Photographer unknown/Courtesy Neil LaBute

I just read Neil LaBute’s play The Distance from Here. His work always knocks me on my ass or leaves me staggering, whispering “oh my god” over and over to myself. The Distance from Here was no different.

I won’t go into the action of the play since I wouldn’t want to spoil it for you. I also believe that LaBute’s work, this play in particular, is not for everyone. I know for a fact that my wife wouldn’t like it at all. So forgive my being so vague about the story itself.

This quote from the back of the Tusk/Overlook paperback edition piqued my interest when I was browsing the shelves at the library:

No American playwright has written more compellingly about the subtle ways in which people inflict pain on each other than Neil LaBute.

I’m fascinated by the stories LaBute creates. I can’t look away for the sheer audacity I see or read before me.

LaBute writes about the idea for The Distance from Here in the book’s preface.

When I was in high school in Washington State, there was a myth that ran through our hallways; our own little urban myth, in fact, about a boy and a girl who had dated since junior high.

That story stayed with me for a long time, right up until I wove it into the dramatic fiber of this play. I hope it has finally left me now, a part of this world and no longer a frightening image from my teen years. I think that is often why writers write and painters paint and musicians play their instruments. It’s not just because they have a gift, but also to create something slightly more beautiful or coherent or illuminating than the frenzied, scrambled memories of their own pasts.

Our lives up to this point are made up of stories and experiences and influences we carry with us whether we like them or not. I don’t think LaBute will ever shake the story from his high school days. We may not or try not to think about them anymore, but we don’t shake them.

However, I’m intrigued by the idea of looking to those stories and experiences and influences, no matter how extraordinary or awful they may be, for inspiration or a source to create new work.

America I’ve given you all and now I’m nothing.
America two dollars and twentyseven cents January 17, 1956.
I can’t stand my own mind.

These are the opening lines from Allen Ginsberg’s poem “America” written in 1956. I’ve read this poem hundreds of times and I love it. I couldn’t help but think of myself as I read it again recently.

You see, I’m a self-employed artist — a photographer, to be exact — with a fledgling business, a mortgage, a wife, and two young children. I’m constantly hustlin’ for new work and think way too much about every single one of these things. And, oh yeah, it’s the holiday season so add credit card debt and those dreaded Christmas songs to the list.

Boo-fuckin’-hoo, right? This sounds like most people in the U.S. Let me be clear, though: I’m not bringing this up for your sympathy or as a way to hustle up some work. I don’t need the former and have more definitive ways to get the latter.

Back to the poem and where I relate.

Thanks to inflation and fifty years I have a little more than “two dollars and twentyseven cents.” Yet I can’t stand my own mind because some nights I lie in bed and can’t get it to stop running the numbers, or the lack thereof, can’t get it to stop thinking of the future, the past, responsibilities, opportunities. I keep trying to slow it down, make it stop for the day, make it rest. But it rages on and eventually I get up, looking for something to do or stare at to keep it from being so damn pragmatic.

Yet this mind is also the one that gives me great ideas to develop and photograph, comes up with ideas to help wrangle up work, fills my head with good thoughts of my wife and kids, and offers up glimpses of life with a little less of a struggle.

It’s funny because as I think about it, my mind races like “America” does. So many questions, observations, resignations, declarations, insults, confessions, tangents, and, ultimately, resolve, and perseverance. Ginsberg ends the poem with the line

America I’m putting my queer shoulder to the wheel.

While my shoulder is queer in different ways than Ginsberg’s was, those words bring me back to the realization that this is what I do, it’s what I do well, and I’m damn well going to make it work. I”m reminded of a blog post from photographer Thomas Broening where he relates some good news and bad news about it all.

The bad news is that I am qualified to do nothing else. I have no skills outside of photography . I couldn’t even work at Starbucks. When I worked at the country club I was known as the surly bartender.

The good news is that I am qualified to do nothing else. I will have to ride this all the way down or learn to adapt. I have no other choice.

I may be qualified to do one or two other things, but the point is I don’t want to do anything else. I have to and want to make this work. That’s pretty damn clear. So each morning I get up (because I eventually do fall asleep, even if just for three hours or so) and put my shoulder to the wheel. It’s exhilarating and exhausting and I can’t think of anything else I’d rather do.

