“20 Seconds of Insane Courage” - A SXSW Story

Anne and I went and saw We Bought a Zoo last night. Now, it was mostly (really) campy, but it was definitely punctuated with moments of absolute brilliance. My favorite stories have always been the ones in which a normal guy, going about his normal life, realizes that doing something big is really just a series of small choices. One of the central themes is the idea that all it takes to really do something brave, something worthwhile, is “20 seconds of insane courage.” It’s a beautiful articulation of an easily overlooked truth. The gap between courage and fear just isn’t that wide. And if there is one thing that you need to make anything of substance, no matter how small, it’s courage. 

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This past year, during SXSW, some friends and I spent the week there creating media under the moniker, Strata Press. It was a portrait project created by Eric Anderson, Cody Bess, Andrew Shepherd and myself. We secured studio space right off of 6th Street, in the heart of the craziness, and spent the week having a steady stream of bands in for portraits and interviews. It was a beautiful week of 14 hour days spent creating with friends. Now this was March, and I was fresh off of the Beyond the Still shoot, the premiere at Sundance, and a generally becoming convinced about this new direction; filmmaking. Yet, here I was, in the middle of a huge portrait project that was planting me firmly back in the world of photography. I hadn’t yet decided how photography was going to figure into my future work, if at all. I watched Eric and Andrew and Cody really shine. These guys are unnaturally talented image makers and it was both inspiring and intimidating to all be creating alongside each other. Healthy competition is definitely a huge part of getting better, but nearly every day, late at night, as we were collectively surveying the images from the day, I couldn’t help but feel like I just wasn’t really adding anything. It wasn’t that I was shooting terribly, it’s just that I couldn’t find that “thing” that was mine, that was my way of seeing what SXSW was. It felt like with very polaroid Eric pulled, every time Andrew breezed back in the studio from an alleyway portrait, every time Cody effortlessly re-invented the look of the cramped studio we were in, this pressure crept a little higher up the back of my neck.

Often, the first step in the process of creating your own particular style, your own way of seeing, is recognizing what isn’t you. It can be confusing because images you respond to, images you wish you’d have made, can all be things that wouldn’t ever be your style. Getting better at creative work is almost entirely about making better choices and discarding options to winnow down seemingly infinite possibilities into a single shape, image, mood. It takes maturity. It takes experience. It takes, in a sense, courage. Too bad these things are so damn elusive.

It was the last day, late in the afternoon, and that pressure had settled like a weight around my neck. I was staring out the back window of the alley and saw a couple drunkenly, hysterically making out. A little further down a waiter tap danced through ankle-high piles of broken bottles. And further still, a band was unloading brightly colored guitar cases that shimmered in the fading, golden sun. Suddenly, if a bit surpirsingly, it hit me. If I have a skill when it comes to photography, if I have a way of seeing, it isn’t in a studio. It isn’t in a set-up situation. It isn’t in a portrait transaction. It’s out on the street, when life streams by and all you can do is wade in to see what you might find.

So I borrowed Eric’s 24mm lens and slid down the back stairs without really thinking. I paused at the door that opened onto the intersection of 6th and Trinity, suddenly feeling terrified. I hadn’t shot anything on the street in months and months. It is, if anything, a skill you have to maintain. But maybe that doesn’t matter right now. I just needed 20 seconds of courage, as Cameron Crowe would have put it, to get out the door. I was going to be fearless and it wouldn’t matter who I pissed off, wouldn’t matter how uncomfortable I might feel…I was going to shoot the SXSW that I saw through my lens in that moment. Deep breath, and out the door I went.

Are the images unbelievable? No, of course not. But, again, that isn’t the point. The amazing thing was that as I was shooting, the weight slowly began lifting. It became apparent that that weight wasn’t anything but fear. Fear that I wasn’t a good photographer, that I’d been revealed a fraud by my friend’s talent, that I didn’t have anything to say, that I wouldn’t have anything to show for my time there. I was letting fear keep me from making something honest…

But there, in the fading afternoon sun, in the middle of the busiest intersections of one of the busiest music festivals in the country, with people swarming all around me, I suddenly felt a calm. This was right where I needed to be. And off I went, into the crowd, camera in hand…

“Don’t quit your day job…”

It seems that some of the most consistent advice I received when starting down this professional path was often twofold:

/////KEEP A LOW OVERHEAD////// 

In other words, you just don’t know how far above or below your baseline you’ll end up when you work for yourself, especially in a creative field. There is an ebb and flow to income, to success, to the work itself. You just have to do your part to minimize the impact the swings make on you, your family, and your ability to keep doing this work. It’s easier to do when you’re 22. Low overhead tends to be the standard, even among those heading down a more stable path. It’s a little harder when you’re 30 and all of your friends begin to make six figures working for oil and gas companies. Houses and cars and nice stuff ad nauseum can make you think that surely you should own more crap. 

