Its being packed for a quick trip down to Sactown to cover the tent city issue that’s raging down there.
Amazing how a little storage bin can hold all this stuff. No hocus pocus, just straight gangsta packin’ on account of my mastery of protractors and intuitive grasp of The Golden Mean.
Some time ago, on a flight back from LA with Keatley after working on the project above, I found myself wedged between Large Important Guy 1 and Large Well-Dressed Gent 6. Because I was the slimmer of the two, was one of the last to board and found myself sitting in the middle seat of our row, I was left without arm rest space.
When it comes to this unspoken bit of territory, the tension is quite palapable. Its the proverbial elephant in the room next to a patchouli wearing guy/gal that’s about to go backpacking through Europe, and he/she is taking your connecting flight to beef up on some zzz’s all the while digging youthful knees into the back of your seat.
Better still, I might liken it to the anxiety one feels when out with a few friends and there are 2 of the 6 best hors d’oeuvres you’ve ever had left on the plate, and you know you’ve already eaten you’re mathematical portion.
I’m pretty non-confrontational, so living in Seattle over the last few years has really honed my passive-aggressive skills to a precision point. That said, in the battle over arm rest rank, I make a strategic seat-back position maneuver to full reclined position as soon as the jet takes off from the runway. This tactic is guaranteed to yield another four inches to any standard arm rest on any arm rest opponent.
Its proven time and again that from this post, you can then take your opponents’ rank incrementally through subtle and well-calculated strategic movements and shifts when he/she goes to take a sip of water or turns the page of their reading material.
On another note, the video above is minutes prior to my big debut on Little People Big World. Long story short, I was there to lend location assistance/lighting support again to Mr. Keatley, but there was another photographer there: an Olan Mills portrait photographer to document the 30 odd family members in attendance.
With the filming and production schedule to keep, on top of the fact that these people were genuinely looking to eat dinner, we were all a little pressed for time. The producer informs me that I’m just going to go in and start setting up lights and it might seem that I’m the local Olan Mills photographer’s assistant. Which I expressed would be fine, provided I wouldn’t be cast in some strange completely-out-of-context light whereby a strobe might misfire, the Olan Mills lady would get snappy and then it’d be some extreme close-up on my face with a boing’ing spring sound effect.
Bill Rugen has a posting about yours truly over on his phlog.
I’m up late (early really) this morning editing film from a zombie photo project that I’ll soon have up here on the blog. He was kind enough to help me out with it over the weekend.
As he says, that’s what friends are for. That and testing out one’s lighting design.
Had the great pleasure of assisting Canadian-born/Annie Liebowitz-bred NY-based Photographer Julian Dufort this weekend over in Index, Washington. Its right between Bibliography and Colophon. . . a pretty good ways up the road from Foreword.
Never really knew it existed outside a book until today. That or the fact Julian still had a small cache of Polaroid in his arsenal.
**Quick note**
If and when you find yourself out there, be prepared for a) local seers on bicycles peddling half-truths about bull elk making the most majestic of photos; b) staff wielding wizards in wide-open fields with shepherd dogs in tow and this old ping pong ball he holds up every ten seconds or so as if its some kind of smoke grenade or magic orb; and c) machete-wielding, Busch-light drinking martial law keepers making their way on muddy side roads. . . no joke.
Don’t let his boyish good looks fool you, his lighting techniques are up there with God’s work on the fourth day. And that modern-day Farrah he’s rocking is not to be messed with. I was too close to him once, perhaps less than six inches from his left shoulder, as he executed his trademarked ‘flip’, and his locks nearly took my head off.
Big Al reflecting on his life and times
In reference to his wispy locks, Hayden notes, “I had to cut them back. I’m rocking a tamer ‘business in the front, party in the back’ aesthetic.” When pressed further, he suggests he’s more approachable now.
“I guess I didn’t want to just be known as ‘the-photographer-with-a-great-head-of-hair.’ I mean, its always been about the images and the play of light and shadow. . . this just helps us all focus on that now,’ he muses while tapping out the beat to a popular Clash song with his bubble level, a necessity on many of Hayden’s productions.
A Master at Rest
Keep your eyes peeled for his upcoming interview in Professional Photographer Magazine where he reveals a great number of his lighting secrets along with business tips and insider knowledge culled from his over 20 year commercial photography career.
I don’t remember all that much from my year in German class. What I do remember is amidst the haze which was my junior and senior years, industrial music was high on my radar. In fact, the only German that stuck with me was Schnitt Acht. . . they ‘habe angst’ in this one.
A little over a month ago, I was in the process of locating a 2nd assist on an editorial project with Ty Allison, a shooter out of CA. I spoke with a few folks here in Seatown and found a great guy eager to help out with the project. I explained that this wasn’t the project where we’d be oiling up fantastically hot models or standing around shop-talking for an hour how a particular linen was going to fall ever-so non-intentionally across a bedspread.
This was going to be ‘work’ work, in fact humping gear to the top of a peak some 1,200 feet up the 2 mile trail. The goal was to have about 50 lbs. on each strapping lad’s back and mule it up there. Sherpa for a day.
That was the view, so it was well worth the time it took to get up there. The first one’s a gentleman I met named Gary, pilot for Alaska Airlines out enjoying the day with his lady. The second are my mates from across the Atlantic, forgotyourname one and forgotyournamedeux. The physical reward was that I got a cardio workout equivalent to one-month’s time working out at the gym.
Would’ve been nice to have one of these:
. . . Or would it? . . . That was last week on a project out at the UW. Its amazing how much a magliner can do, especially when the wheels are well-inflated. This was a few weeks ago:
The unforeseen danger of artificial chocolate cakes in microwaves.
Tidbitterys
Below is the smallest grip kit in the world.
Its being packed for a quick trip down to Sactown to cover the tent city issue that’s raging down there.
Amazing how a little storage bin can hold all this stuff. No hocus pocus, just straight gangsta packin’ on account of my mastery of protractors and intuitive grasp of The Golden Mean.
I also met Sian Kennedy the other day.
I’ve always loved this shot of his. This one ain’t so bad either, but that’s perspectival.
Mike