photogeek23

Asbury Park’s Zombie Walk

Each week, usually by Wednesday, my wife’s line of questioning goes from “What do you want for dinner?” to “What do you want to do this weekend?” Inquiries that keep me on my toes while keeping my mind in a continuous creative mode. Over the years I’ve come to learn that this particular line of interrogation has a readymade answer most likely calculated long before the question was ever served to me. The key to my success has always been about taking the time to research and come up with the proper match to said answer.

This week she emailed me three compelling options for the coming weekend. A list which included a trip to Philly for a festival. One to Connecticut for some tasty food and a zombie walk in Asbury Park. Knowing my wife pretty well, you can imagine my surprise when my answer “Zombie Walk” matched hers perfectly.

As we came upon Asbury Ave. the traffic hit a stand still. One that brought to mind the first episode of “Walking Dead” where all the cars are left abandoned along a silent highway. I began to look at the clock and think “We’re never going to make it on time.” “And if we do, we’ll never find parking anywhere near the event.” I thought for a second about jumping from the vehicle and walking the rest of the way. But somehow the thought of leaving the security of our vehicle, being eaten or leaving my wife to be devoured by the zombie apocalypse kept my seatbelt firmly in place. Within a matter of minutes the wheels of the cars in front of us began to move and the end of the world was upon us.

As we hit the boardwalk I quickly realized two things. 1. I’d probably have to wait a few hours before the sun began to set and diffuse some of the harsh light that was shining down on the boardwalk. 2. I wasn’t going to get many worthwhile shots if I wasn’t willing to personally connect with the undead I wanted images of. Luckily I was able to slip through the growing crowd rather seamlessly while stopping to interact with the ones who really caught my eye. During the day we came across some amazingly imaginative takes on zombie culture. I managed to stop a wide variety of individuals, groups and families to get lively images. While most were very cooperative and friendly, I often had to remind them that “This ain’t Disney Land.” “It’s the god damned Zombie Apocalypse.” In all 9,592 Zombies walked Asbury parks boardwalk and beach. Enough to set the Guinness Book of World Records previously held by Minneapolis. We had a really fun day that completely took us out of out element. We promised that if Zombie Walk comes back to our area in 2014, We will be in full blown character for the event. I’m looking forward to the experience.

Wait, where are we?

Graffiti, Hip Hop, Queens

I was standing among the endless array of graffiti art that envelopes the Queens block known as Five Pointz. Moving somewhat awkwardly from spot to spot taking pictures while juggling my camera bag and the cache of Hip Hop records I had scored that day in Greenpoint Brooklyn. I had recently read that a wrecking ball will soon meet the legendary graffiti mecca and the corner bar where many scenes from the brilliant, yet short lived show “The Black Donnely’s” were filmed. The unique space will soon be home to a soulless, unaffordable high rise condo building. Knowing full well of the ticking clock I figured it would be a good idea to stop over before transferring to the Manhattan bound E Train.

As the train cars rattled above me I noticed a couple slowly approaching hand in hand. Acknowledgement and some small talk followed and I recall sharing how bummed I was about the soon to come demolition. That’s when I realized that this lovely couple were not from these parts. “I’m losing my tourdar.” I thought. I can usually smell a tourist from a mile away. The male counterpart began asking me about graffiti and hip hop. (I know what your thinking. Typical racial and age profiling on their part) Any self respecting 30+ white guy can tell the story of how and where the now now celebrated art form started. He asked where the best places to view graffiti were and where he could explore the roots of Hip Hop. “It all started here.” He asked in an inquisitive manner. I thought for a second before referring to KRS-1’s “The Bridge is Over”. Suddenly and very quickly the moment froze. He looked at me puzzled and then “We’re in the Bronx now, right?” There was a sudden pause. Seconds that felt like hours, days, weeks. I took a deep breath, one usually reserved for the sex talk a father gives his thirteen year old daughter. A look reserved for the first time your son comes home drunk out of his mind with piss stains on his jeans. With a certain quickness I regained my composure and began pointing in the direction of Manhattan, The Bronx and Los Angeles. He asked if the Bronx was safe and if they could walk to Chinatown from where we were standing. I assured him that taking the nearby E to Canal street would be a faster route than walking and gave him a few other ways to get uptown from Canal. As for his question about the Bronx. I just told him to just use basic common sense. Hopefully my directions did them justice.

