Thursday, August 14, 2014

EVERYTHING’S A COMPETITION

In my view, art is not and should not be a competitive venture. Sports are competitions, contests, but art, art is not a competition. Yet art is continually made into a competition with ‘winners’ and ‘losers’ which is utter nonsense. A recent Google search for ‘calls for entry’ and ‘art competitions’ yielded over one-hundred returns for art competitions. Everyday artists can pay to enter their works in art competitions where there will be more losers than winners. Isn’t it great to pay some alleged expert to reject your work from a contest? And, statistically-speaking, you will most likely lose because there are always more entrants than wall space for ‘winners.’


We brand artists ‘winners’ and ‘losers’ arbitrarily and without explanation or reason. Artists get to feel badly because their works were summarily rejected from a ‘contest.’ The result is a bruised ego causing some to question the very validity of their artwork –artwork which more than likely is pretty darn good and gave them great joy to create. Some even quit, believing the experts’ valuation of their submission as meritless.


Conversely, the ‘winners’ feel superior, validated and better than others because their artworks ‘won’ the contest, thereby allowing them to spend more money shipping the artwork to the gallery for exhibition (and back again to the studio because artworks rarely sell in these group show competitions). Congratulations! You get to feel like a Great Artist and provide the gallery ‘product’ for free. Woo-hoo!


But it’s all bullshit. One shouldn’t feel good for ‘winning’ nor feel bad for ‘losing’ because it’s all meaningless. Art is not a competition and just because some person arbitrarily chose one artwork over another really doesn’t mean anything about the true merit of your art.


Hey gallery-dude! Do you like my art? If so, then exhibit it and if it sells give me a show and sell even more of it. Don’t demean me by making me enter some stupid contest so I can ‘win’ (by paying) a couple of square feet on your wall for a few weeks.


But this rant won’t change anything because humans, by nature, love competition. Why is that? Because we’re all evolved from predators! We’re genetically predisposed to fight despite the necessity for fighting no longer applies in our ‘more-evolved’ state. I put ‘more evolved’ in quotation marks because our species isn’t really all that evolved which is proven by our making contests, conflict and competitions out of things that simply don’t merit competition, like the creation of art.


Don’t like the evolution argument, would rather credit god and ‘intelligent design’ for our species outcome? Consider this: what kind of an ‘intelligent designer’ would create a biosphere where one species’ survival depended upon the hunting down and killing of another? Brilliant! And here we are in the 21st century ‘competing’ for non-competitive things.


I’m sick of it all. I’m weary of the fight. Maybe I’m just old, tired and have lost my edge? But maybe we could find a better way –assuming we could stop competing long enough to figure it out.

Monday, April 28, 2014

THE GALLERY’S ONLINE PRESENCE IS MUCH MORE IMPRESSIVE THAN THE ACTUAL GALLERY

Way back in 2007 I had a solo exhibition in a gallery in Las Vegas, Nevada.  It was a successful exhibition that was well promoted, with strong attendance at the opening, and we sold enough artwork to make it profitable for both artist and gallery.  The gallery was located near downtown, in an area being re-developed as an ‘Arts District.’  But, as it so often goes, the gallery didn’t last long as the owners moved onto other ventures and closed the gallery.  My presence in the Vegas art scene was positive, but short-lived.  Despite my successful sales record and good reviews, no other gallery ‘picked me up’ and I was out of the Las Vegas market.

Although I go to Las Vegas at least once a year I didn’t seek out another gallery until seven years later.  In the spring of 2014 I had a business trip scheduled for Las Vegas and decided I’d re-check the Vegas art scene, so prior to my trip I did some online research.  While surfing the web I discovered that the Vegas downtown ‘Arts District’ had been further developed.  The ‘Arts Factory’ under development back in 2007 was fully-occupied and there were a number of new galleries and studios in the area.  Some of the galleries’ websites were quite impressive and one in particular stood out.  Their website featured some interesting art and two people with impressive credentials.  One co-curator had run a software design studio for nearly 20 years.  His stated goals were to “…re-invent the gallery experience and show works that are bold and relevant… memorable… powerful and stimulating… they must be shared!”  The other co-curator was a “former creative director… heavily involved in branding… [and] the gallery is not your stuffy fine arts gallery.”  Impressive sounding and right for me, I thought.  So I decided I’d check out the entire district and pay extra special attention to that gallery with the impressive website.

