A Big Deal About Coffee

My coffee cup sits on a napkin on a table.
A coat of dried coffee,
Shaped like the United States,
Hangs on the side of the cup.

Earlier in the day,
I had knocked my cup,
As it rocked back and fourth,
It sloshed coffee over the rim and onto the table.

“Can I have towel, please. I spilled my coffee.”
Then I ate a cream-filled,
Chocolate-covered donut
And checked my email.

First Portland Road Trip - (Part 1)

Same Trip - Different Worlds (Part 1 of 3)

Being new to the area we enjoy exploring. Last week we drove towards the coast to hike an old inactive volcano and see the ocean. Jen usually drives because she gets car sick as a passenger (I swear it has nothing to do with my driving). I navigate and play I-pod DJ. Winter, my dog, sticks her head out the window and reads her own version of a map (I'll explain shortly). We live in southeast Portland so we have to navigate our way though a series of city streets and highway interchanges to head west out of the city.

We zig, zag, u-turn and backtrack our way through the city. If there are any govenmant agents following us I’m sure we’ve lost them. Finally, we are heading west out of Portland I begin to gloat internally about ditching Johnny Law. But, my elation is short lived when I remember that these days they track people using satellites. I don’t share our brief life on the lamb with Jen and Winter because they seem wrapped in worlds of their own.

The four-lane road narrows to two as we climb into the Coast Range. Tightly packed underbrush and tall trees line the road and obscure the sight of surrounding terrain. This makes it feel like we are an X-wing flying the trench. Occasionally a clear-cut slashes open the view exposing stumps, sickly bushes and naked ridges. Often a lone tree stands on a ridge. The backlighting of the sky obscures the tree's details leaving a human-like silhouette twisted with radiation sickness. I think it was left standing in the middle of the blast zone so it can warn future generations of vile brethren about the evil of congregating in public places. For some reason I don’t think they’ll listen, repeat offenders never do.

None of this matters to Winter as she hangs her head out the window. She’s reading her version of a map and catching a buzz. Her sense of smell approximately 1000 times better than ours so her cues about place come mainly from her nose not her eyes. I can only imagine the individual smells she picks up as we drive along – squirrels making babies, oil dripping from a parked car or, maybe, eggs and fried potatoes wafting from a passing house. Also, these smells are bombarding her at 60 mph, creating sensory hyperactivity and causing her to catch a buzz. I read this in Merle’s Door, which is it great read and has an extensive bibliography for all such claims.

During her olfactory adventures, in a doggy version of a farmer's hanky, Winter occasionally blasts snot out of her nose. Sometimes she gets the back of our neck and shoulders. “Eeeewwwwww. Winter!” is the usual response but we are use to it by now, so our statement is weakened by giddy laughter. I’m not sure if her wagging tail is because she thinks it’s funny she just blew snot on us, we said her name or she can now inhale and smell freely. Probably some combination of the three.

Winter clears her sinuses so incoming smells have an unobstructed path to her olfactory receptors. Because she has never been west of the Rockies she is in new terrain and since the ocean is about 30 miles away I’m sure she smells it. It’s a neuron party in her brain as they absorb new information and spark with new connections. Her eyes look like fireflies when she brings her head in the window and puts it on my shoulder. I am happy she wants to share her world with me.

Three Weeks in Portland

It seems… not quit real yet.

Everyday we consciously navigate our way through unfamiliar terrain. The effort needed to move effectively burns extra calories. For a place to feel like home I guess it takes routine and comfort generated by familiarity. It takes an ability to move through ones surroundings half aware of them.

There also needs to be some type of connection with an area’s theme or feeling. Like the weather, street names, neighbors or friends, the familiar smile of the checkout girl at the supermarket, avoidance of the same pothole everyday as one makes a right hand turn onto a main artery of the city.

Weather is the best way to develop a connection. This connection can be a conversation between two strangers standing in a coffee line or being in tune with the seasonal weather patterns of a place. As an immigrant to a new city I am building, through daily experience, a time-lapse of local weather patterns. It will take at least four seasons. My body’s seasonal clock is used to a colder and dryer mountain climate. All week it’s been 65 degrees and rainy so, despite what the calendar tells me, I can’t quit feel out what season it should be.

Also, the texture of the air is different here. I can’t quit put my finger on why yet. It seems thick, bulky and persistent. Could be the humidity. Could also be the millions of people thinking, breathing and moving as each one navigates their individual mythos.

The texture of life is different here. In any direction we drive constantly through city. For most of my life I’ve lived in places where I could drive ten minutes and be in the country. Fields and fences line the two-lane road as it contours the mountains’ toes, dipping in and out of draws, cricks and drainages. Here, in the city, we drive on a grid made from overlapping rulers, hemmed in by giant vinyl and felt erasers, zipping along at whatever speed the traffic wants.