Once Upon a Bicycle

Documentary, Editorial

We had just left a somewhat underwhelming open house for a condo in Park Slope. The growls in our stomachs echoed from the emptiness caused by the morning rush. So with our taste buds crying out for some deep fried comfort food, we began to head towards an old favorite in ” The Chip Shop”. We had just walked a few blocks when suddenly, we heard a crash that was quickly followed by grinding sound. The sound totally caught me off guard. It all happened within a few seconds. Seconds where I could feel my heart stop, pick up and begin racing. Though we had actually witnessed what had just happened. The visual impact and the sound it made felt like two completely separate incidents. The sounds we had just heard was that of a Yogurt truck (I shit you not) hitting a bicyclist, rolling over the bike like a Sherman tank and baking up off it. Looking back, it seemed like one of those freeze frame moments you see in the movies or TV. Yet it all took place in a matter of three or four seconds.

Quickly, I reached for the camera in my bag and managed to get about a half dozen pictures of the truck, it’s license and the driver as he momentarily stopped to peek out from the truck before speeding away. A crowd poured out of the corner restaurant where, just seconds before, they were enjoying their Sunday brunch. The group of onlookers quickly began tending to the just hit bicyclist, speed dialing 911 or just looking on in complete shock. The bicyclist, bruised, slightly bloodied and shaken was soon back on his feet while his former mode of transportation looked more like a sculpture headed to a local art gallery than anything else.

Within a few minutes the police, fire department and local ambulance service arrived, took care of the victim and began taking reports from the still shocked, onlookers. “He just got back in his truck and sped off!!!” “He went that way. He can’t be more than two blocks away,” It was a truck.” “An ice cream truck” “No, it was a pink yogurt truck.” “That shit was pink and it sped away.” Quickly I went to one of the officers and showed him the pictures. At the time I couldn’t zero in close enough to show them the license number but it gave them a good enough look at the truck. Good enough that even the most color blind albino could pick it out of a line up. Still, I made sure to give the officer and the bicyclist my business card and let them know I’d be happy to help with the license plate number once I got home.

As we got home and settled in. I began to check my email. The following is what I received…. “Hi Mr Damion, Today I got hit by a frozen yogurt truck (which I believe to be YOGO). If you can, please help me out, I need more information to catch this guy. My contact number is XXX 888-8888 and you can email me at this address at any time.” Sincerely, Johnny Bicycle” I sent him these images, along with a close up of the trucks license plate. In the end he was very appreciative. It felt good to be able to help out and maybe, just maybe, help bring a happy ending to a very unpleasant experience.

Gut Reaction

Modeling, Nudes, Philosophy, Portraiture

Over the Summer I began to really kick up my game when it came to better marketing myself. I worked on my resume, checked listings daily and regularly updated my website with new images. Within a matter of weeks my work began to pay off as freelance opportunities and contract work began to come my way. I was doing the kind of work I hadn’t done in years, while engaging in new opportunities. During that time a few offers came my way that would provide steady work and income in the future. One particular opportunity was working as a freelance photographer at a nearby studio two to three days a week.

As the week before the interview progressed we kept in touch via emails and phone calls. I did my share of research on the company and felt pretty good about the opportunity that was being presented. When I was asked to bring a portfolio and my camera. I realized the only printed work I had available was my Boudoir Portfolio. When I asked about it, the woman on the phone seemed to stumble over her words. “Um, I don’t know.” “That’s not what we do here.” “I have to….. ask… the director.” I informed her that I had a website that would perfectly highlight that side of my work or I could quickly whip up a digital port worth presenting. Still, she stumbled. For some stupid reason I felt bad. That my recent work was being deemed dirty by someone I had never met might seem silly now. Yet, at the time, I felt as if I was being looked at as some deviant smut peddler who hides his portfolio behind some oversized rain coat. A couple of days past and I got the call that the interview was set and they were looking forward to meeting me. I was relieved. I was ready.

