garrison beau scott

I like to consider myself a fairly spiritual person, higher power and everything. That’s all you’ll get out of me on the subject, as I believe it’s a personal trip. And make no mistake, there is a huge difference between spirituality and religion. They’re not mutually inclusive or exclusive, I guess it depends on what side of the cosmic fence you’re on.

And while I won’t talk to you about the specifics of my spirituality, I will talk to you about my religion, for you see, music is my religion and that dear friends, is not something we should keep to ourselves.

I’ve always been into music, despite the severe handicap of having no older siblings to turn me onto their records and a father who thought Ray Conniff and Johnny Mathis were the shit. Which will have to explain why I still harbor a deep love for Neil Diamond and the Moody Blues, considerably the hippest albums in his collection.

Despite those limitations, I was able to make a few discoveries early enough in my life to turn the tide of Pat Boone and similar cardigan toting crooners and lead me down a much more righteous path. The first vinyl I bought with my paper route allowance was The Specials, “The Specials.” And that was a compromise with my mom who wouldn’t let anything labeled, “The Sex Pistols,” into our home. And you can flat out forget the Circle Jerks.

Since that first purchase; I’ve gone to, and done, some crazy, ill-advised, desperate and devoted things to see, hear, and experience the music I loved. All of which I’d do again in a heartbeat. These alters that I’ve worshipped at spread from Tijuana, to Maine. 100,000 seat stadiums with flying pigs and 100 person capacity bars with flying hair, flying beer, and flying people.

I’ve stood on stage with Kurt Cobain, watched Carlos Santana bow down in reverence to Stevie Ray Vaughn, and earned battle scars in a Ministry mosh-pit. The people closest to me are the ones whose own musical threads and passions weave brightly through my life’s tapestry. Their colors shine so much brighter and radiate a passion that seems to make most everything else dull and listless by comparison. Black Sabbath to Bob Marley.

And then there’s the Grateful Dead. If music is my religion, the Dead are the Sermon on the Mount, the Holy Trinty, the Ten Commandments, the Old and the New Testament. Not to mention the burning bush. So much went into my experiences with the Dead, that it’s impossible to say why exactly I feel this way. The music, obviously, is the starting point as that’s the thing that brings everything else into the frame.

Sometimes it hurts, just a little, knowing I’ll never see them again, or be able to share that experience with my children in a first hand sort of way. But I’ll always have this to remind me of one little part of why the Dead, music, and the people who feel the same way I do about it all play such a critical role in my life.

Amen.

*Taken following a Sunday Afternoon show in the parking/camping lots behind the venue. Autzen Stadium, Eugene, Or. 06.19.1994

First Set
Touch of Grey
Walking Blues
Brown-Eyed Women
El Paso
Shoe Fits
Bird Song

Second Set
Scarlet > Fire
Samson & Delilah
Way to Go
Playin’ in the Band>
Uncle John’s Band>
Drums>
The Other One>
Wharf Rat>
Good Lovin’

E: Heaven’s Door

There are things in this life that are inherently good. The last bite of s’more, refrigerator art galleries, cold pillows and heavy blankets, Krazy Fiesta’s remix of Chromeo’s “Me and My Man.”

That shit is dope.

Anyway, so it was that I went off into the 30 degree night, iPod pumping, camera and tri-pod in tow to look for some more inherently cool goodness. And this is what I found.

• Walking alone without a care as to how goofy you look grooving to Krazy Fiesta is inherently good.

• Hand-made wool skullcaps that are big enough to fit over the headphones pumping Krazy Fiesta are inherently good.

• The sight of your breath shrouding the darkened windows of the houses you goofily funk your way past while geeking out to Krazy Fiesta is inherently good.

• Standing alone, in the middle of a frozen field, looking at a massive tree, under a sky of stars, with a camera, tri-pod and Krazy Fiesta pumping in the headphones worn snug under a hand-made wool skullcap as your breath joins the atmosphere, knowing that your pillow at home is cool and the blankets are heavy is inherently good.

This was taken down by the Vltava, right outside of Prague’s city center, on the way to Vysehrad. I didn’t actually see them in use, but I’m assuming that the rings serve to tie up boats, and the ladders serve to allow captains of said boats quicker access to the bars. But again, that’s all an assumption.

But it prompted me to think about things. Life things, and the dichotomy of said life. Something I mentioned a few days back, about the pure bliss of a simple existence, has been brewing in me, and as it happens, my wife. The traveling bug has hit us again and this time very hard. If only because at this point we are helpless to do anything about it. But the bug don’t care about any of that, it just knows the quickest way to your blood and sets its teeth into your flesh while it waves your passport in front of your watering eyes. Boats adrift.

The yang to this yin then, is the tie down. The security of knowing that despite the currents, the winds and any other external forces that might bear down on your vessel, there is a strength that you are tied to, steadfast and true.

When you have children; heath insurance, heating oil, a stocked fridge, all weather tires with a healthy tread, and magical monster dust, are the tie downs you require before you lay your own damn head down at night. There is no drifting when babies are snoring contentedly in rooms down the hall.

I would, at a moment’s notice, give everything for those 2 babies of mine. There’s an amazing line in what I feel is an amazing song by MGMT, “Time to Pretend.”

“This is our decision to live fast and die young
We’ve got the vision, now let’s have some fun
Yeah, it’s overwhelming but what else can we do
Get jobs in offices and wake up for the morning commute?”

Other than the dying young part, I’m on board. We’re going to need a bigger boat.

It was a crisp, cold morning. Waking up in the hotel room, for the first time on that trip, it felt like winter. We had been lucky with the weather in Prague and Budapest, and other than a rainy day in Vienna, all told we had been blessed with a mild November in Europe. Our first morning in Cesky Krumlov brought a light dusting of snow, and a great breakfast. Again, it felt like we had the place to ourselves.

The morning was simple for the sole reason that all we had to do was exist. Life should be more like that, all the time in fact. Wake up, lounge in bed, eat a great meal, dress appropriately, make sure the cameras have film, and choose a direction. Explore, love, laugh, find a pastry shop and eat whatever your heart directs your finger to point at in case you don’t speak Czech. As long as you learn Prosim (please) and Dekuji (thank you) things will go fine, just remember to order coffee with those pastries.

Belly full, new friends made, promises to never forget and off to make more pictures. Simple. The way it should be.

Anne over at Ample Sanity is a pretty cool soul. Besides being a friend of this site, she’s also got a perspective on things that you don’t find everyday. And did I mention her impeccable taste?

When I started this blog, I had no idea who would come. I have been very lucky to form some friendships with other photographers, and through mutual appreciation of work, I’ve been given the chance to see some great imagery and share some of mine.

I am in no way qualifying the contributions of others, as I deeply appreciate everyone’s kind thoughts when they are so moved to speak about my pictures. I’m just pointing out that it has been Anne’s words that have taught me the most about my own photography.

And what I mean by that, is I had thought the series of pictures I made at Bowdoin College, while pretty cool if I don’t say so myself, were just images of some goal posts on an athletic field, it was Anne who opened my mind to the possibility that they were much more.

A friend of mine in college wanted frogs in her backyard. She built a pond. I asked her how she knew frogs would come. She told me they always do, just build a pond. Sure enough, a few months later, she had frogs. Much in the same way the 1919 Chicago White Sox materialized out of an Iowa cornfield.

So, it’s come to this. I have a goal. I am building it. The voices in my head have yet to make their presence known, but I have a feeling they’re just biding their time, and I want to avoid them at all costs. Unless they sound like Jerry Garcia and play a mean Dire Wolf.

My goal, is to write and direct for film.