The First of a First

I was awake at 5am on Saturday morning, about 20 minutes earlier than usual. In three hours, I would be sitting in front of the mic conducting the debut of The Nimble Classroom. It's a new endeavor, trying to bring more personalized teaching online.

I had a number of thoughts running through my head that morning. "Don't forget to say this. Remember to do that." I decided that it would be easier to get up and head to the studio.

Launching a new project is anxiety wrapped in excitement. But the fact of the matter is, if I want to continue as a teacher online, I need to do things like this. My monthly royalties from lynda/LinkedIn have dwindled to one fourth of what they were just a few years ago. I'm working as hard as ever for them, but the revenue isn't keeping pace.

That money supplemented the TDS Podcast and the time I spend on education. I don't want to give up either. So, like many business adjustments these days, I'll need to build the new revenue stream myself. And I'm hoping that the Nimble Classroom becomes a valuable tributary.

At 8 am Saturday morning, I pushed the LIVE button and started talking. Over the span of the next 5 hours, I explained the best practices for managing a Capture One Catalog. There were technical hiccups, presenter gafs, and more than a few rough edges. But I've watched some of the recordings from that session, and I'm smiling. The bottom line is, we did it.

A handful of early adopter students and a diehard instructor spent their Saturday together connected by the Internet and their willingness to try something new. For me, it was creating my own online service. For them, it was another step in their migration toward Capture One Pro.

One student wrote me afterward, "A little long I think, but the class was really helpful." Yes, I definitely have adjustments to make. And I already can't wait for the next session on September 9. If nothing else, I'm determined.

Now it's Sunday morning, not quite as early. I've already figured out a handful of improvements for the next class.

I go downstairs and pour a cup of coffee. I continue thinking about these things while I look up at the pictures on the wall. My MacBook is on my lap, illuminating my face.

Some people can't wait for work to end. Me, I'm ready for Monday right now.


Transparency Isn't Always So Clear

The term transparency has become one of my least favorite in business and political discussions.

I like the idea of being transparent in one's day to day dealings, because it implies telling the truth. So if I tell you that I can't make it to your gallery reception tomorrow night because I have a deadline, then I want you to understand that that's the real reason.

The problem with transparency, in my view, is that people use the term hide their true motivations for the actions they want take. I can't tell you how many times I've been transparently lied to.

I bring this up because people ask me about how to become a successful writer, photographer, or artist. I tell them that success is a ladder with many rungs. And one of them is being sincere. Sincerity leads to trust.

People buy my books, attend TDS workshops, invest in new ideas such as the Nimble Classroom because they trust me. I tell them what the plan is, and if it fits with their goals, they pull out their credit cards. 

If you think about this, it's an amazing relationship. A Nimble Classroom session can cost $99, a workshop up to $699, and Patreon support is $60 a year. Those amounts are paid from hard earned dollars. And every penny of it represents an ounce of faith.

I probably will never be the richest artist ever. That's not my goal. But I do want to be a voice that shows you a world you can believe in. And I do want to pay my bills.

I feel bad for those who don't share that view. Because they will never have what we will enjoy for the rest of our years. And that's the creativity that boundlessly flows from telling an honest story, whether it be through imagery, words, or dialog.


The Train to New Orleans

I woke up before there was light in the sky. I think it was 5 am, but I’m not sure. It didn’t really matter.

The train had slowed for a crossing ahead. I looked out my window and saw the reflection of the red lights on a white pickup truck waiting on a country road. The engineer sounded the horn, then we gained speed and pushed further south.

I couldn’t go back to sleep that night. Actually I didn’t want to. I could doze comfortably in a bed the next night, and the night after that into eternity. Right now, I just wanted to peer through the glass to see what came next.

We were about an hour from Memphis. I had never visited Tennessee, and I guess technically I still haven’t. When we rolled to a stop at the station, my steward stepped on to the platform and lit a cigarette, all in one motion. It had been a long stretch since the last stop.

Melvin had two young girls. They were on the Amtrak as well.

“I’m going to take them for beignets,” he said exhaling. “They love them.”

I strolled along the platform in the morning light. I watched the lines of people waiting to board their cars. At the other end of the train, a truck drove up and a worker began refueling the engine. 

Melvin had finished his smoke and was greeting new passengers.

After everyone entered, I returned and headed to my roomette. The next stop was Jackson, then the home stretch to New Orleans.

I took pictures all along the way, my camera lens pressed up against the window to prevent reflections. There were homes, shops, and abandoned cars. I studied them all.

You would have thought that I was tired when we reached New Orleans, mid-afternoon on a Tuesday. 

I wasn’t.

