A little madness in the Spring
Is wholesome even for the King,
But God be with the Clown —
Who ponders this tremendous scene —
This whole Experiment of Green —
As if it were his own!
“1333,” Emily Dickinson
Holden napped through dinner so we got to sit down and have a nice, quiet meal. I got a nice wine buzz, and the food was amazing as usual, since my man can cook like you wouldn’t believe. We had turkey that had been brined, stuffing, sweet potato casserole, green beans, macaroni, cranberry sauce, garlic potatoes. Mmm. I’m lucky. I’m grateful.
That seems like an insane thing when it seems like he was JUST THISBIG. Like so (2007):
He’s about to be a man now, about to bust into the adult world. Guh.
I got to shoot his senior pictures over the weekend. He wanted to have them done on the farm rather than on the grounds of the Pickwick Inn or wherever the standard Hardin County senior shots are done. We crammed the whole shoot into the magic hour and I had to call his brother a jackass to get him to smile showing his teeth so obviously it was fun.
He looks just like his dad but then you zoom in close to do some editing and suddenly you see my sister in all his facial features. It’s wild.
He’s a good kid and he’s got a lot of growing up to do but don’t we all?
My brother and his fiancée are so funny and cute together. They had me shoot some photos of them while I was in town last month. I have finally gotten around to uploading them! Here are some favorites.
I just got word that my nephew has been born! Welcome to our crazy family, Levi Brantley Turner. Can’t wait to meet you!
Saturday morning at 6, I will rise out of bed like a very large, potentially grumpy phoenix and make my way to Cooper-Young to set up my booth for Cooper-Young Festival. I’ll be in C7, which is over by Cafe Ole on Cooper.
I’ll be selling the same sorts of things that are available in my Etsy shop: photo prints (framed and unframed), quirky art prints, crafty things, note cards, recipe cards, posters, magnets, and opportunities to sign up for custom work. I’ve never sold any of my stuff in person before, nor have I ever manned a craft-fair booth, so this should be all sorts of learning experiences rolled into one. I honestly have no idea what to expect, so I am going to keep the bar nice and low and not expect too much. Just some networking and socializing and people-watching, and hoping people like my stuff at least enough to stop by and take a card. I keep reading online that people don’t buy photos at craft fairs. Uh, or at all, really. But I figure I have to put myself out there and at least try. Nothing ventured, nothing gained and all that.
Later this week once I get everything organized, I’ll post a preview of what will be for sale. There will be several things not available in the Etsy shop.
So if you’ll be at C-Y Fest, come say hello!
Saturday was an adventure. I took the day off work so I could go photograph some living history events at the Cherry Mansion that my dad’s pals were going to be a part of. I was told to be there at 11 a.m., when photographers would be allowed inside the Cherry Mansion to take pictures with the re-enactors. I hauled ass and got there thirty minutes early, met up with my dad and brother and nephews, and began surveying the surroundings to try and get a good idea of what I’d shoot and where.
I was introduced to several people whose names I don’t remember. Everyone was nice for the most part, and I milled about, snapping pictures here and there of my dad and the group of people I was there to photograph. Then a lady who was a coordinator of sorts apparently mistook me for her personal photographer, and began art directing me and telling me who to photograph, and where, and from what angle. I went from confused to annoyed in a hurry. I’m not sure if she thought she was going to have access to the photos she was telling me to take or what. I was told that her photographer had flaked out, so suddenly it made sense why she would be encouraging me so boldly to take certain shots. I obliged mostly because I am non-confrontational like that, and for a while it was easy to take the shots I wanted to take while placating her with some shots she clearly wanted me to take. But eventually it got to the point where I couldn’t even break away to get a cup of lemonade without her calling after me, wondering where I was and could I come over here and take this shot and this shot and get over there and take it from that angle, too. (By then I had been there for three or four hours out in the hot sun with no food or water, and yes, I know that the crazy re-enactors were doing the same while wearing wool coats, but they are crazy like that and I am not.) I eventually had to just walk away and go about my business. I was being bogarted for big grip-n-grin shots while my dad and his fellas were standing by, and the whole reason I was there was to shoot his people. It was dumb. Plus I had an assignment over in Shiloh for The CA to get to.
Oh, one really funny thing happened. I was shooting a group photo of the Dixie Belles — you know, the ladies who dress up in hoop skirts — and some other photographer sauntered onto the scene with his camera and tripod. First thing he did was wander over to me and ask me, “What are you using?” I thought he meant a lens so I just held mine up because, you know, there it was. But he was talking about my settings, and leaned in and looked at my screen — WHILE I WAS WORKING — and read the shutter speed and aperture aloud. I was actually shooting on program mode (toggling between it and aperture mode because that is often my jank-ass way of getting my bearings in new settings) but he mistook it for auto (probably because I self-deprecatingly said something about shooting on auto, nyuk nyuk). And then when I was changing angles for another shot, he said, “Do you know how to use your manual mode?”
My patience was already growing then by that point. So I spat, "I'M SORRY, WHO ARE YOU?!" At which point he told me his name and then promptly shut the fuck up. I will not tell you his name or link to his portfolio because I am trying to make a renewed push to be a nice person these days. But let me get one dig in and say that, based on his portfolio, he had no business whatsoever readying himself to offer "helpful" suggestions to me, regardless of what settings I was shooting on. So, photographers of the world, when I want your help and condescending input, I will certainly let you know. Until then, put a sock in it and keep shooting your mediocre, soulless photographs. And I will do the same.
After a trip across the river to watch my dad and nephews shoot a cannon (photos to come eventually, after I edit all 600 of them), I grabbed a soda and some trail mix and headed to Shiloh with my sister in tow. After three inadvertent trips down the same one-way scenic route, we finally found the living history campgrounds, which were largely deserted, save for the fellas pictured above, and some other folks. I took some shots, scribbled down names and info, flicked a tick off of Krissie's hand, had a brief freakout thinking ticks were in my hair, and headed back to the car. My head was starting to hurt and my skin was starting to sizzle. I had to call it a day. That night it felt like my skull was trying to leap out of my skin. Chalk it up to being nannied for hours and hours in the sun without a break by people who were not my boss. I've really got to get over this mousey non-confrontational personality stuff so that I can better help people understand when they best be backing off.
I have a Tumblr. I’ve had it for a long time, but never done anything with it since I’ve got the blog and the Twitter and the Flickr and the dear god all that other crap.
I finally figured out what to use it for.
You know, if you are into that sort of thing.