I’ve been traveling a bunch this week and aside from the long hours spent driving it’s been filled with good times, great people, beautiful places, and really good photographs. I’m very happy with the work I’ve been making. Especially the photos for a new magazine client whom I’ve just clicked with from the get-go.

The driving hasn’t been bad, though. In an effort to make the time in the car productive and more visually stimulating I turned off of I-26 in South Carolina and headed west on Highway 11, also known as the Cherokee Foothills National Scenic Highway. Here are a couple of images from along the way.

Photos © Armando Bellmas

© Armando Bellmas

This is John. He works in IT for one of the big banks here in Charlotte.

I wanted to do something different with his portrait, somehow combine the conservative banker wardrobe that is so common here with an offbeat location or pose. I was dealing with quickly disappearing daylight and a lack of the right location. Then I asked myself, “What would Chris Buck do?” I thought about it for a few seconds, got myself together, and pressed on.

John and I walked for a few more minutes, looking for the right spot for him to stand in. We crossed a parking lot and came upon this brick house (which is a business and not a home). I asked John to stand over there and close his eyes. Sized him up, framed the shot. Got it.

I’ve been thinking a bunch lately about style. Specifically, making photographs that I want to make instead of the photographs that I need to make to land editorial, corporate, and advertising clients.

Since Chris Buck had been on my mind I went to his website to get inspired. (Buck is one of my favorite photographers.) As if put there to make me think more about style, I came across this photo Chris made of entertainer Andy Dick.

© Chris Buck

In the accompanying story about the photograph Chris talks briefly about his curiosities and instincts as a photographer and how photographing Dick helped nurture them. He writes:

A lot of what [Andy Dick] was playing with [during the photo shoot] was of particular interest to me though we played things out in different ways. The instinct to express our curiosities and openness, combined with a taste for extremes, created an instant bond between us.

It was very exciting to have ideas that were relatively extreme and yet have a subject embrace them. Most people in the public eye work so hard to hide those vulnerabilities and those fantasies, whereas Andy really was excited to put that part of himself forward.

It’s so reassuring to read that. I feel kind of weird when I ask a subject to do something that breaks down the fantasy, exposes a vulnerability, or is seen as “relatively extreme.” For instance, putting an IT guy for the bank up against a brick house with his eyes closed. There’s nothing bankerish about that yet it felt like the thing to do.

There are dozens of photographers in Charlotte — hell, anywhere — that can make a banker look like a powerful person. It’s been done to death and it’s an archetype that will continue to be beaten into the ground. I want to be the photographer that does it differently, that explores the curiosities and extremes, and is ultimately hired because of it. Much like Chris is.

Yeah, it may not be what the market wants or demands. Hell, I’ll shoot it straight if the art direction calls for it. I do have two young children to think of. I also don’t want to imitate Chris Buck or anyone else for that matter.

My intention is to develop my own style (which, admittedly, I’m still working on), build up the confidence to shoot my vision consistently, and get hired because of it and my ability to make the photograph the client wants.

I will get there. I’m sure of it.

I’m always making photographs, especially when there are no assignments or commercial projects to shoot. Those times between gigs are a good time to grab a model or a friend, hit the streets, get creative, and try out new ideas. I may make some amazing images. I may fail miserably and make nothing but crap. But what would I be if I didn’t even try?

A couple of weeks ago I asked Lauren, a model I just met, to meet me out on Elizabeth Avenue. We spent the better part of the afternoon walking around and being completely free-form with locations, poses, and ideas.

© Armando Bellmas

© Armando Bellmas

After a while I started to get really loose with the ideas. Lauren on the ground, sun towards the lens, flat on the hot asphalt, this may be good, it may suck, who cares, let’s try it.

© Armando Bellmas

© Armando Bellmas

Not really my regular style. I like these shots, though. Maybe put them on the blog, maybe on a personal or experiments section of the website. Whatever. Sometimes I shoot the vision, sometimes the flight of fancy. Who knows where any of it may lead? The familiar path, a road less traveled, or a dead end? You never know.

© Armando Bellmas

It was a creatively charged afternoon. I couldn’t wait to get home to look through the photographs.

© Armando Bellmas

As long as I keep shooting my vision and refining my signature style, going off the grid a bit visually and creatively — and knowing the differences and similarities between each — is something that I will always look forward to doing.

Back in Charlotte from a week-long residency in New York City. I use the word residency mainly because I felt very natural there, as if I had been there for years instead of just days.

