sad outtakes

This week I shot more tears than normal. At a memorial for the victims of NIU at SIUE, a few students burst into tears during the service. The students said the shootings were "too close to home." (Watch the audio slideshow.) Two days later, the body of a marine was paraded through his neighborhood, en route to the funeral home. His neighbors, family and friends came out of their homes to watch. One woman said "Iraq has never hit so close to home until now." One day, a brave marine. The next, gone. Life is an intricate thing. We're stunned when it's taken from those around us. Death is abstract until it's someone we know, and then it becomes very concrete.

for the birds

Today I walked a decent walk in the cold, against the wind. My yuppie-looking Born loafers sunk into inches of mud. One foot in front of the other. A camera in one hand. A bag in the other. Getting to the top of the bridge was like walking in sand dunes - the top looks so close but you keep walking and don't reach it as soon as you think you will. The wind was strong. I worried about losing my glasses on the way up. My gloved hands held them in place. I started taking pictures. The bridge vibrated as semis rolled across it, beating rush hour traffic. I got a head rush as I reached into my camera bag for different lenses and repeatedly popped up to make photos, my hair in my face. After my assignment, the wind pushed me back down the bridge. I noticed a cluster of birds flying near the banks of the Mississippi. Up and down. Over and under. Click. When I'm looking through my camera, I forget where I am. All my discomfort goes away. I'm with the birds.

rocket blasted

And now for the clean picture. Notice the lack of black specks all over the image? It's all thanks to the Rocket.

P.S. Fellow photographers and editors are the best posers ;-) We should have all been models.

in need of a clean

I was playing with the ring light and its effects when I realized how filthy my camera was. *Note: This has only been my camera for a month, so I don't claim the dirtiness. Stay tuned for the sequel: Giotto Rocket.

are we who we think we are?

I shot an assignment the other day at Soldan High School. The assignment: Trace your ancestral roots via a DNA swab of the mouth. The results: Surprising.

One African American student found that his ancestral line strayed from Africa, into Europe, where his family stayed for more than 20,000 years. He said, "Yeah, so I'm basically White." He likes to skateboard and play video games. His friends think he's different. They define different as "White." He also hates being cold. He discovered his ancestors left Europe for the same reason. Another student, who immigrated to the U.S. from Iraq, found his line went down to Australia. He also comes from the Prophet Muhammad. Most lines crossed through a continent or two, but one girl's crossed every continent except Antarctica. Her ancestors went from Ethiopia into Europe, from there through the Middle East and into Asia (with a detour to Australia), across the Bering Strait into Canada all the way down south to the tip of South America, into Chile.

I wonder if knowing where our ancestors traveled helps us to define who we are. Or, without knowing, our ancestors have already created that definition.

yes, i have a face

The story of Bales is actually interesting. I met her months ago when I went to the shelter looking for a Jack Russell Terrier or any other smallish dog. For various reasons (as I blogged about here and here), that didn't work out. Her name was Angel back then. The way she looked at me with her pleading eyes was too much to walk by, and I took her out of the kennel and played with her. She was amazing, just too big, I thought. Then last week, for various reasons, I decided having a big dog might not be a bad idea. I logged onto Petfinder and there she was, Angel! I thought, "There is no way she could still be available!" I made the call and, sure enough, she had been in foster care with a woman who works at the shelter the entire time. Her foster mom brought her in last Saturday and never took her home.

"hey, bales!"

I did it. I got a dog. Her name is Baley. She is the color of straw, hay bales. So now when I call her I can say, "Hey, Bales!"

did you?

I did. Vote, that is. I've been working on an election story for the paper. It's still weeks from publication, but it's been great getting back into something like a photo story after being on the desk for the past year and a half. This is an outtake from Saturday's Obama rally in St. Louis. Looks like we've got a good race on our hands.