garrison beau scott

I think this was sometime in 1998. I was assisting on a fashion shoot for a very talented photographer, and very cool guy, Philip Newton. We were in Napa and it really wasn’t work, if only because the people were so amazing to work with, from the models, AD’s, moho driver, and of course Philip himself. Lugging sandbags and c-stands up and down grape-vine covered hills is never toilsome when the people you’re doing it with, and for, are genuinely wonderful.

And did I mention we were doing it in Napa? We were able to secure some amazing locations, and some of the more enjoyable moments were spent walking these incredible properties looking for the setting for the next shot. It was on one of these walks that I noticed this scene and asked to borrow the Polaroid so I could take a snap of this tree.

So today is World Toy Camera Day. Is there a parade, and why exactly did they choose to throw this party on a Saturday when we already have the day off? Note to organizers, do it on a Monday. What better way to celebrate taking pictures with toy cameras then by getting out of work on a Monday? None, I tell you.

Not that I should complain, after all, I celebrated World Toy Camera Day yesterday. I know what you’re thinking, it’s like those kids down the street who always opened all their presents on Christmas Eve. What’s with that you say? Well as it so happens, everyday is World Toy Camera Day is this here life of mine. Except today, today is World USC vs. Notre Dame Day.

But yesterday was quality time with the Holga, tripping around a foggy, rainy Central Massachusetts to parts previously unknown, I’ll post once the film is souped. And to all of you purists out there, celebrating this day as it’s meant to be, I eagerly look forward to the efforts. You know who you are, but to you dear reader, here’s a few links…~from here to infinity~, gotreadgo, and don’t forget t e r r o r k i t t e n.

On my way to the first Thursday gallery openings in San Francisco a few years back. I had the Voigtlander with me and came across this old beat up Victorian about mid-Market Street. I think it was the plastic in the windows that first caught my attention, but then I quickly noticed the birds hanging out along the edges. I looked through the ground glass at my composition and though I liked what I saw, there was something missing.

I knew that if I waited long enough, one of those damn birds would take flight. I just didn’t realize how long it would take. So I framed the shot, resigned to the fact I would have to live with the power line. At the time, I avoided power lines like sunsets and kittens. Don’t get me wrong, I like pictures of sunsets and kittens, even kittens at sunset, especially in a field of flowers, and throw in a kid eating an ice cream cone and my cup runneth over, but I leave the taking of those shots to the ones who do it better.

Anyways, as I was saying, I made it a practice to avoid at all costs power lines, but for this shot I had no choice. At the time, I thought I could just re-touch the negative and made up my mind not to think about it any more. Besides, I had enough on my plate, standing there on Market Street, holding a twin lens Voigtlander out at arms-length, chest high, and fielding questions from an inordinate amount of people wondering what the hell it was I was doing, all this without taking my eye of those birds and wishing just one of them would decide to see if anything was happening somewhere else.

If I remember correctly, I had to change my exposure a few times, and about the time I began to wonder if the birds on the ledge were actually rats with a suicide pact waiting for the first one to jump, it happened.

When I got it home and printed it for the first time, I realized that the wire needed to remain in the shot for balance. And I thanked the gods of Bresson for his lessons.

About ten years ago, I began the process of organizing my father’s photography archive. He shot a ton of Kodachrome, and I spent more time looking at the slides than doing any actual organizing. Not having a slide projector, I would empty each of the yellow boxes onto my light box and just get lost in the memories.

It occurred to me one day that there might be a way to re-interpret some of my favorite images. So I grabbed my macro and started to re-photograph the slides that I had selected. The almost nonexistent depth of field blurred everything but the faces and the smiles away.

One of the images I found came from a box marked, “Disneyland,” and sure enough, there’s a shot of me and my grandfather in lock-down, target mode.

Growing up in Southern California, complete with grandparents that redefined the concept of doting, well, we went to Disneyland. A lot. My grandfather and I had a favorite ride, Autotopia, where you would get into a car and drive along a course that wove through Tomorrowland. He’d always let me drive, even when I couldn’t see over the steering wheel, and would laugh with delight whenever I crashed into the car ahead of us, or were crashed into from behind.

It really wasn’t driving, as the cars were on a track and the only real control you had over the car was stopping and starting. If one was so inclined, they could take their hands completely off the steering wheel and just step on the accelerator and make it through just fine.

And I’m wondering now, thirty and change years later, and my shotgun grandpa no longer with us, what if we just take our hands off the steering wheel? Would it be just as fun to bump along on the track, crashing into and being crashed into the cars that are on the track with us? Or is that why we pay admission to theme parks, because life isn’t like that? Though sometimes it feels like it.

When it does, I try to remember my grandfather’s sage advice when it came to those cars in our way, “Ram ‘em!”