After finishing my scheduled business in Las Vegas I headed downtown to the ‘Arts District.’  First I noticed that, with the exception of Fremont Street, the downtown area is still seedy and run-down looking.  Not a good impression.  Since my former gallery from 2007 was located on the fringe of the developing ‘Arts District’ I drove past it.  Expecting to see a different gallery in that space I was dismayed to find a tattoo parlor in its place ---with a bail bonds office next door.  Not good, and I wasn’t even in the official ‘Arts District’ yet.  Rounding the corner onto Charleston Boulevard I found the ‘Arts District’ and immediately wondered if (any) Mercedes-driving, discretionary-income-type art collectors would be paranoid parking their cars there on Gallery Opening Night.  Maybe the area looked less seedy at night?  Parking my car I waited for the drunken homeless man to pass before exiting the car and setting the alarm (which I rarely use) and headed into the ‘Arts Factory,’ a place that, seven years ago was just cranking up and was full of artist-run bohemian energy.  Not much energy this time and, aside from my wife and myself, there were no patrons, no ‘lookers’ or anyone shopping for art.  Although the building was filled with small galleries, studios and one restaurant there was nothing going on.  We met one very friendly (and, I think, lonely) artist who was very chatty but aside from him, nobody.  Some of the galleries were closed.  We wandered through one gallery but the girl behind the counter didn’t look up.  There was one tiny photography gallery but we didn’t go in for fear of interrupting the two people clicking away on laptop computers.  We didn’t want to intrude on their Facebook time. 

There was another arts building across the street so we went there next.  We wandered into the not-yet-ready Polaroid museum and had a nice chat with a fellow dedicated to instant photography but we moved on as we were seeking galleries and not camera-museums.  We knew things weren’t right when we found the building’s main door locked during business hours.  Walking around the side of the building we discovered that gallery with the impressive website, and we discovered its doors locked too.  Continuing our lap around the building we finally found an open door and entered the dark space.  Perhaps an interior door will open into the impressive-website gallery?  No, that door was locked too.  The gallery was closed and dark.  Peering through the windows we saw framed photographs on the walls of a rather small and mundane white-cube type of gallery.  I don’t recall the subject matter of the photographs although I might have had they been “memorable, powerful or stimulating.”  The impressive website was nothing but a front for another same-old art gallery, which was closed during business hours indicating that its “co-curators” must have been at their day jobs.  No sign with business hours or, ‘by appointment’ was visible.  The buildings’ other galleries were closed as well, ‘by appointment’ signs on their doors.  We briefly considered having lunch at the ‘Arts Factory’ restaurant, but since it was empty we opted to go back to the hotel, where the food was of known quality.

So that was it, a brief mid-week, mid-day bust.  Move along, there’s nothing to see here despite the big sign that says ‘Arts District.’  I didn’t meet a single gallerist or show a portfolio or even talk to a gallery person.  I slid my business card under the door of the gallery with the impressive website  ---it’s probably stuck to the bottom of some ‘co-curator’s’ shoe--- assuming anyone even came to the gallery since then.

I’m not dead, or a market-savvy producer of lame commercial art like Thomas Kinkade or Peter Lik, so going to any uptown galleries was pointless.  It was time for lunch and a drink, and perhaps another drink.  I’m not going to be exhibiting in Las Vegas in the foreseeable future, nosiree.

There is no easy-to-find mid-level art in Las Vegas.  Sure, there are Peter Lik’s vanity galleries full of overblown, oversized and overpriced stock-and-standard landscape photographs.  And there’s the High Art found in the gallery/museum at The Bellagio but, aside from that kind of flash there’s little left but the bohemian art that nobody buys.  The ‘Arts District’ was a nice idea ---for the real estate developers, but it’s just a way to ‘art up’ an area until it’s acceptable to go there, raise the rents, kick out the artists and covert the place to trendy ‘lofts.’  I think the downtown Vegas Arts District will remain low-rent bohemian artists’ studios/galleries for a long time.  I really don’t see Rich Folk parking expensive cars in an area that reeks of High Theft and slumming it among the paint-splattered ‘art spaces.’  No ‘art acquisition manager’ is going there seeking art for hotels, offices, public spaces or private residences.  If there are any discoveries to be made I don’t think they’ll be discovered there.  It’s just another low-rent, funky, bohemian arts district populated and visited mainly by artists.  And mainly they just show their own and each other’s stuff.


And that gallery with the impressive web presence?  Well, anybody can look good in cyberspace but in actual space… not so much.  Although I would like to meet their web-designer.

Friday, January 31, 2014

If Dogs Ran the Government


Political discourse in America is at an all time low.  It’s really horrible.  A couple of months ago I made a big mistake and made a comment to a political post on social media.  Although my comment was factually-correct, it led to hateful and venomous comments by trolls who insulted my parentage, demanded I leave the country and even called for my death.  It got so bad the person who’d originally made the post removed it and sent me a personal apology.  We both agreed that any more social media postings by either of us would be limited to pictures of kittens and puppies.  Although it blew over without any physical violence it really shook me up.  I was still thinking about it the next day when I was out running errands in my car.

