So, New Year’s Day we were out taking pictures of new textures and objects (yeah – we are just that dedicated and crazy to do it on New Year’s Day).  It was a beautiful, sunny day in the mid-sixties, slight breeze with perfectly white, puffy clouds lazily drifting about the sky.  We were in an older part of this small town, near the historic train station (which is now a museum) when a guy from a cross the street yells over at me.

I cast a quick glance at him and see that he is standing near a few backpacks and an odd bag or two, notice his clothing, and guess that he is probably homeless.  He yells out again and this time mentions something about the camera I am holding.

I smile and wave and say something as equally unintelligible as his comment, but with a tone that says, “Yeah, yeah – I am sure that is really interesting and all, but I am good over here.  No need to share anything more…  Thanks!”

I move on and about half an hour later, the three of us (me and the other two photographers I was with) all pass by the same guy and he calls out again, “Hey!  I can see that you guys appreciate fine photography.  Take a look at these babies!”  He walks across the street towards us with a small book in his hand.  We all continue absent-mindedly taking a few shots in hopes that if we look busy, he will just turn around and walk away.

He comes up to me with a big grin and repeats his earlier comment while holding out a small photo album with a sense of pride.  “Take a look at these! Here is one that shows the whole thing.  You don’t see photos like this anymore.  Look at that color…”  and on and on.  The first thing I notice is the alcohol on his breath and the second thing I notice are the photos.  One by one, shot by shot, different angle by different angle, they are all photos of someone’s pot-growing enterprise in what looks like a suburban backyard.  Hundreds of nice green healthy plants, all organized, about 5 to 6 feet tall, and well cared for.

Judging by the look of the photos, they are probably 10 to 15 years old and my guess is that he found them in the trash or something.  As we look at his treasures, trying not to smirk at what he was sharing with us, he tells us how you just can’t do this kind of thing anymore, “They have satellites y’know and they can see all of this… all of US… all the time.  Ever since 911 y’know…!”   He twitches a bit and looks up and over his shoulder as if he can feel the cold stare of a distant satellite.

We agreed they were nice photos and slowly moved on, adding a few “uh-huh, mmmmm…”,  and “oh yeah – that makes sense,” comments to his on-going description of the photos as we walked on.  Once out of earshot of him we shared a few grins, laughs and comments about the subject of the photos and remarked that it is nice that anyone can appreciate photography…

So, a few months ago I was wandering the historic Gaslamp Quarter in San Diego in the light of the late summer evening (taking pictures of course).  That area, along with being full of older architecture, is also home to dozens and dozens of restaurants.  My wife and I, just having finished our own dinner, were walking around the area, enjoying the evening.

All of the restaurants have 20-something young women as hostess out front to flash a smile, ask if you are hungry, and just generally lure people into the place.  I had just explained for the 18th time that we had already eaten and was preparing my response for the next one we passed by when, from the other direction, a man approached the hostess.  He was dressed as what could be referred as a “tool”.  You know, the shirt with all the “who-ha” squiggly stuff all over them, unbuttoned just-so, the $350 jeans that are tattered in just the right places (or, the wrong places depending on your point of view), the flip-flops, and of course a fancy watch on his wrist and a gold chain around his neck.

He walks up to the girl at the podium and says, “Do you know where the Nazi Food Bar is?”   My wife and I nearly gasped out loud and stopped in our tracks.  The hostess must have heard the same thing because at this point we were close enough to see the incredulous  smile take over her face, and with a tone of slight disgust she said, “I’m sorry, what bar are you looking for…?”

He repeated, “The Nazi Food Bar,” then realized he was not getting through, and rephrased his question, “Y’know, the bar that doesn’t serve seafood.”

Slight awkward pause…

“Ohhhh, the NOT-seafood bar”, she said, her smile changing from confusion to amusement.  He nodded with a blank expression in a way that said – “Duh!  That’s what I said!”  She gently nodded and said, “Well, there are a few…” as she pointed down the street to her right.  She went on as we passed by, quietly laughing to ourselves and having a new appreciation for the English language…

So, I was standing in line at the gate at the airport in Phoenix, waiting to show my boarding pass, when one of the airline employees at the counter looked down at the boots on my feet and with a tone of mixed surprise, disgust and judgement said, “Wow!  Did you wear the wrong shoes to travel in.  Having to deal with those laces is such a pain!”

I shrugged, and the first thing that came to mind mind to say was that “I had mastered tying my shoes in kindergarten and haven’t looked back since.  It’s not really that big of a deal to me anymore.”  Realizing, of course that she would probably think I was just being a smart-ass, I caught myself and simply said, “I just came from a colder climate and these just made more sense for the weather there.”   She shrugged, appearing to be disappointed I didn’t jump onto her anti-boot bandwagon, mumbled something incoherent, and looked away.

Now, I get what she was trying to say, that having to untie the laces on boots can take more time in the security line than slipping off a pair of loafers, but I think there is a bigger issue here.  Since when have we been the kind of people that get frustrated with boot laces, rather than “pulling ourselves up by them”?  Do we really need to go through life, frustrated by a pair of laces, rather than just adapting and moving on to bigger problems?  Think about how much better off we would be as individuals, a community, a country and a world  if we saved our energy and effort for things that really were difficult.

In some ways, that is part of who we are here at The Transmogrifier.  That is why we chose the name for the company we did.  The process of transmogrifying something is about transforming something into something else, which requires work.  The creative process IS effort and most things that are truly rewarding take effort and THAT is what makes them rewarding.  Climbing that mountain.  Curing that disease.  Solving that complex problem.  Creating that work of art that moves people on an emotional level…  Those are just a few of the things that should take up our time and effort…

…NOT tying our shoes…

This past week I have been walking the streets of Washington DC and surrounding areas taking shots of the great architecture and textures all around.  I was in Georgetown one of the days and I decided to stop into a bar for a burger and iced-tea (yes – just and iced-tea, they didn’t have Guinness on tap).

At one point, a woman next to me sees my camera on the table and asks if I am a photographer.  I reply that, well, yeah – I guess I am.  (I always have a hard time saying “yes” right away since I enjoy it so much, it doesn’t feel like a real job…).  She went on to tell me that she had taken photography in high school and really enjoyed it, but never did it much after that.  She told me (rather hesitantly) that she would love to get into it again but that she was afraid to.  She pointed to my camera and said, “I wouldn’t know what to do with all those buttons and stuff.”

I quickly pointed out to her that while I do believe photography is an art form, and that just having a camera does not make you a photographer, it really isn’t that scary and that if you have an eye for how to set up a shot, and know what to look for, the rest will follow.  When I told her how I got started, how long I have been doing it and why I take photos, she got really excited and started giving me directions to really great places I should see, faster than I could write them down.  “Over there,” she said, pointing over my shoulder, “are the famous long stairs that were used in that Exorcist movie…”

After she was done excitedly listing places I had to see, I went on to give her a few more words of encouragement and advice.  As she was heading out the door I told her to get a camera of some sort and just start taking pictures.  To have fun.  I told her that one of the best things about doing what I do is that it makes me more observant and that if nothing else, she will notice things about the city she lives in that she has never truly seen before.  She glanced down at her feet, shrugged, and then looked back up at me with a hesitant smile and said she would think about it.

Although I will most-likely never know if she does take up photography again, I really hope she does…