I’ve yet to have a single creative idea come to me

whilst I sat in front of the computer.

Black and white photo of a male Harlequin Duck, on a rock in Brooks River, Katmai National Park, Alaska.

Hey Folks,

OK, so sometimes I try something different. It’s not all just alpenglow and mountains and bears.

Usually, though.

Cheers

Carl

Grizzly bear lying on the ground, rear view, (Ursus arctos), Katmai National Park and Preserve. Alaska. Please click on the image above to view a larger version of this photo.

Hey Folks,

I generally avoid articles built from numbered lists. The Top 8 anything is generally little more than billboardian nonsense.

That said, I read with some interest 12 things you were not taught in school about creative thinking: I’ll ignore the perfect opportunity to comment about the very clear LACK of creative thinking in the article’s title. For now.

The article is by Michael Michalko, “one of the most highly acclaimed creativity experts in the world and author of the best sellers Thinkertoys (A Handbook of Business Creativity), ThinkPak  (A Brainstorming Card Deck), and Cracking Creativity (The Secrets Of Creative Genius)”  - hhhmmm …. I’m seeing a pattern here.

I think perhaps the biggest ‘myth’ we hold about creative thinking is something that comes from this article and others like it.

Creative thinking is NOT about Einstein or Beethoven or Mozart or Edison or Walt Disney. That kind of talk doesn’t promote creativity; rather, it stifles creative thinking. Because you’re NOT Einstein. You’re NOT Amadeus Mozart. Statistically, such people don’t exist. We can’t aspire to some to, or be expected to simulate, what doesn’t exist. You’re not, and won’t be, Picasso.

Who are you? You’re Sean Quigley. You’re Randall, of Honey Badger fame. Or this guy. Or Alan Becker. The point here is not that you and I aren’t famous. The point is that creative thinking is rarely the grandiose and celebrated. It’s the small, inconsequential and often fleeting ideas that drift by our space sometimes.

That’s what creative thinking is about; it’s through the practice of that, the repetition of paying attention to our muse, even to, no, especially to the tiniest of ideas that come our way, that those really great moments happen.

And they do happen. But are we paying attention?

Cheers

Carl

Massive storm surge raises the high tide and creates crashing waves along the coast of Wrangell - St. Elias National Park and Preserve, Alaska. The sun breaks through right at sunset and provides some spectacular light. Please click on the image above to view a larger version of this photo.

Hey Folks,

Why do we stare at the sea?

Cheers

Carl

Brown bear, Ursus arctos, standing raised upright and rubbing her back against a birch tree in Katmai National Park and Preserve, Alaska. Please click on the image above to view a larger version of this photo.

Hey Folks,

I can’t imagine my father ever calling himself a “professional University lecturer” or my brother referring himself to as a “professional math teacher”.

The word professional means many things; but when it’s followed with a vocation, such as “photographer”, it doesn’t mean that you enjoy photography a lot, or that you speak politely about it, or that someone bought a print from you. It doesn’t even mean that you have a website. It doesn’t mean you teach workshops and lead tours, either.

Show me a professional photographer, and I’ll wager a dollar I’ll show you someone who’s struggled to pay their rent, who’s sold gear to make their car payment (or sold their car to make their gear payment), someone who’s eaten peanut butter sandwiches because that’s what was available to eat.

A professional photographer has made real sacrifice to do what they do (there are always exceptional cases, with trust funds, a wealthy spouse, etc). It’s a risk. It’s giving up an awful lot to choose to pursue a particular vocation. It’s losing on that risk, picking up, and swinging the stick again. And again. And yet again. Repeat, infinitum.

It sounds much more glamorous than it might be. It means you take the bus sometimes, it means you sit in the rain and wish you were somewhere else. It means you sometimes take a lower price for a sale because you need shoes. Pardon my French, but it means you’ve been sh** on. It means you’ve wished, cursed and swore that you had chosen some other manner to live by. It means you say ‘yes’ when you think ‘oh sh**, that gig sounds like hell’. It means you say ‘yes’ and then that gig actually IS hell. And you then say ‘yes’ again. Still you pursue it.

Being a professional photographer (or musician, or actor, or writer) doesn’t just mean you’re good at what you do, or that you’re very passionate about photography. It doesn’t just mean you spend time promoting yourself. It doesn’t just mean you write invoices and receipts. It doesn’t simply mean you work hard to ‘get the shot’ (it doesn’t mean you use such ridiculously lame phrases as ‘get the shot’, either). It certainly doesn’t mean you have a facebook/twitter/google+ page.

It means you took a step. And another. And another. You consciously chose a path less traveled. You stepped into an unknown world and wondered ‘how should I live?’ It likely means you’ve also wondered ‘will I make it?” That’s an incredible dilemma to have; and for many people, continue to have. It’s a very different place to be in.

Being a professional photographer means you’re probably not striving to become something else (though some certainly do); you’re not doing it to make some bank while you try to get your law business off the ground.

