In creation mode. Senses heightened, sensitive to light, its nuances, everything framed, perceived as a potential shot for the new videopoem. Grateful it isn’t snowing, spring has arrived at last. Must strike while the sun is out. Need to find the exact right angle to shoot arm-in-puddle. Wish we had a longer lens, could get more of the background, create a more intriguing horizon but oh well, have to work with what you have. Or have not, tripod so flimsy it handles like a toy tripod. I lie on the ground. The things I do for art. Direct sun creates shadows and throws glare everywhere. Will shoot anyway and do over if necessary. I can see why nature photographers get paid the big bucks. I can see but can’t even capture a plane flying overhead though my hands are numbs from the cold. And I have to think that viewing hundreds of videopoems in my role as Visible Verse Festival curator has honed my sensibilities, crystallized vision.
Working with my boy, my teenaged son who taught himself how to edit video at age 10 so he could post machinimas on his YouTube channel. It’s been going well, better than I thought. He actually takes direction. We’re a good team, working through challenges together; rough terrain, crappy equipment and tricky shots, problem solving in tandem. He tends to rush through things so our process demonstrates process. He was only about seven years old when I produced my first videopoem Dying for the Pleasure. We shot it on a friend’s farm out in South Surrey and Junior was on location, helping. He refused to watch it for many years, found it too disturbing. Nowadays he banters with his buddies online, exchanging insults and cursing like a truck driver. Or gamer.
So back to work. We’ll be in shooting, then editing mode for the next month. Said to Junior that being an artist can feel like a curse, but at least I have the guts to be what I am. Which is what I’ve always encouraged him to do, be his own man, true to himself.