While sitting at a stoplight I noticed a bumper-sticker on the car in front of me.  It read:  Lord, help me to be the person my dog thinks I am.  Ha!  I’ve seen that one before and it’s a good goal for all of us.  Since humans have proven themselves absolute failures as leaders and have thoroughly and completely screwed up government perhaps it’s time to hand it over to dogs?  How much worse could it be?  We could replace ass-kissing with ass-sniffing.   ‘Liberalism’ would mean extra treats, and ‘conservatism’ would be conservation of energy while napping in the sun.  Healthcare would mean everybody can keep their veterinarian.  Religion in politics would be replaced by Rainbow Bridge.  War would be unnecessary because dogs don’t hold grudges.  The Supreme Court could be eliminated because dogs don’t judge.  Racism would be a thing of the past because dogs don’t care if other dogs are black, white, tan or spotted.  Southern-border immigration would no longer be an issue because everybody loves Chihuahuas. 

Since America has gone to the dogs anyway, let’s try dog-leadership.  Here are my nominations for America’s new generation of dog-leaders:

·         President:
Bruno
My dog.  ‘President Bruno’ has a nice ring to it and he’s very photogenic which is just about all the job demands anyway.
·         Vice-President:
Gromit
From ‘Wallace and Gromit.’  He doesn’t speak but is great at rolling his eyes when the President does something stupid, like peeing on the Oval Office carpet.
·         Speaker of the house:
Brian Griffin
From ‘Family Guy.’  Brian is an intellectual and is well-spoken.  He’s also a time-traveler who’s recently come back from the dead.
·         Press Secretary:              
Ren
From ‘The Ren and Stimpy Show.’  Ren is volatile and won’t take any crap from Fox News reporters.
·         Secretary of State:
K-9
From ‘Doctor Who.’  K-9 is a robot and is very logical, which is helpful in international negotiations.
·         Secretary of Education:
Mr. Peabody
Highly educated, holds a PhD, perfect for the job.
·         Secretary of Transportation:
Scooby-Doo
Have you seen him run?  He hauls-ass.  Perfect for the job.
·         Secretary of Defense:
Underdog
Seriously, who better?
·         Homeland Security:
Deputy Dawg
Has years of law-enforcement experience.
·         NASA Administrator:
Astro
From ‘The Jetsons.’  Has a lot of experience in outer space.

Monday, November 25, 2013

Happy Hour at the Focus 21 Bar - My (out of body) experience at The Monroe Institute

It was happy hour at the nearly empty Focus 21 bar.  As I entered the elegant and darkened bar, a man opened the huge floor-to-ceiling drapes and the place flooded with light.  The light came from a spectacular nebula outside the non-window and infused the room with a glow unlike anything I’d ever seen before.  I took a seat at the corner of the bar but the bartender stayed away, he knew I wasn’t there to drink, I was seeking answers and I’d only brought questions.  Moments later I began a conversation with myself.  It wasn’t a schizophrenic in-my-head conversation but a conversation with a little boy who’d materialized on the barstool next to me; he was my five-year-old self.  As we talked I studied him, noting his little red leather shoes and his outfit of matching shorts and vest and remembered not liking how Mom had dressed me as a dandy little boy.  I don’t like the silly outfits either, my younger self said to me.  We talked for quite a while and little Dale unraveled many insights to things I’d forgotten about my childhood.  Personal things.  He mentioned that, since I’d come with questions, he’d come with knowledge.  He was offering the knowledge because after fifty years, I had finally gained the experience to understand the answers.  Little Dale looked at my wrist and said, I like your watch.  I’ve always collected watches and asked him if he’d like to have it.  No, he said.  Holding up his arms, watches on both wrists, he continued, see, I’ve already got two.  They stopped a long time ago and besides, there’s no time in this place anyway.  Finishing our conversation he jumped off the barstool and onto a tricycle and rode off right into that nebula and was gone. 

Now it seemed the bar was empty except for me and the silent bartender but as I looked towards the end of the bar I noticed another man --a ‘dandy’ like little Dale.  He was dressed in an expensive well-cut suit, with a colorful vest and necktie with a perfect knot.  He held a silver and black cane in his left hand and with his right hand stroked and outrageous moustache.  It was Salvador Dali.  I was wondering when you’d notice me he said in his thick Spanish accent.  About those questions you have; I’ve some advice for you and Dali began a monologue.  He spoke, I listened, and then he simply dematerialized, just like the subjects of some of his paintings. 