My head was filled with images of the South, as seen through a train they call The City of New Orleans.


What if I Lose?

I have two basic goals in life: 1) stay out of jail, and 2) do everything that I can to maintain my health. Because I figure that if I have freedom and well being, any problem can be solved.

The nature of my work leads me to think about such things. There is no gold watch in my future. Retirement is something that my parents did. For me, each day is an opportunity to fail or succeed until there are no more days.

I'm also thinking about all of this because of the NBA Finals. Yes, I'm one of those guys who believes that sport mirrors life. I just watched a team, who at this time last year was in despair, win the title over a worthy opponent that has possibly the best player of all time.

But there's more to the Warriors story for me. I became a season ticket holder after the 2011-2012 season when the Warriors finished with a 23-43 record, 13th in the Western Conference. It was Klay Thompson's rookie season. Steph Curry wasn't a star yet. And there was no Draymond Green.

The Warriors actually recruited me. They noticed my pictures online, tracked me down, and invited me (and my boys) to come watch a game in a luxury box and meet some of the management team. We had free hotdogs that night, our seats were on the house, and we met the team president who explained why the future was bright for this team. Now, that's moxie.

If I put a $500 deposit down, I could reserve my seats, and I would receive an autographed Klay Thompson rookie photograph. I asked for two photos. I have twins you know. They said yes, and so did I.

I went home that night and made my own pitch to invest $9,460 for a pair of sideline club seats in row 16. It was a risk. What if I couldn't sell the tickets for the games that we couldn't attend? What if I took a big loss? There were 42 home games that year, and I had to sell 30 of them to keep the venture going.

The first season was tough. Many of the tickets went on Craig's List and sold below market value, often in a coffee shop after work. But I made enough to keep the enterprise going. And the boys and I were having a blast.

Fast forward to 2017: those seats are now worth more than $20,000. And I haven't lost a penny.

My life is full of risks. Some are serious, like starting my own business. Others are just potentially expensive. The Warriors investment happens to be top of mind because of their recent victory.

When I'm considering something new, and have done my homework, I always ask myself one final question:

What if I lose?

As long as the answer doesn't adversely affect my health or my freedom, I can live with it. So what if I have to start over, dig myself out of a hole, or heal from a major setback? I can do those things. I've done those things.

The Warriors crushing defeat in game 7 last year led to the signing of Kevin Durant, the second best basketball player on the planet, and this year's Finals MVP. Yet many were doubting the Warrior's ability to come back and realize their goal. I wasn't one of them.

I knew one important thing: the Warriors weren't afraid of losing. It's just that they'd prefer to win. And they're willing to work toward that goal. Subtle difference? Maybe.

But that's why I bought those tickets in 2012. Because I feel the same way.


Art Without Guilt

Most people I know, including myself, work a lot.

And the odd equation is, working more does not lead to leisure time. Ironically, the yield seems to be just the opposite: more things to do. Tasks are breeding microorganisms if left unchecked.

Sometimes we justify this behavior with the dream of retirement. This promise manifests differently among generations. Those before me believed that you work hard first, then retire. But the fly in the ointment are those pesky health issues that come with old age.

The generation behind me thinks more about integrating leisure time into their daily routines. Tomorrow is not guaranteed, so let's live a little while we can. Of the two perspectives, I prefer the Millennial view.

First, I can't imagine retiring and moving to Florida. I'd be bored out of my skull. So my goal as a photographer and writer is to create now, and let the future take care of itself.

"Well, that's reckless," you may be thinking.

It's not like I don't have a plan. I've got a business, I've bought some real estate, and there's money in the bank. The rest of it I will figure out. To be honest, I've had lots of practice at that... like every month.

The art needs to happen now. Step one, move away from the computer. Step two, pick up a camera. Step three, go somewhere, anywhere. Step four, look at the world around me.

It's not hard. What's stopping us? I sometimes think that we work too much because we're afraid of the future. We want to be secure.

But long hours of tedious toil guarantees nothing. Eight years ago, when I was laid off from my full time job, I didn't know where the next month's mortgage check was going to come from. Today, I still don't know. Yet, every month for those eight years I've paid on time. 

And during those months, I've created thousands of images, explored the world around me, written more words than I can count, and watched my boys grow into young men. Yes, I was there for that. It's a show you don't want to miss.

My secret? When I feel a twinge of guilt while stepping away from the ToDo list, I acknowledge it, then I take another step, and another, and another, until it goes away. And it will.

Unwarranted guilt and fear are temporary emotions when we pursue what we know to be important. 

So, I'm taking part of my retirement today. I want to make something beautiful, breath fresh air, and exercise my body.

Then I'll get back to work.