//////DON’T QUIT YOUR DAY JOB//////

The need for making an income is just a damn reality. If I could work autonomously making the things that I love, that have value, that are inspiring AND could magically make a living for me and my family, you know I would. In fact, I don’t have overarching career goals beyond that very thing. I want the divide between getting paid and making things that are worthwhile to close completely. But the reality is that it just isn’t always the case. It’s a confluence of factors. The largest of which is time. You don’t close that divide between substance and income without some blood, sweat, and tears. I’m talking years of it. So for now, we all have clients. We all have goals to meet that someone else set for us. I know we don’t like to talk about it, because we feel like if we have a “day job” then we haven’t really arrived or something. But it’s something I wish people talked about more often, because it’s a productive discussion to talk about how a day job could help narrow that gap. How a day job could help you log Gladwell’s 10,000 hours, could help keep you in the game, could help you accomplish what you’re setting out to accomplish. For some of you that literally will mean a day job. Insurance salesman type day job. So be it. For some of you that means shooting weddings. Some of you might work 20 hours a week at a coffee shop for health insurance. I don’t really care what it is, cause I’ll tell you what. I’m inspired by the people who have to go out there and make it happen, rather than the guy who lets his wife work a “real job” so he can fart around on the internet in a coffee shop all day. Or the guy who’s parents won’t cut him off and keep financing his “hobby.” Nah, if you’re working, and I don’t care where, I’m your biggest fan.

My SerialBox crew and I have been shooting for MTV recently and I can’t tell you how many times we’ve ended up chatting with other crew guys or people we meet in LA who ask us “why do you live in Houston?” And I always start with the question: what did you guys do this week? Most of the time the answer is “well, I did one freelance PA gig and then I updated my reel, and…” My answer? I had 5 shoots, edited three 3-5 min docs, shot w/ 4 different camera types, and had to gaff a really tricky scene for a larger project. And, I got paid to do it. Week in and week out. Why do I live here? Because I’m working all the time. And I know that it doesn’t sound cool to live here, but in the end, I know, but know, that experience is going to be a huge factor in quickly reaching the goals that I have. Maybe New York or LA is in the future for me, but right now, because I’m relatively new to filmmaking, working is the priority. 

For me? I’m still self-employed, but I produce a ton of content for large churches and non-profits. The churches in Houston have huge production budgets, great gear, and are often supportive of trying some new things. In short, it’s a day job environment that lets me shoot with a variety of equipment, telling a variety of stories, for a variety of mediums. Broadcast, web, live, RED, Alexa, F3, grip trucks, narrative, documentary, promotional, commercials. Beyond that, some of the most talented guys I know are working for them in some capacity for these very reasons. 

So, for me, while I fully explore this filmmaking path, that’s the decision I’ve made. I’ve found a “day job” of sorts, for now, that allows me to practice, to develop consistency, efficiency, a repertoire of problem solving experience, and yet allows enough flexibility to take on those projects that narrow the gap.  

Now, I’m in the process of a full rebrand…new site, new cards, new reel. It’s always been tough for me to think about cutting a reel because I’ve felt conflicted over how much footage to show from my “day job.” The question has been, if I show things I got paid to do for clients, am I really showing the kind of work I WANT to get paid to do, or just the stuff that I’ve already been paid to do. It can be subtle, but there is a big difference. But the more I’ve thought about it, the more I’ve realized that the biggest hurdle for me is not finding the footage that really clearly shows who I am as a filmmaker, it’s being ok with the fact that I have a day job, even if it is just a particular kind of client work. But I shouldn’t be hesitant to say any of that. 

And you shouldn’t either.

So, I’ll make you a promise. From now on, I’ll post some work that previously, I may not have. It isn’t that I am not proud of it, it’s just that social media can become about projecting the idea of yourself that you’d like to be, not the you that currently exists. 

So, in that spirit, here are a few screen grabs of one of 18 videos I made during December with my good friend and SerialBox cohort, Daniel Karr. It was a promotional piece detailing the process of restoring a 60 year old bike from a hunk of abandoned metal, to fully restored, multi-thousand dollar bicycle. It played on Christmas Eve, at a church here in Houston, on an 80x25ft screen to just over 35,000 people. No pressure.