Alone now, I heard the quiet sobs of someone crying.  Glancing across the room to the dance floor I saw a woman standing alone, ankle deep in stage fog.  It was my wife.  I went to her and asked, what are you crying about?  She answered: nothing important.  I held her and as we embraced music began to play.  As the music swelled Eric Idle appeared and began to sing ‘The Galaxy Song.’  As he sang we danced, our feet invisible under the fog.  As the song ended I heard Bob’s voice in my head, the scene faded, and a few minutes later I was back in my body, sitting up in my bed at The Monroe Institute.

Everything I’ve described happened in an altered state of consciousness.  I’ll tell you how I got there and about Bob, and what The Monroe Institute is but I know many of you won’t believe me; that’s okay, this is pretty far outside most people’s comfort zone.  (For skeptics, website links are included.)  Less than one tenth of one percent of the Earth’s population seems interested in this kind of consciousness-expansion, which is too bad because I think if we could get to where maybe fifteen percent of us experienced these things we could change the world for the better. 

Robert “Bob” Monroe was a radio engineer who’d had spontaneous out-of-body experiences that caused him to intensely study the phenomena.  His audio experience and scientific aptitude led him to create Hemi-Sync™.  Hemi-Sync is short for Hemispheric Synchronization, a system where, using headphones, a tone of one frequency is played into one ear and another slightly different frequency is introduced into the other ear.  The brain tries to ‘synchronize’ the signals and creates a third tone that synchronizes the brain’s hemispheres.  By varying frequencies, different states of altered consciousness are experienced by the listener.  This is the short version; there’s more detail available on The Monroe Institute’s website.  Because the Hemi-Sync system is quantifiable, consistent, repeatable and safe, Bob founded The Monroe Institute in Faber, Virginia thereby allowing others to experience these altered states of consciousness and more.

I’d read Bobs’ first book, Journeys Out Of The Body, back in the 1980s and later read his other two follow-up books.  I’d bought some of the early cassette tapes and had experienced for myself the Hemi-Sync process.  I’d always said that ‘someday’ I’d go to the institute for training.  That ‘someday’ came last May when my wife learned The Monroe Institute was offering their introductory program, called Gateway, off-campus in California in November 2013.  Since Santa Barbara is within a day’s drive from Prescott I signed us up.

Our Gateway Voyage was a 6-day intensive program held at the Casa de Maria retreat in Santa Barbara.  It was a total-immersion experience.  After arriving we never left the place until the program was over.  Our lodgings were an austere room with two twin beds, desk, chair and bathroom.  There were no phones, TV or radio and only one small wi-fi hotspot.  No distractions.  Our meals were provided by most excellent on-site chefs.  All our physical needs were met so everyone could concentrate on the altered consciousness experience.

‘Everyone’ was 18 students with two facilitators.  The ‘students’ comprised fourteen women and four men (women seem to be more open to this sort of thing).  My wife and I were the only couple and among the younger.  I’d guess the average age of the group was about 65.  We were all ‘seekers’ and, thankfully, the group was devoid of any ‘new-age’ wackos.   I found it strange that the group was so ‘old.’  It occurs to me that this sort of thing would be most beneficial to those in their late 20s to early 30s, so the information can be used life-long.

Each day we’d gather for breakfast at 8am.  Then we’d all meet in ‘the lounge’ where we were briefed on the morning’s ‘exercises.’  After that we’d all go our rooms where we’d listen, using headphones, to the Hemi-Sync audio.  A nifty temporary FM transmitter was used so we’d all be doing the ‘exercises’ simultaneously.  Upon completing each ‘exercise’ we’d meet afterwards for debriefing.  Over the week we experienced over 20 hours of ‘altered consciousness.’  We’d do two ‘exercises’ between breakfast and lunch, take a break, and then do two more in the afternoon and one more before bedtime.

Bob Monroe was fond of acronyms and described the varying degrees of altered states as ‘Focus Levels.’  It’s an arbitrary reference system that makes discussion easier; to put it simply, the higher the number the further one is removed from normal, everyday waking consciousness.  We began at a ‘body asleep-mind awake state’ (not unlike Transcendental Meditation) and ended the week at Focus 21.  At Focus 12 awareness seems to expand.  At Focus 15 the sense of time ceases.  Focus 21 is the ‘bridge’ to ‘other energy systems’ and is quite profound.  For some, visualization is helpful.  For me, I had difficulty with the ‘bridge’ concept and perceived the Focus 21 state as some kind of a cosmic bar (hence the title).  More advanced courses continue on to level 27.  Gateway is a prerequisite.

During the week all of us reported feelings like:  weightlessness, floating out or above the physical body, meetings with ‘guides’ (often called ‘guardian angels’ by the more religious), various colors and sensations, precognition, lucid dreams, meetings with dead people and remote viewing. 

