A Thought on Perspectives

A long time ago, I saw a National Geographic video that featured one of the company's main photographers.

He made some very good arguments about the importance of PERSPECTIVE.

One photo in particular struck me. I think he was in Scotland on assignment to shoot a picture of this river for a story about fishing. The perspective that most photographers would have taken would be to shoot some men fishing on the river in a angular or clever fashion. He was there well before dawn and there were men on the river. After taking a few shots, he still couldn't feel the magic.

He is National Geographic's leading photographer after all. For him, what everyone else could easily see isn't good enough. He wanted to share an experience only he could see. Only then would it be perfect, unique, and touch the people of the world.

He needed a different perspective.

He turned around, putting his back to the river.

The rising sun was making the most glorious image of pink hued light on the river bed. It was magical. It was perfect. The shot that made the magazine no longer showed the perspective of what strangers walking on the bank might view the fishermen doing. It now showed the perspective the FISHERMEN got to experience every morning.

This made the more compelling story.

Yesterday, I went to another lecture with a professional photographer. He openly admitted that camera phones in the right hands were now as capable of making brilliant shots as a $6,000 camera. As he was instructing us on style, positioning, and lighting and why these factors were important in photography I was impressed with the other story he was telling.

Photography is a dying art.

"Selfies" are now more interesting than a good art shot...supposedly...I still think they're sloppy but in  rebellious-not-exactly-bad-just-not-something-I'd-want-on-my-wall kind of way.

The instructor and his wife are both professional photographers. As I watched them through the night I couldn't see a hint of worry about the future. Didn't they know they needed to get another degree in order to survive this harsh cruel world? Photography is dying. Weren't they worried about getting a job? What job could they get? He himself had told us that even reporters were being instructed on how to use camera phones and that the news photographers were being fired left and right because of it.

How could he not worry? I realize that not everyone is like me and worrying about if their art can sustain them. I was curious about how he could seem so sure in his craft.

The photographer let us in on a secret. He was often bored.

He had started with wedding shoots and senior pictures. Those became mundane. He knew enough about his craft that he was able to take a new perspective. He invented something to give his photos a unique feel. Other photographers saw this and wanted him to make this item for them to use. That started production and more inventions. He eventually became a professionals professional by going around the country to instruct photographers about how to make their pictures stand out from the camera phones.

Most people would be satisfied for the rest of their lives with this level of notoriety.

But, as expected, he quickly got bored.

He still experiments with way to create that next new shot. He's currently playing with elements like fire and water in his own backyard. He's always looking for the next shot. The next unique element. The next experiment that will allow him to show people something new.

The point?

Anyone can buy and shoot a camera.

It takes someone with a drive to continually find a unique perspective that will make his craft soar.

This relates to all art including writing. We all know that there are cliches in every work. The more T.V. I see the more cliches there are. People were starting to get lazy in their writing. Then some crazy geeks took over the screen writing field and shows like Doctor Who and Once Upon a Time became the stars of the networks. Not because of their genre, but because those who loved the genre decided to take a risk and deliver a new perspective on something everyone has seen before.

These new writers risked new turns of phrases, new plot endings, while destroying preconceived notions left and right to make room for their own unique story. My favorite? The bad guys actually WIN a couple of times to make a good guy win seem earned.

New clever plots and/or worlds are good.

Exploring the depths of the human experience is better.

Discovering those depths while learning about a new plot and/or world is the best kind of writing there is.

Perspectives: Part 2: Tiny Joys

I paced my room looking down at the white carpet. Winter darkness always makes doing things harder for someone like me; I love the daylight and early morning sunshine. Even in the coldest winter, if I see the sunrise peak under the bank of clouds, I am content for the day.

I studied my manicured toe-nails nestled in the carpet before bending down and doing a few pushups. Sunshine may give me vitamin D, but push-ups could give me that quick burst of endorphins and good feelings I needed to get through this evening.

It had been a good day at the office. I had been called in to substitute for another aide which meant I was able to work a whole two hours longer this week than the usual six. It’s not much, but at least it’s something.

One of the patients had recently damaged his shoulder in a construction accident. The physical therapist was asked to, “keep him limber,” for the impending operation by the doctor. It was hard to see the man and his wife grimace in pain as I instructed his workouts, but they would do him some good in the end. He is a fighter. He kept wanting to push his limits to the point where I had to start being mean.

I did try to start out kind.

“Don’t push so hard. Go as far as the pain, flirt with it, but don’t push it. Don’t slap it in the face.”

His lip twitched and his face contorted as he raised his arms a little higher.

“Don’t push pain. Flirt with it. You don’t have to go far.”

He nodded his head and raised his arms a little higher. His teeth clicked and he groaned.

“Stop it! Go lower. You can’t go that high today. Maybe after the operation, but right now that’s as far as you go.”

He was disappointed, but he lowered his arms in relief. Some patients don’t realize they are actually hurting themselves by pushing so hard, but they are still so inspiring in their determination to succeed.