Last Wednesday we hiked a nature preserve located within Portland. It is an extinct volcano, one of many in this area. At the top we could see for miles and it was great to see beyond the next stoplight. But everywhere there were houses and power lines and streets crawling through the trees and up the sides of other extinct volcanoes.

I think that’s when it really began its seepage; the idea and the understanding that we are in a new area, in the city. It’ll be a slow and steady seepage, but one day, without me even knowing it, I’ll comprehend that this is my home.

Skiing Stairs

Here's a few shots from a recent photo shoot I did with Kate Howe for her sponsors.

To see the whole shoot go here.

Walking Daydream on Table Mountain

Here's a link to an essay I wrote for Outside Bozeman's Blog.

Thanks for checking it out!

Economics, Society and Art

(This post is a reply to a Facebook comment by my friend Marc - about my previous post, "Giving Work Away for Free" (see comments on previous post). Marc is an exceptional artist who is always pushing all of art's boundaries - creation, exhibition, distribution and philosophy.

He also understands that there is a paradigm shift happening in the art world and that discussion is invaluable if we are to understand and adapt to this shift.)


I read somewhere (sorry, I can't remember where, I read a lot!) that many of the people developing opensource software do it to improve other software they are developing for themselves or their company. While not directly, they are getting paid either by their company or by driving people to the products that pay. So, even though they probably enjoy developing software, there is a financial incentive to create opensource.

Artists also enjoy creating (I bet some would say creating software is an art also). Most artists don't do it for the money. We look at the money as a bonus because the gap between time spent on art verses the economic benifit from said art is huge. So, we have second and third jobs to finance our creations.

But, it's called art "work" for a reason - it's work so, according to our economic system, should be paid for.

Society needs art to question and create, to give birth to new ideas through the evolution of old ones. But, society doesn't value art, sees it as frivolous and self indulgent. So is making money within a capitalist system. Why do you make money? To buy a nice car, go out to eat or live in a nice place. Some would argue making money is about survival.

Well, making art is about survival as well. Survival of the soul and the voice for the individual and society. We learn about past societies mostly through their art.

I (along with other writers and photographers) am trying to change the value (none) society has currently placed on art to something that reflects the contribution of art to society. It's easier with photography and writing than other art because these things are used by a capitalist system to communicate within and promote the system. Look around you - writing and photography are everywhere! Adds, newspapers, blogs, menus.... You get the idea. Without writing and photography there is no society, or at least one we cannot imagine.

But, since the digital revolution the business model for writing and photography is in upheaval. We are are trying to develop a new business model within this economic system. I spend too much money on my writing and photography training and equipment to give the products away for free. I have bills to pay, equipment and software to upgrade, more skills to learn and improve and a business to run. (I guess making money is about economic survival)

So until our society changes into a new type of economic system I need to get paid for my work.

Giving Work Away For Free

We’ve all heard the snotty guy comment about art saying, “that’s art!? I could do that.” Same goes for writing. A lot of people think it’s easy to crank out a novel, article, short story or even a haiku.

So, why don’t you? Why don’t you spend the time and creative energy in the evenings after your full time job? No, got something better to do? How about Saturdays or Sundays then?

Why doesn't average Joe write? Because, it’s not easy to write. To be successful a writer has to think about their target audience and the voice of the writing. They draw on the years spent studying their craft in classrooms, reading trade journals, networking, observing trends and geeking-out over a thesaurus.

An article or advertisement for 12-year-old girls from suburbia will be different then one for 45 yr old men in New York telecommunications. When crafting a poem or piece of fiction a writer weaves plot, description and character development.

Neither type of writing is a static affair. If a writer has done a good job the writing rolls and pulses and the reader follows along.

What everybody from pro-athlete to accountant has in common is an innate talent cultivated by hours and hour of practice and study. We are all trying to make a living using our specific skill set. With writing and photography (As a freelance photographer as well I also face the same expectations of giving away my work for free) so prolific in our modern society it’s easy to take the things we see and read for granted, thereby placing a lower value on them.

To all the readers and admirers of art - the next time you read something, whether in a magazine, on the web or on the side of a bus think about the how that message was crafted and how much student debt it took to learn that skill. Think about how much money in equipment and software it took to create that image.

And to my fellow writers and photographers - please, don't give your work away for dirt-cheap. It devalues the education, effort and finances that goes into all work and hurts the rest of us.

It’s the essence of capitalism. You don’t give your skills away for free so neither should the rest of us. Kind of funny how the capitalists want the rest of us to be socialists.