Now, let’s all get to work, the new year is upon us.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                

New York via X100

About six months ago, I picked up a Fuji x100. I’d had my eye on it since it was announced, even selling a camera to get ready for when it came out. In my transition from photography to directing, I’ve come to realize that when I was ever good at photographing, it was on the street. It was in the wandering, in the back alleys, in the interactions with strangers. It was (and is) the best suited genre for the way that I see things. I’m not a compositor, I’m not a strobe guy. I’m not a set builder. It just took me a few years to figure it out.

About a year ago, I picked up my first rangefinder, a Bessa R2, and have since burned through more rolls of TRI-x than I care to admit. It’s not for anyone else. I don’t shoot that camera for paid work and I rarely show the images to anyone. That isn’t the point, really. Last December, I was able to shoot with an M9 and I can honestly say that it was the most satisfying photographic experience to date. Of course, it didn’t hurt that I was shooting on the set of a big budget commercial that I’d help write. That wasn’t really it though. A rangefinder helps me disappear in a way that I don’t normally feel capable of. For lack of a non-cliched phrase, it let’s me really “see.”

Well, a few weeks ago, Anne, Ellen, and I spent a week in New York. I had a few meetings scheduled, but largely we just spent time the three of us, wandering through the city. It was an amazing thing to see Ellen taking everything in. She’s intensely curious and I found myself frequently following her gaze to see what it was that she was so intently looking at. It was a beautiful few days.

I carried my x100 with me, shooting as we went. Then, late at night, I’d slip out and cruise the streets making photographs of anything that I could find… 

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 A few images:

I was out and about on the Friday before Halloween. It was the beginning of Halloween craziness in the city. Costumes and characters filling every nook and cranny. I decided that I’d shoot my x100 like a film camera. Never checking the back of the camera, dialing exposure from the viewfinder meter and my best guesses. I also decided that I would follow the “hand on the shoulder rule” (if you’re hand isn’t able to touch the shoulder of your subject, you’re too far away). Let me tell you, I was fearless. Hands on the shoulder, right up in people’s faces, camera ready. I was alert and gliding around the city.

I photographed for about three hours before I decided to head in, following a walk all the way across the island. I resisted the urge to look at the photographs I’d made until I got back to the apartment. I was absolutely stunned to realize that, after only four or five photographs, my memory card reached capacity. I’d forgotten to change cards before heading out and I’d shot all night on a completely full card. (Another x100 quirk - the “writing data” flashing lights still go off, even if it’s full). I lost everything, or rather, I never actually captured anything. I just stared at the camera in disbelief. But somehow, while sitting there at 3am, a full night of shoooting lost, I realized, in so many ways, the images are secondary. This kind of photography, the kind of photography that I truly love, is as much about the roads your feet walk you down, as much about the people you meet, as much about the moments you witness than it is about the final images…

Occupy Wall Street 

I went down to Battery Park one night to meet up with some friends. I made it down the 1 to the park, but it seems the plan had changed while I was in transit. So suddenly I found myself with some time to kill and my X100 in hand. I walked a few blocks up to Zuccotti park to check out the OWS crowd. Like I’ve said before, I’m a crowd kind of guy. If there is a crowd of people gathered for some specific reason, I’m like a moth to the flame. I’m always curious.

It was surprisingly easy to get around and generally speaking, people didn’t mind me pointing the camera at them. I shot for about 30 minutes before I attracted enough attention that several people started trailing me around. When I took the photograph of the guy in the Guy Faulkes mask below, I felt a hand on my shoulder followed by a gruff, “why are you taking pictures.” 

That was my cue. I turned and walked away.

A few images:

Interesting that only a few days later the police raided the park in the middle of the night and broke down the camp. It looked (and smelled) like they were going to be there for a long time to come…

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You know, it’s been a really interesting year for me. I’ve cut out nearly all the photography from my core business. Sure, I still get paid to take photos occasionally, but it’s rare. (Interestingly, I don’t engineer records anymore, either). It’s been a year of focusing. That isn’t to say that I don’t still love photography. I’ve just begun to finally put it in the proper context. I’m not a photographer. And I’m fine with it. However, for now, I’ve found that this little silver, finicky camera is a perfect way for me to scratch an itch that won’t likely ever go away. Photographing the streets I find myself on.