Each of us had our own personal breakthroughs.  I had mine the second night and I was so absolutely freaked-out and emotionally fried that I couldn’t attend the debriefing and had to skip dinner.  I had a private talk with the lead facilitator who assured me that what I’d experienced was actually rather mild compared to some, which greatly allayed my fears.  Luckily for me one of my fellow students, a gentle man just shy of his 80th birthday, was a hypnotherapist.  He worked with me and really helped me to understand what I’d experienced.

Oddly, the process had a detoxifying effect on the body for some of us.  By the second to last day I had the sniffles and a scratchy throat (and I don’t get sick often).  Even odder, the next day I felt great, really great!

One evening we did a group exercise in Remote Viewing, which in new-age terms is often called ‘astral projection.’  It’s a process where one can ‘see’ an object or place without actually going there.  This is not new and was developed in the late 1970s by two physicists at Stanford Research Institute.  At SRI they developed a method that made the process teachable to almost anyone.  A US government intelligence agency actually commissioned a team of Remote Viewers, aka, ‘psychic spies’ in the 70s, 80s and 90s.  (I’m not kidding, it was called ‘Stargate,’ look it up).  The Monroe Institute became involved to assist the Remote Viewers get themselves into a calm mental state quickly.  We did two brief Remote Viewing exercises using a coordinate system developed by the late Ingo Swann.  We were given latitude and longitude coordinates and asked to describe or draw what we saw at the locations.  It turns out I’ve got a latent talent for this and returned about a seventy percent success rate.  But it got even weirder for me…

During our debriefings we’d share our experiences and analyze them.  During three separate debriefings I kept describing ‘seeing’ some kind of form, or spreadsheet.  Since I have absolutely zero interest in accounting (I pay people do that stuff) I was confused.  When we got home I went through a weeks’ worth of mail and found a card from the Post Office.  A registered letter had come while we were out of town and I had to go to the Post Office and sign for it.  When I picked up the envelope at the Post Office I opened it immediately and darn near excreted a brick when I saw what the envelope contained ---it was the EXACT form I’d apparently Remote Viewed while in California!  Back at The Monroe Institute’s main campus in Virginia it just so happens that the ‘psychic spy’ who was number 001 teaches Remote Viewing.  I may have to go to Virginia this spring…

What I’ve written barely scratches the surface of what we experienced; there was much, much more with a lot of it being of a profoundly personal nature that I won’t write about.  It was an amazing experience that I’m glad I did now instead of waiting until I’m an old man, or not at all.  We all have this potential.  To put it in quasi-technical terms: perception is like a radio dial and most of us only know of a few stations.  What happened to me, and the other seventeen in our ‘class’ was our radio ‘bandwidth’ got expanded.  The audio Hemi-Sync process gave us the tools to tune in those stations that had been beyond our radios’ dial.  There’s much more than what our Five Senses (pun intended) show us. 

There’s a saying: we’re all spiritual beings enjoying a temporary physical existence.  It’s true.  Our ‘true’ selves ‘put on’ these physical bodies and then we forgot.  And then we forgot we forgot.  We can all experience these wonderful expanded states of consciousness.  You can get there quickly, like Carlos Castaneda, through the use of powerful and dangerous drugs; or you can spend a lifetime, like a Tibetan Monk.  But through the use of safe and controlled audio technology you can get there in about two days.  When you get ‘there’ the only thing you’ll find is the real you …and the rest of the universe.

Dale O’Dell
November 13, 2013
                                                                                                                                                                                                               
Links to references:

Questions are invited, email Dale at

Salvador Dali

Eric Idle sings ‘The Galaxy Song’

The Monroe Institute, Robert Monroe, Focus Levels, Hemi-Sync, Remote Viewing

Robert Monroe’s books on Amazon.com, “Journey’s Out of the Body,” “Far Journeys,” “Ultimate Journey”

La Casa de Maria retreat, Santa Barbara, CA

Remote Viewing

Stargate Project

Ingo Swann

Remote Viewer #001 (Joe McMoneagle) official website (see also Monroe Institute website)

Monday, September 16, 2013

Report from Las Vegas Photoshop World 2013

As we enter the third decade of the ‘digital revolution’ of photography we don’t have time to lament the loss of Kodachrome to the CMOS sensor, or cameras that have morphed into little more than computers with lenses, or the smelly mystery of the chemical darkroom; we’re too busy shooting cel-phone ‘selfies’ and downloading the latest ‘junk-shot’ from Carlos Danger.  Photography has been forever changed.  One of the most profound changes in the digitalization of photography is the replacement of the darkroom by the computer.  When it comes to ‘development’ of pictures all roads lead to the ubiquitous program known as Adobe Photoshop™.  So dominant has Photoshop become that there are numerous annual conventions, workshops, schools and trade shows devoted to it.  One of the big ones is Photoshop World, held every September at the Mandalay Bay Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas.

