© James Day

David Byrne, one of my artistic heroes, has written a thorough and realistic piece about the changing music industry.

What is called the music business today, however, is not the business of producing music. At some point it became the business of selling CDs in plastic cases, and that business will soon be over. But that’s not bad news for music, and it’s certainly not bad news for musicians. Indeed, with all the ways to reach an audience, there have never been more opportunities for artists.

The web is changing things for artists and creators of all kinds. We can all glean some insight from Byrne’s article.

UPDATE 1/9/08: Byrne gets and posts responses to feedback his article.

UPDATE 2/15/08: Byrne’s Addendum to recent Wired Article (Part II)

Speaking of David Bryne, The Knee Plays has recently been released on CD for the first time. It’s nothing short of inspiring and a wonderful listen. Check out this video of “The Sound of Business” from The Knee Plays being performed live:

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

I stopped into a local lab today to drop off a few rolls of film. I hadn’t been to this place in a while and since I shoot mostly all digital these days trips to any lab are few and far between.

I had two rolls of C-41 and one black and white. All 120. The lady behind the counter took the two color rolls but told me they stopped processing black and white a few months ago. Too bad. But no problem, I know of a couple of other places in town that can handle it.

After a few minutes of back and forth with her about how little film they see these days and how digital has taken over — you know, the same things all labs are going through and talking about — I told her that I still like to shoot film and will continue to do so, if not for work, mainly for pleasure.

Then she says to me: “You’ve got to get with the times and get yourself a digital camera.”

Classic.

I love digital, I really do. I actually prefer it most of the time. So do most of my clients. But I also love film and can make a place for both in my life. It’s just going to take a little longer to get the damn rolls processed around here.

© 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.

© Armando Bellmas

I love these two women. I love the sun.
For a quick moment on Saturday morning they came together beautifully.

© Armando Bellmas

Riding high on a blitz of making photographs that shows no sign of slowing down in the next week or so and it feels damn good.

© Armando Bellmas

Lots of new work to review, sort, and post here and/or on the main portfolio.

I can be very slow with my creative process/workflow, partly because of procrastination and mainly because of my desire to live with ideas and images for a while before they’re released into the wild, so to speak.

This photograph, however, was made just a few days ago.

© Armando Bellmas

C and I took the kids camping last weekend. Have you ever taken a 4 year old and a 16 month old camping? It was quite an adventure.

Sophie and I were the early risers. While Nick and C slept, Sophie and I had milk and coffee, respectively, munched on some tasty fruit salad, and stole a few moments to make some photos of each other at the campsite. This one of my sweet little girl and I is my fave.