead in the best timeline of my life, I always have a camera in hand. No longer can I tell if that’s the camera of a hobbyist or that of a working and creative professional. Every now and then I’ll get praise for my Instagram feed, the colours, the grittiness, the ethereal look and whilst those are some of my favourite images too, they were only taken in passing. A reaction or my interaction to the world around me. Using a camera I kept by my side at all times, a hobbyist’s endeavour. Might that be the next step though? To take the elements I adore and form them into a style of shooting I can recreate professionally?

The lack of yearning and desire to construct and execute a shoot from my own accord nags at me…especially after finally procuring a spacious loft to use on a whim. I’ve had access to the space for almost six months now, and every passing day and week the incessant chanting “Why. Don’t. You. Use. It?” reverberates through my head. Is it from fear? Laziness? A lack of meaning in the photographs I want to produce so why do it at all?

Circling back to the Christmas event shoot, what did stay with me, as mentioned in my post before the shoot, was the element of it being entirely mine. My client, my invoice in its entirety. That I had forgotten, and I adore having an ounce of this feeling back. This is something I want to chase more of, that sense of control and the pay off that is most rewarding.

Christmas Event: Part I

It’s been a hot tick since my last private event shoot.

I’m going through waves of excitement for shooting people again, and a shimmer of angst from it being my sole responsibility for admin / production / delivery / accounting. The freedom of the day and actually taking the entire cut is invigorating. I’ve forgotten how great it feels, knowing I’ll be providing a service where I’ve executed my creative vision, and not had another entity skim an obscene amount off the top.

I’m thankful for the work as a contractor, and how the lifestyle has given me a greater work ethic, introduced routine and brought a lot of confidence and self-esteem back to my life as a photographer / visual creative. Though as of late, I can’t shake this gnawing feeling of a lack of career growth. That if I chose to, I could just live this Groundhog Day lifestyle perpetually. Alas, I digress, I’ll reflect on this another time.

For now, I look forward to jumping in and shooting my way around the crowds of people taking solace in corporately funded drinks and delicately crafted finger food. What a glorious, crisp blue day to be out. Cheers to more of these to come.

No longer 'Coming Soon'

It’s time to get to work. It’s been over three years of a site with the words “coming soon”.

I was listening to a podcast with Seth Godin and at one point he said: “It’s better to create and work at (a level) eight, instead of hiding out at two because you’re not an eleven”. I’ve come to tell you I’m no longer going to be hiding at two.

Driving from house to house fantasising about what photographer I could be, what director, writer, Formula 1 driver, what entrepreneur or visual arts marvel I could be. Though not taking my hand off the safety of the wheel to pursue any of them.

Like Walter Mitty, taking solace in my daydreams, when if I just put my ideas into action, they would be better than any dreams I could muster, or possibly I’d be too exhausted and (fingers crossed) fulfilled to even have the time to daydream. I wonder if when I am successful (by whatever metric I have yet to choose to measure that), if my thoughts would wonder back to when I was here driving. Being told what photo package to shoot, and what time and where to be, living on autopilot.

It’s been okay for the last year and a half but there is no creative fulfilment here. A great financial resource which i’m immeasurably grateful for, but I know deep down I’m capable and destined for more. Earl Nightingale said you can’t desire something you don’t inherently believe you can pursue / achieve. I definitely have the desire, and it’s time to execute.

. . .

How uncanny, I don’t remember where I was going with this post, since now that I’ve returned my attention from an unsolicited iPhone ping. Finally pulled myself out of the social media rabbit hole and now I’m at a loss. I think I just wanted to hover one hand off the wheel for now and just begin. So I’ll sign off here, start to tinker around with some of the bountiful blog settings and site styles to form a simple and fun layout and from here on out, get to shipping.

Talk soon.

Xander