Each year I attend Photoshop World because it’s an opportunity to see the latest gadgets and keep abreast of current trends and technologies.  It’s also a good excuse to go to Vegas where I can observe humans of every shape, color and configuration gather for forced fun and hopeful debauchery.  The ones carrying cameras were headed off to Photoshop World so I tagged along with Nicky Nikon, Maggie Megabyte and Otto Focus, got my badge, and entered the exalted hall of The Trade Show.

Photoshop World also offers workshops and lectures, where alleged great photographers, wannabes and has-beens will show you their digital ‘secrets’ for a fee, but I don’t attend that stuff.  My interest lies with the pure consumerism of new gadgetry so I attend the (free) trade show only.

This year it was packed.  Oh look, there’s Johnny Jpeg, who always ‘wears’ his Nikon over his photographer/fly-fishing vest.  And he’s heading towards the Nikon booth, his 500mm lens pointing the way perched like a lighthouse on the tip of his beer gut.  Why do these guys (and it’s always guys) feel the need to carry extreme telephoto lenses in a crowded room where no one needs a long lens?  In this context the ten-grand lens isn’t useful for anything more than a penis-extender.  Big glass?

It’s always ironic to chat up the rep in the booth and then decide to buy the thing he’s showing.  As soon as I say, “I’ll buy it,” he tells me, “I’m just the lens-cap rep, that guy over there will take care of the transaction.”  Of course “that guy over there” is busy with a line of fifteen people waiting for him.  I’ll come back later and get the thing.  I don’t.

The Canon printer rep went off on a rant about how bad Epson printers are and then later when I talked to the Epson printer rep he said the exact same thing about Canon printers!  I laugh and tell them it’s simply their jobs to trash the competition; when I asked about HP printers they really got going –and so did I, right outta their booths.

I was hoping to get my hands on some of the new LED studio lights but all the vendors were still pushing 90’s style florescent lights.  They did have two sets lit with umbrellas, soft boxes and other light-modifiers with huge crowds.  Why the crowds?  Because on one set they had an actual girl, a pretty model, and fifty guys (including Johnny Jpeg with that silly 500mm lens) were vying for that ‘fashion model’ shot for their portfolios.  Can’t fail with pre-set-up lighting, right guys?

Inkjet printing on aluminum sheets is pretty neat.  I checked out the sample prints and I think I should do this for some of my work.  If I sell prints on aluminum and someone later decides they don’t like the picture, they can always re-purpose the print as building material.

I noticed a woman holding an iPad way over her head.  I felt sorry for her, being so farsighted she had to hold the tablet that far away, but she was actually taking a picture.  Urgh, photography without using an actual camera.  I hope she visits the booth showing strap-on auxiliary lenses for tablets and cel-phones.

After dropping a couple hundred bucks on a few gadgets and a new RAW conversion program I was about to leave when I found the most interesting booth at the Trade Show.  It was the only non-profit group there and they weren’t selling anything photographic.  This was Shelter Me Photography and it’s an outfit that photographs and publishes photos of shelter dogs.  I saw a collection of good photos of good dogs and when they shared those photos online, the dogs got adopted.  Some dogs were less than 24 hours away from being euthanized and the shared photo saved the dogs’ lives!  How wonderful!

It was a good show this year and I’ll be at the 2014 Photoshop World.  If you don’t find me at the Trade Show, I’ll be at the bar in the Luxor laughing at Nicky Nikon while he tries to figure out just exactly what that sexy woman meant when she asked, “Do you want to party?”

Sunday, July 21, 2013

A GATHERING OF ALIENS - The 2013 Roswell UFO Festival

In 1947 something fell out of the sky and crashed near Roswell, New Mexico.  It may have been an alien spacecraft, a weather balloon, or nothing at all but the effect it had on the community was profound.  That alleged ‘UFO crash’ spawned an urban legend ---and an economic boom for Roswell.  And so, sixty-six years after the weather balloon/UFO was hauled off and the alien bodies put into deep-freeze I found myself at the 2013 Roswell UFO Festival.

Every Fourth of July weekend the town of Roswell holds the UFO Festival.  Main Street is shut down, the portable concert stage is set up, the vendors fill the street and we’re treated to costume contests, parades, and all sorts of alien-themed silliness.  People come from all over the world to mix with morbidly obese Americans dressed as Grey Aliens and sweat in the one-hundred degree heat of the New Mexico Desert.  A real heatstroke-hoot!  Better drink some more alien-juice and stay hydrated!