Collecting loot and drinking pints, riding the subway, navigating the people, the streets, and the blocks of lower Manhattan, tapas in the Village with friends, finding things to do and see and places to poke into…it all just seemed so effortless and natural. I miss it already.

The main reason for my trip to New York was to show my book to some photo editors with whom I’ve established a phone/email rapport over the past several months. Making that face-to-face connection with anyone that may hire me — better yet: anyone that may trust me to shoot and deliver an assignment — is very important to me.

Most of the editors and art directors I work with here in Charlotte are people I’ve met in person and even broken bread with, so to speak. I value those relationships immensely and am always making an effort to strengthen them as time permits.

Since some/most of the magazines I’d like to shoot for are based in New York, a trip up there to meet the photo editors of those magazines, on this and future trips, is appropriate.

I met with and showed my book to thirteen photo editors. Some looked while others turned the pages, some turned the pages of the book quickly, some turned them slowly, some asked about the images, some asked questions about me, some crossed their arms the whole time, some said a lot, some said barely anything, one showed me around the magazine’s offices and offered me the views of Manhattan from their lofty windows, and one shared some incredibly forthcoming and valuable advice about improving my book and shooting for them in the future.

I didn’t expect to walk out of my meetings with an assignment or with the promise of one. All I wanted from these meetings was the opportunity to meet these people, face to face, and strengthen our relationships.

Some relationships take years to build. Yet each begins with one person making a move towards the other and putting out their hand for a hearty handshake. It may sound a bit naive or too hopeful, but it’s the honest truth.

© Armando Bellmas

© Armando Bellmas

© Armando Bellmas

Tearsheets from a feature I photographed about New Crops in Western North Carolina for WNC Magazine. This was a really fun story to photograph. I had the good fortune to travel through the Western North Carolina mountains visiting and photographing people who are passionate about what they do.

Along the way I ran into an old friend I hadn’t seen in years, scored a big batch of raspberries to bring home to Nick and Sophie, ate some great home cookin’ in a tiny mountain restaurant, learned about sturgeon, truffles, and tomatoes, and was reminded time and time again that I have the best job ever.

Inspired by the Urban Nocturnals of overshadowed, I set out on a cool Saturday night to capture the glow of uptown (downtown?) Charlotte long after the bankers had all gone home.

© Armando Bellmas

© Armando Bellmas

Notice the purple-ish glow on the structure in the second photo? That’s light from the electronic upcoming events/advertising video billboards on the outside of the Bobcats Arena. It was quite a sight to watch the different electronic colors splash the side of this structure during the 32 second exposure.

The September 2007 issue of POZ features this image I made for them a couple of months ago. Looking at this image again reminds me of the fun time we had making it.

It was a relatively quick shoot. In and out in about half an hour. Jade, our subject, was a real humble and down-to-earth girl, a real treat to photograph. Her mother, on the other hand, was very vocal and quite funny. She had Jade, my assistant Andy, and I laughing almost the whole time. It was all I could do to keep still and get the shot. Kept still, though, and I really like the results. Good times.

© Armando Bellmas

© Armando Bellmas

Post-assignment photos in and near Lenoir, North Carolina.

© Armando Bellmas

© Armando Bellmas

The past couple of weeks have been super busy and it’s been a blast of fun: new clients, creative assignments, the North Carolina mountains as a backdrop, another project for an awesome design firm here in Charlotte, Atlanta for some family time, a call from a big business mag, and lots of time riding north and south on Interstate 85.

Here’s some of what made the days even better:

An interview with Calvin Trillin. The man’s an absolute delight and damn good writer to boot. This interview made me feel like I was sitting at a dinner table with him in the Village instead of behind the wheel of a Toyota on a highway.

Folkmoot, the world at our doorstep. I’m so taking the wife and kids next year.

Lunch at Dot’s Cafe in Lenoir, North Carolina. Roast beef, mashed potatoes, peas, sliced cantaloupe, and true southern hospitality.

Fresh raspberries and blackberries, revisiting old friends and acquaintances, and bbq chicken and beer with cousins and in-laws on our deck.

Listening to the new Ryan Adams, The Brand New Heavies, new Spoon, The Shins, WNCW, Guy Clark, and the sweet sweet sound of my children’s voices.

More work and more good times are ahead, too. I love what I do.