Though the studio I’d be working out of was about forty five minutes from me in nearby East Brunswick. The interview was set up at the companies main office in Connecticut. So in the days prior to my appointment, my wife and I planned our day around the interview. As I entered the building I was impressed with the stone walls and lofty ceilings. As I sat there waiting to be called I eyed the modeling pictures on the wall. The lighting, the style, the models. All standard, but nothing all that inspiring. Then I began to notice the clientele coming in and out of the offices and studio. It immediately reminded me of all the scams you see where some company promises the world and all it’s riches to a naive family who’s convinced their child could be the next… insert child star name here _____________________. I decided to stay, listen, ask questions and make an informed decision after everything was done.

As I was ushered in by the attractive secretary and introduced to the my interviewer, the douche chills immediately began to build. Dressed in black from head to toe with slicked back, black hair with enough product in it to supply an entire city block. He spoke quickly in a thick Russian accent about the shooting process. “It’s not how many shoots you do in a day.” “It’s about the looks” “You need to shoot five looks.” “See, look, look, look, look, look.” “Five looks.” Never once asking me questions like someone interviewing you for a position. Finally he says “You brought portfolio?” I placed it on the counter and he quickly flipped through without much eye contact. “Good, good, good.” “I like.” Before he asked me any questions he wanted me to shoot a client waiting in one of the studio rooms. I’m already planning my escape plan. I’ve always prided myself on trusting my instincts and listening intently to what my gut tells me. At the time, my gut was telling me “Scam, bam, no thank you, man.”

Finally, I excused myself from his sales pitch long enough to ask a few questions of my own. Questions about the general age of the clients, the companies they work with and other general curiosities. He became even more elusive and led me towards the studio where the shooting would take place. Knowing full well that the pictures I would be taking were going to be used by the company without them ever paying me. “Thanks, but no thanks.” I replied and walked out. When I met up with my wife a few minutes later I told her what had transpired. Being the amazing woman she is. She told me not to worry. “Always listen to what your heart tells you.” Hopefully, the lessons I learned from this brief exchange will not soon be forgotten. 1.Trust your gut. 2. Never let anyone make you feel uncomfortable about the kind of work you do and love. 3. Never do anything you don’t feel right about doing. Until the next debacle.

Beauty and the Dish

Beauty, Light Modifiers

We were about a half an hour into shooting and I wasn’t really happy with the results I was getting from my strip box. We took a short break as I fished for one of my umbrellas to replace it with. After a somewhat thorough search, I couldn’t for the life of me, remember where I had stashed it. I looked up and there was the beauty dish that had been sitting on my Ikea Expedit unused for months. Hastily, I grabbed it and with the help of Iya, changed the light.

As I took the first few images with the Beauty Dish I immediately noticed the warm glow and how her smooth, young skin shined. I fluctuated from using the Dish as the the main and only light to using the soft box as a fill light and adjusting the amount of light coming from soft box. The results were instant. It was only the second time I’ve used the Beauty Dish since purchasing it back in December. I felt really comfortable using it at different distances and degrees of power. Having a patient model allowed me the time to adjust and play a bit. I was so inspired by some of the images captured that I did something I haven’t done in almost ayear. I got prints made. In talking to a seasoned pro at Duggal. He gave me some useful tips to get even better results in the future. I can’t wait for the opportunity to put them into play. Until then…

Things Go Wrong…

Documentary, Finding Solutions, Humor, Uncategorized

I was having sushi with an old friend and mentor when he jokingly brought up a job he put me on to during the summer of 2012. Since we first met some years ago we’ve worked together on a few jobs and he’s put me on to a few clients along to the way. One day I get a call asking if If I would be interested in handling a job for him. “This woman I’ve known for about thirty years just lost her husband and she contacted me asking if I could shoot the services for her.” He went on to tell how he had known her for years and that she was bat crazy for as long and most likely, long before.

Despite his description, I decided to give her a call to discuss the details. One call led to another, and another and another before getting all the bat shit details of the event down. I knew from my very first conversation that she was nuttier than a fruit cake and had a habit of repeating herself numerous times.”Yes Ms. M., I got that the first eight times you said it.” The date and hourly rate were set. About four hours of work at $200 an hour seemed easy enough. I would go to the funeral home in the morning to photograph the body and the mourners, (Creepy I know) then head to the church where I’d photograph the mass and to the mausoleum where the body would be put to rest.