The term “professional photographer” means so much more than how you see yourself, your own sense of identity, though that’s certainly a part of it. You ARE a photographer. It’s not a simple advertising slogan. It’s not just a banner for your website. It’s real, folks, and it does mean something. And to every professional photographer out there, hats off to you.

Cheers

Carl

Boreal forest and reflections in a small kettle pond, Copper River Basin, Wrangell - St. Elias National Park and Preserve, Alaska. Please click on the image above to view a larger version of this photo.

Hey Folks,

It’s often said that art can teach us how to live. This is true, yet it’s also commonly misinterpreted. The product of art, what we call the photograph, or the lyric, or the dance, doesn’t teach us how to live. The product of art, these artifacts, can show us how someone ELSE lived.

On the other hand, the making of art (which is REALLY where art is), can teach us how to live.

This process, the making of art, illustrates how we might live; how we might be fully present, engaged, conscious. More fully alive.

The act of creating is a portal by which we might be connected with creation itself. That’s how we should live.

For most of us regular, “non-Dalai Lama” folks, the process of making art is one of the very few things we do where we might experience that realm of consciousness and presence. Making love might be another. I think sport, what athletes call being “in the zone” references that same state of being. A connection with the moment so powerful we’re aware of nothing else but that moment. Aware of nothing else, because there is nothing else, nothing but the present.

This is how to live. Conscious, alert and engaged. Fully present. The gift art holds is not for audience, but for ourselves, those who practice it. Most of us rarely acknowledge that.

In looking through the viewfinder, we look at ourselves; at our world, our lives, our experience. The moment of us. Every picture we take is a self portrait. The process of making those photographs, of composing and playing that music, is the process of living, of being alive. It’s the process of being ourselves. The process of creating, of creation; that’s the process of the universe itself.

Art doesn’t simply teach us how to live, and illustrate our experiences and moments in time. Art is life. It’s who we are. Art is Creation.

Cheers

Carl

The difference in audience between a discussion about art

& a discussion about SEO and social media

says what about our priorities?

A starry night sky falls above Mt. Saint Elias, still glowing in the late evening sun. Stars at night over Mt. St. Elias, Icy Bay, Wrangell - St. Elias National Park and Preserve, Alaska.

Hey Folks,

Sometimes the work of an artist is simply to be persistent; keep at it. Follow through on that little spark of an idea that awakens us at night; pursue that little ‘idea’, no matter how trivial, how distant it seems. That trigger is where art begins. All art.

I suppose this point may be made more clearly in reverse; sometimes it’s easier to simply think ‘yeah, that would be neat’, but never actually follow up when we receive an idea. It’s always too easy to conjure up excuses not to do something, rather than actually take a single step in the direction that calls us; something akin to what they say about evil and good men doing nothing.

As an artist, when you notice that little spark of an idea, that trigger that calls your attention, no matter how briefly, give it your attention; make an effort to follow that story, that path, that rhythm, that idea, and see where it takes you; that journey is what art is. Don’t “do nothing”.

The idea of a photo like this has been bouncing around in my head for years now; Mt. St. Elias, after dark, with a night sky packed full of stars, and the faintest of glows from our favored star, the sun, lighting the mountain. Yet there were so many reasons why I never took this photo; Mt. St. Elias is hard to get to, and costly, and when you do visit, the summer sky doesn’t get dark enough anyway. Further, in summertime, the alpenglow is on the far side of the mountain, which would mean either shooting the shaded and unlit mountainside, or camping on a glacier (even harder and costlier to get to) on the mountain’s northern side. So, for these and so many other reasons, this photo remained nothing more than a fantasy. I thought ‘oh yeah, that’d be neat’, but never followed up.

Finally, last month, I set off on an adventure that included a very singular focus; I wanted to shoot a photo of Mt. St. Elias, aglow under a night sky.

Don’t do nothing.

Cheers

Carl

Wrangell mountains, fall colors, sedimentation rock layers ad striations, aerial photo, Wrangell - St. Elias National Park and Preserve, Alaska. Please click on the image above to view a larger version of this photo.

Hey Folks,

An abstract aerial shot of the Wrangell Mountains, with a little fall color thrown in. Wrangell – St. Elias National Park and Preserve, Alaska.

I’d actually asked the pilot to fly us up in this area in the hope to find a particular glacial scene I wanted to reshoot, but the great patterns and colors along the ridges above the glacier were more interesting; in part because we didn’t find what I was looking for anyway.

Aerial photography is an exciting challenge; trying to see compositions that work in camera from such an unusual perspective is harder than one might imagine. The sensory overload of flying through such magnificent scenery, and the sheer novelty of perspective makes it easy to simply shoot everything, and come back with a bunch of images that don’t really work.

For myself, I find shooting tighter and really concentrating on shapes works best. I’m curious to hear what readers think and feel about this image; I’d love to hear your comments.

Thanks so much

Cheers

Carl

Art is not some thing that is made, some product; art is some thing that we do.
And when we do it, when we create, we’re being artful;
it is during those moments we are ‘artists’.