Saturday was gorgeous, a nearly perfect day. The air was cool and dry, the sky clear and blue and a million miles high. And so I did what I do so often now on perfectly beautiful Saturdays.
I stayed home.
I could see the day from my windows, and I even stepped out on the deck once, but I was homebound all the live-long day.
What is wrong with me? Have I become an isolate?
I don't know, but I was at perfect peace, cozy and warm in my house on a chilly day. Crazy, ain't it?
I was, however, semi-productive. I did loads of laundry. I cleaned the kitchen. I opened mail, something I do on rare occasions. And I decided to look for the odd little things going on in my own hometown. You might be surprised how difficult it is to find small events in a big tourist town, or maybe you are more savvy and already linked in to some social media platform that tells you what's going on. I have never found that channel, though, and I am always reading about something I would have gone to the next day. I used "the Google" and tried every variety of search terms I could think of. I searched for Lucha Libre near me. I couldn't find any. Selavy. But I did get some good information on the best places to see it in Mexico City. I found out, too, that it is OK to take a camera into the arena. I found out where I could sit for the best photos. There was a fellow who had already done it. No worries. . . his photos were the standard kitchen variety, but the information was helpful. I looked up flights to Mexico City. Not bad. Very do-able. Two and a half hour flight. I could do three days and be home for a fair price. So there's a thought.
During the search, though, I did come across some little league wrestling again. I sent pictures to the fellow who let me come last time and didn't feel I had adequately heard back, so I decided to email him again. There is an event tomorrow night and again on Saturday. Could I come? He wrote back right away and said that I certainly could.
O.K. then. Chills of anticipation. Could I do it differently? Better? There is only one way to find out. And this time, I will try to go back to the dressing room, and I will try to talk to the wrestlers. I want stories.
That was my thinking.
I believe I have already told you I heard back from a bigger league women's roller derby team across the state. I wrote back to them and said I would definitely be coming and would wait for further information.
I really want to shoot a series in a go-go bar. Mad to. So I Goggled to find any in my area. There are not very many any longer. The religious popos have shut most of them down. But something else popped up, though, a private BDSM club across town. I've known about it for years. One woman I shot with in the studio long, long ago invited me to go. I had no interest at the time. They have a night once a month, however, when they let "certain" photographers come to one of their dungeons to take photographs. I wrote to them saying I'd like to come. It is not my thing, but I am imagining the images Elmo Tide style (link).
Getting into a strip club is going to be difficult and probably impossible, but I have a few ideas about that. I'll need investors, though. I think I may know a few. Until that time. . . there is burlesque. Like BDSM, it is not my thing, but again. . . Elmo. . . so I found a venue that appealed to me, one I'd never seen before. I found an email address for the troupe and wrote to see if I could make some photos with them. I leaned in on my credentials once again, hoping. I wait to hear back.
Rodeos. There is one about an hour away that takes place every Saturday night. They don't supply an email address, just a phone number. You may remember that a few years ago, I did a documentary on the biggest professional rodeo in the state. It happens in February and is part of the national championship cowboy series. I will lean on that when I talk to them, I've decided, and see what happens. I need to try to get some credentials to shoot the big event in February, too. I've got to get some credentials from somebody. I need to quit being afraid and just try. But it is like asking a girl on a date. I simply can't take rejection, so I don't. But man. . . on the credentials thing, I just have to try. Any small town paper will do.
I also found a Dude Ranch that listed cowboying and glamping. They, too, have Saturday night rodeos. They have a Farmer's Market and. . . ready. . . luxury teepees for rent. I may have to go stay in one and go to everything they offer. I'm certain it will be expensive, but sometimes the piper must be paid.
I still need to get in touch with the stock car track management, but my semi-writer/artist friend wants to go in on that, so I will wait to talk to him and let him try to make arrangements. That is what he does. He is good at it.
That took a couple of hours. I had drifted into a beautiful afternoon. I ate some peanut butter toast and decided to go the big computer and work on one file before I let the house. I knew where I wanted to go. A small museum of American Art in town is displaying the works of Sally Michel, an "abstract tonalist" painter. I would go there, then I wold stop by the big warehouse of plants and home furnishings where I met the owner a month or so ago, the woman who Q knew from his days in the electronic music scene here in my own hometown.
I went to my old, untouched studio files and chose a picture to work on. It was good. Then another. I have developed a somewhat different approach to making the same sort of image that I did before. It takes a long while to finish one, but the music was playing and it was good. I had let my Apple station play all morning, and it was humming on all cylinders. It put me in the zone.
When I got up from the computer, I felt guilty. It was mid-afternoon now. If I was going to go out, I needed to go right away. I stepped onto the deck. Oh. . . it was lovely.
I ate a grapefruit. Then I worked on another image.
At four-thirty I called my mother.
"Would you hate me if I didn't come over today?"
I needed a pack of cheroots and some broccoli. I was scruffy. I hadn't even splashed water on my face. No matter. I threw on a sweater and headed out the door. Who cared? At the liquor store, I bought some non-alcoholic rum. At the grocery store, I bought lots of things I hadn't planned on. When I got back home, the sun was near to setting.
I made a non-alcoholic rum and coke, lit a cheroot, and sat out on the deck. It was getting chilly. The rum and coke wasn't a rum and coke, but the flavors were strong and that was just OK.
As the sun set, I went to the kitchen and prepared some parboiled cod, steamed broccoli, and rice. When it was ready, I put it all into a large bowl and drizzled teriyaki sauce over everything. It is the easiest meal in the world to make and is always better than I remember it to be.
I didn't turn on the t.v. The music was still good. I cleaned up the kitchen and was going to read, but I decided to cook up one more picture.
It was eleven when I got a text. The tenant had come home from her holiday travels. She said she had knocked on my door but got no answer. The lights were on. The car was in the drive. Was I OK?
I texted back. She came down to pick up her mail. I was sleepy now, but she wanted to chat.
It was midnight when I brushed my teeth and went to bed.
I had completed eight pictures.
I'll not stay home today. Uh-uh. I won't go near the big computer. When I get in there with the music and the images, I get lost. Hours go by without notice. Nope. Not today.
I sent the photo at the top of the page to Q with a note--"I don't give a fuck what your friends say. I'm pretty fucking good at this."
And I sent him the song that was playing at that very moment. It is a damn good one, too. Q sent back a message. He liked the photo and he liked the song.
Now. . . I need to get out of my chair and into the wild. I will not be a shut in another day. I will be an active man. I will be an adventurer.
No comments:
Post a Comment