The day of the event everything went as planned. The wake, the funeral mass and the entombing went without any issues. There were weird looks along the way such as the mausoleum director telling me he had never in all this years experience a widow who wanted the ceremony documented. Through all of it though, I conducted myself with grace and dignity while sharing my empathy with the family and there friends. So much so that I was invited to join them for lunch afterward. Lunch being the time where I was able to take the most natural and laid back pictures of friends and family she might never again get to see. “Phew, I actually got though this with my soul in tact.” Or so I thought.

As promised I had the images ready for delivery in less than five business days. I made plans with her to drop off the discs I created and pick up payment. Shortly upon arrival everything began to unravel. I gave her the discs expecting the exchange to be short and without incident. “Let me see what’s on there.” As I inserted the first disc in to her decades old Del I recalled her telling me she had no software issues and the she had many photos stored within. Slow became slower and she starts in “You need to fix my computer.” “There’s something wrong with it.” My blood pressure steadily rising, I kept telling myself to be patient. Still, I have seen no resemblance of cash or a check book.

After what seemed to take forever, the images began loading. I sat with her going from image to image. At one point we came to a B&W image “What the hell is that!?!” She rattled. I explained to her that I thought the B&W added a dramatic element and that she still had the original color image if she didn’t like it. She often muttered and spoke under her breath to which I would politely say “Excuse me?” Nice lady she was she would quickly squawk “What are you deaf?” Still no sight of any cash or check book. When I brought up payment she’d go into victim mode exclaiming “I’m not rich you know.” “This is a lot of money” and “I’m in mourning here.” The “What are you deaf?” squawks continued. To which I finally replied “I’m sorry, my ears are sensitive.” “They only register intelligent conversation.” An hour had past. A time where I clearly delivered the product I was hired me to document. I explained to her that all transactions have a beginning and an end and that I had delivered my part of the contract. It was now her responsibility to pay me. The insults and cries of poverty continued. Still no sight of any cash or a check book. I had reached my breaking point. Correction, I was way past it. My mind was racing. At one point, I eyed a pillow in the adjacent room and for a second thought of smothering her with it. No one would ever come for her I menaced. Finally, I reached my senses. My stay had gone past an hour and I was never even offered a glass of water. I got up confidently. “I’ve taken enough abuse from you.” “I’ve had it.” “Pay me now or I’m leaving with the discs.” I left, cursing and menacing inside. As I walked to my car I felt so overwhelmed with anger I could feel it in my teeth. I started the engine and drove away with a road rage I can’t even describe. I called my friend explaining what happened. “I told you she was crazy.” He did his best to calm me but I was so far outside of myself that no words could ease my tension.

We finally met up and he agreed to work as a middle man. He was just as angered, if not more, by her b.s. as I was. We put together a plan to meet again at her home. I would keep my mouth shut as he worked as a diplomat. “If she doesn’t pay you then and there we will inform her that she will be taken to small claims court and we will have a lien put on her house if payment is not made. The plan worked perfectly. Though she continued to play the victim and throw vague insults our way. I received paid within five minutes of our arrival. I smiled, thanked her and offered my services to photograph her own funeral. It was a parting shot I felt I needed to regain the soul I felt I had lost in those rough weeks before. Though I’m sure I’ll never get asked to photograph a funeral. I promised myself I’d never consider documenting such a sad event again.

An Arduos Task

Digital Storage, Organizing

A few weeks ago I had to take my Mac Book to the local Apple store for what seemed to be a major issue. As I turned on the computer that Friday morning I got a flashing warning sign. Being that I get these warnings from time to time, it wouldn’t be any cause for alarm if that flashing warning wasn’t one that I could not, for the life of me, stop from blinking so furiously. It was enough to cause a seizure in any sizable life form. So I made my appointment and headed to the always dreaded mall.

When I arrived I was put in the able care of a gentleman who’s name escapes me. For the sake of story we’ll call him’Genius’. Genius listened intently to my dilemma before describing what kind of work would be needed. I left feeling confident that the problem would be fixed and I wouldn’t be losing years of music and digital images.