The first event I attended was the Alien Pet Costume Contest held on the Civic Center lawn.  Everybody loves to see little dogs parading around in costumes that, while embarrassing to other dogs, make humans laugh.  And what better opportunity to spray paint Fido green and display the poor critter on stage in front of four hundred similarly dressed humans?  The most appropriate dog to dress up in a silly costume is, of course, The Chihuahua.  And there were plenty of ‘purse dogs’ on display.  While waiting for judging to begin I met Starlina, a tiny Chihuahua from of all places, Wilhoit, Arizona.  Starlina took an Honorable Mention in the contest but I think she got robbed, she should have won.  Ultimately the winner of Best Pet Costume was a cat!  A freakin’ cat!  Give me a break; cats don’t wear costumes nearly as well as dogs.  The judges must have been cat-people.  What are the qualifications for an Alien Pet Contest Judge anyway?  Someone needs to be probed…








A little later in the day the Pet Costume Contest was followed by the Alien Costume Contest for people.  Thank goodness this one was held indoors in the air-conditioned Civic Center Exhibit Hall thereby eliminating the need for ambulances to carry away overheated people wearing too much plastic and aluminum foil.  Little kids and large adults paraded around wearing strap-on antennas and alien-themed costumes all hoping to win a prize for their creative-fashions.  If an actual Grey Alien had entered he’d of probably lost but a tall dude in a Grey Alien outfit did win this one.  Thankfully the Tron Guy didn’t show up.







Later it was time to hit Main Street and check out the vendors and the band playing on the concert stage.  I felt sorry for the band.  They were actually good players, but they were wailing away for an audience of four or five ten-year olds, all the adults were hiding indoors, out of the heat.  Later in the evening I heard the same band, playing the same songs, at the restaurant/club across the street from my hotel.  Although they probably lost money playing the UFO Festival they might have made it back at the restaurant gig as bar patrons generally tip better than ten-year olds who ditched their parents to listen to the Rock Band.

The street vendors displayed a remarkable deficit of alien-themed trinkets.  Instead, there were vendors selling the usual food-fare, face-painting, and applying temporary tattoos to little girls who wanted a tramp-stamp just like Mom’s.  There were vendors selling Zuni Fetishes carved in the shape of Space Aliens.  The most oddball vendor I saw was selling Mexican wrestling masks!  I thought about buying one of those Mexican wrestling masks but my sex life isn’t exciting enough to justify the expense.  Around the corner from the street vendors I found the Gallery of the Roswell Fine Arts League where the UFO Art Show was on display.  The air-conditioning was the best thing the gallery had going as the art was truly terrible.  The show consisted of only eleven pieces of ‘UFO art’ that looked like they’d been done in the special-ed art class at the school for the blind.  A painting of ET the Extraterrestrial on Black Velvet has better art-collection potential.

The Space Lady was playing her 1985 Casio keyboard to an audience of one kid on the sidewalk.  With the Casio’s drum machine running at high-speed I half expected her to start singing Wall of Voodoo’s 1982 hit, Mexican Radio, but she stayed away from anything that entertaining.



The Electric Light Parade Saturday night was fun but short.  Thankfully it had cooled off to only 98 degrees by 9pm.



I was starting to think that any intelligent life in the area had died in that crash in 1947 so on Sunday I went looking for Real Science; luckily I found some hidden amongst the costumed silliness.  The International UFO Museum and Research Center hosted a series of lectures by UFO researchers.  The most prominent Expert there was nuclear physicist Stanton Friedman.  He co-authored “Crash at Corona: The Definitive Study of the Roswell Incident” which is the book that brought the Roswell UFO Crash out of obscure Ufology and into mainstream consciousness.  Travis Walton was also there.  Travis is the Arizona logger who was abducted by aliens in 1975 and returned five days later.  The movie, “Fire in the Sky,” was based on Travis’ UFO encounter.  Other speakers included hypnotherapists who work with abductees; crop circle researchers and military experts.  The folks from Open Minds Productions (the organizers of the International UFO Congress) were there as well.  I had a very interesting conversation with Aaron Sagers, host of “Paranormal Paparazzi” on The Travel Channel.  His presentation centered on celebrity UFO sightings and we had a lively discussion about mass consciousness and the paranormal in Pop Culture.



The Roswell UFO Festival is a fun vacation destination for anyone interested in the Alien/UFO phenomena.  It’s an entertaining couple of days with something for every kind of Carbon Based Lifeform.  There’s even some real science there, if you’re willing to look for it.


Monday, June 24, 2013

OFF THE TRAIL (Part IV of the On the Road Chronicles)

I was tired; maybe fatigue is a better description.  I’d been on the road for almost three weeks and I’d been up early every morning chasing the sunrise.  I was barely one-hundred miles from home but there were a few more photos yet to be made.  After gassing up in Cameron I headed south on highway 89 and a few miles later turned into the Wupatki/Sunset Crater National Monument.  There was one particular place I wanted to photograph with my infrared camera.

Wupatki/Sunset Crater is two national monuments.  The northern section contains the Wupatki Anasazi Indian ruins and the southern section contains the extinct cinder-cone volcano, Sunset Crater.  Entering the Monument from the north I headed directly to the Wukoki Ruins, a ‘great house.’  I had in mind to reshoot a photo I’d shot years before, but this time in infrared.  The shot was from the western or backside of the ruin and I knew exactly where I’d have to stand to get the shot.  Since I was tired and lazy, I parked close and made a brisk walk to the ruins and around the backside to the vantage point I’d previsualized.  I stepped a few feet off the trail and squatted in the shade of a large boulder, aimed my camera, and waited.  And waited, and waited.  There were a couple of loud-mouth, morbidly obese tourons in my shot.  I thought, instead of retouching the people out of the photo, I’d just wait for them to leave, but they were moving slow and talking really loud.  I could hear their southern accents two-hundred yards away and now the fat cow was talking about me.

“Look!  That guy’s off the trail!” she exclaimed in her dumb-sounding southern drawl.  “He’s off the trail!  He’s off the trail!  The sign says ‘stay on the trail’ and he’s off!  He’s breaking the rules; he’s not supposed to be there!”  Her tone indicated she was clearly distressed by my horrible, off-the-trail transgression.  In her view, I was a huge asshole.

Shut up and move along, you cow, I muttered to myself as I waited for a clear 1/250 of a second to take my photo and get going.  Now she’s pointing me out to her fat friends.  Gee lady, get over it and move along, as soon as you move, so will I.  I was tired and in no mood for idiot tourists all cheesed-off about me being a few feet off the trail.

Finally she waddled out of frame.  I took the shot, bracketed a few exposures and was done.  Two minutes of photography after waiting fifteen minutes for the people to get out of my shot.  I made a brisk walk back to the ruins and on to my car.

When I got back to the ruins, loudmouth hillbilly-lady decided she needed to accost me about my off-the-trail rule violation.  Why do people think they can bitch me out with impunity?  Do I have a face that says I’m harmless and won’t mind getting yelled at by non-authority figures?  Do I look like that much of a wuss?  The next thing I know she’s hollering at me:

“Can’t you read the signs, you’re off the trail, you’re breaking the rules, you can’t do that!” she went on and on and on.

I listened while losing patience.  I don’t have time for this and you’re not a park ranger, lady.  When she finally shut her giant pie-hole I decided I really didn’t need to explain, no, I’d just give it right back to her.  I was tired and hot and ready to be home and had no time for idiots like her.  Since she’d already decided I was an asshole, I might as well be one.

“Madame,” I began, “I can tell by your accent you’re educationally disadvantaged, so I’d like to teach you a new phrase…” I paused for dramatic effect, “…Bite Me!”

I do believe she immediately fell ill with ‘the vapors.’  “Why I never…” she muttered.

Then her even more morbidly obese husband got into the act.  “Nobody talks to my wife like that, I ought to kick your ass!” he yelled at me.

Really?  I thought.  You assholes are going to do this?  “Ah!  Kick my ass?  Is that how you people solve your problems?”  I asked the husband.  “If you can even run down here and catch me you’d better bring her boyfriend too, Bubba.”  I taunted the fat dude I knew I could outrun.

They stood there and just sputtered and fumed, like the fat pissed-off assholes they were.

I continued on to the parking lot, got in my car, and drove off towards Sunset Crater.  I’m sure it would be at least another half-hour before their toothpick legs could transport their bulk to their car with the sacked-out suspension.

Really, is that shit necessary?  How unpleasant.  And, despite the so-called rules, it’s none of their business.

If you’re one of those color-inside-the-lines and always-follow-the-rules types then the fact that I was only a few feet off the trail won’t matter to you.  But most folks are more reasonable and most smart folks don’t care.  It’s not up to the tourists to enforce the rules.  Park Rangers enforce the rules and being a Park Ranger has been more about law enforcement for the past thirty years than naturalism anyway, so let them do their jobs.  There is no need whatsoever to accost a stranger who’s caused you no harm or inconvenience.  Let it go.  Or go get a Park Ranger.  Besides, what if I had been a psycho-asshole and really kicked the guy’s ass?  Would it be worth it to him then?

I guess I just look like one of those guys who is easily intimidated.  They had no idea of what an effective defensive weapon a tripod is….

I’m pretty sure I made an impression on those hillbilly assholes.  As for other impressions, well, I didn’t even leave a footprint on the ground.

So bite me!