Within the week I received a message that the problem was addressed and corrected and that my Mac was ready to be picked up. When I arrived Genius emerged from the back room with Mac in hand. He explained the issues before taking a deep breath and raising his brow to say “James, I don’t think I’ve ever seen that much media in all my time working here.” Being that I was well aware of how much music I had on iTunes and the overwhelming amount of digital images I had in Lightroom 4. I expected something would eventually happen. I just never thought that time would come so soon. I couldn’t help but think of digital version of the show ‘Hoarders”. It felt like an intervention of sorts.

In the weeks that followed I began going through old photo sessions and music events I’d shot in recent years. Each folder containing anywhere between two hundred to (gasp) seven hundred images. Over the years I’d painstakingly rated each and every images wit the provided *Star* system, which in hindsight, made it a lot easier to choose what to delete and what to keep. As I began the very arduous task of decided what to trash and what to keep I found myself making excuses while purging a scant amount of images from each folder. But as I began to regularly revisit these old folders I began feeling a weight lifted off my shoulders. This act of purging was becoming part of my daily mantra. Suddenly I found myself deleting thousands of images without hesitation. My years of studio and event photography have shown a lot of growth and there seemed to be no reason to hold onto the past while being constantly reminded of it’s mediocrity. Anything under **** stars was almost deleted. My Mac’s trash folder was beginning to look like a Staten Island landfill. One of the unexpected benefits of this task has been revisiting some of my older images I had stored on Aperture and giving them new life with the advanced features of Lightroom. Thus saving them from the trash heap while giving them new life. In the end I would advise anyone and everyone to put aside a little time here and there to junk those images that no longer suit you. It will help you better enjoy the ones you love. Your hard drive will thank you. Posted are some of the images I may have overlooked before my recent purge. Enjoy. JD

A Little Mayhem Never Hurt Anyone

Beauty, Damion Photo, Model Mayhem, Modeling

After months of having issues with my Model Mayhem account I am just now starting from scratch. Over the years I’ve had the chance to collaborate with a number of aspiring models and makeup artists I had found through the site. I’ll be adding images and contacts slowly as I go. In the meantime, you can come say hello or at least see what I have to offer. Just follow the link below. http://www.modelmayhem.com/887432

Vacation Pictures

Family, Finding your Zen

During my recent trip to Tampa to visit my Mom in nearby New Port Richey my usually busy camera spent most of it’s time resting comfortably in my camera bag.

Marred by daily rain, strip malls and trips to the local Wal-Mart (cue gag reflex) for just about anything and everything my Mother needs these days. I found myself spending most of my time indoors or taking trips to the pool in between rain showers. Though a trip to the local sponge docks and a few encounters with a variation of local critters offered a few photo ops. I spent most of my time just enjoying the company of family.

I’ve noticed that recent trips and weekend excursions have brought less and less inspiring returns. I guess I’ve just come to realize that so many cities and states are beginning to look exactly the same. And for me personally, vacation pictures are more about the people you travelled with than the places you went.

Catching Up; The Dog Days of Summer.

Beauty, Damion Photo, Finding your Zen, Photo Geek

It’s been a while since I posted anything but that doesn’t by any stretch of the imagination, mean that I haven’t been busy. Though the heat and some planned renovations have brought my studio work to a grinding halt. My event and real estate photography have taken off. One of the strangest yet most rewarding types of work I’ve been getting is animal photography. I’ve always loved animals and in particular dogs. As a kid my parents had a saluki, my grandmother a collie and my step dad a doberman. When my wife and I were getting ready to buy a condo in nearby Jersey City, we talked as much about getting an Bull Dog as much as we did about new furniture. Spending much of this Summer cavorting with canines has been rewarding both personally and monetarily. Experiencing the relationships and family bond between dogs and humans. One can’t help but absorb the warmth and love. Hopefully my dog day will come soon. With a new air system I’m looking forward to a much more comfortable studio environment which should bring more exciting shoots to muse about. I just upgraded the blog giving myself a new domain name and unlimited space which will allow me to go crazy with the amount of images I can upload. All my best to my friends and those who’ve been keeping up with the blog. Stay cool and remain calm.