Finishing the push-ups with a gasp I sat on the carpet and picked up the recently discarded classified paper. There were still a few rentals available. Pricey,  but available. Someday, when I have a second job, I can afford to live under one of the yellow highlighted addresses I’d been reviewing. I know living with my mom when I’m my age and I have a degree isn’t exactly looked highly upon by society. People perceive this as lazy, but those people don’t know my full story. They don’t know my mom is going to charge me rent as soon as I can afford it. They don’t know how bracing it is to always have someone to hug and roommates I love. They also don’t know that I really do want to move out and get on with my life; it’s just not an affordable option right now. And rather than going broke to make a point to people who don’t actually care, I’d rather save money and be smart for now until the opportunity presents itself.

I looked up at the solitary light bulb that bravely pushed back the early darkness from my room. Better than a night light. Maybe I should string up the Christmas lights I bought while in college? It is that festive time of year.

Christmas lights and Christmas time is a wonderful annual reminder of the goodness of humanity. Each light on a tree reminds us that for every knuckle-head in the world, there are at least ten good people who shine on quietly in the darkness.

The world is black and white but people are gray. Everyone is always fighting internal struggles against loneliness and self-depreciation. When we forget to fight these wars and try to bury them in meaningless things, life gets hard. However, when we face them and do tiny little good deeds. Not necessarily for anyone, not necessarily for ourselves, but when we do small good things, those small quiet good things tend to pile up into a good life.

I admire the Hobbits of Hobbiton in J.R.R. Tolkien’s fictional works. They take such pleasure and pride in simple actions and simple instances in their lives; green things, food, friends, pipe, and beer. They cherish the good and their culture naturally shunned the bad to the point where it almost didn’t seem to exist at all. They still had nosy neighbors and storms and the occasional problems. But there was peace, and quiet, and goodness in their lives that was focused upon and celebrated. If the world were more like Hobbiton and focused less on problems and differences and blame and more on neighborliness and responsibility and kindness and respect wouldn’t the world be grand?

“Christina?”

“Hm?”

“Deep thoughts,”

“Relatively so,

“Care to share?” My sister leaned on the door frame with a smile on her face.

“I could try, but I don’t know if I can get the whole thought out before the next thought starts.”

“You’re brain is unique.”

“In a philosophical kind of way, yeah.”

She laughed and closed the door.

How can people ignore all the tiny joys that fill this world?

Perspectives: Part 1: Trapped

Trapped.

Trapped.

Trapped.

I paced my room staring at the white stained carpet.

Just bend over, put your knuckles to the floor and do some push-ups or something.

I leaned forward a little, studying the closely woven fibers that cushioned my chipped toenails. Then I continued pacing. I wanted to and have the ability to but I couldn't do it. I hate winter. It’s a time when darkness falls at six and doesn't leave until eight the next morning. I am a day creature. I love the sunshine and early mornings that hold purpose and expectation. Evening darkness means sitting down time and preparing for sleep.

I hate sleep. Sleep means at least an hour of rolling over and over in a bed that creaks while waiting for my brain to relax and allow for the numbing sensation of REM thoughts to settle over it..

The real problem wasn't the darkness or my creaking bed. They were easy excuses. Ever since I was a child and saw my first adventure TV show I had dreamed of a time when I would be sucked into another world of excitement and survival. I would be a strong, confident warrior able to bravely and kindly face all odds, barely survive, and return home. People think J.K. Rowling invented the craze when thousands of eleven-year-olds wished for Hogwarts letters and the escape they promised. It wasn't her fault that millions wished for a chance at adventure, swords, conquest, exploration, and the accomplishment of physical tasks. In reality, it’s the whole culture of young adult coming of age stories coupled with an attitude of being young for as long as possible and the need to make virtual or mental achievements the highlight of young life that has caused the infestation of frustrated dreamers. What good is a certificate? A sandcastle holds more meaning. No wonder video games are popular. They at least pretend to have physical achievements.

It would have all been cured with a little dirty work and responsibility. There is power in the pride of accomplishment

I stopped and stared at the solitary light-bulb that limply pushed back the darkness that ebbed from two covered dark windows. Bending down again I picked up a section of the newspaper classifieds. Apartment rent has climbed a whole hundred dollars in the last year alone and now only occupies a single column. No one can afford anything. If they still built apartments that just had water and a stove I would have taken that in a heart-beat. Who needs dishwashers or microwaves when freedom is all anyone craves?

A degree I can’t use and a job that can’t afford to give me more than six hours a week. A mother who lets me live with her and a culture that calls this lazy at my age.

I've never been so frustrated in my entire life.

Adult-hood is dangerous, but there is no honor or glory in it. There’s just a lot of scraping and politeness and rejection. No great battles to fight. Just bills to pay. Comfortable life is so droll. Still, if it means the safety of my family I guess I can’t complain too much. It could be worse. We could be like the refugees who get shipped here from around the world. They seem to be doing alright stateside, but I can imagine the stories they could tell of their previous lives.

In the modern world, danger isn’t even on the outside. All the war and battle happens on the inside. Hidden and secret. Sometimes it leaks out into the news in stories about school shootings by the demented or depressed or in the stories about the rise in suicides, crime, obesity, and other sad things that happen because of what’s happening inside someone. People blame the state of incomplete souls on everyone and everything. Very few actually discuss battle strategies.

It is a very real war; the war of the mind and the state of belief and perception.

Everyone feels alone, abandoned,

Trapped.

It’s all a state of mind.

Madness is rewarded sometimes. The great creators and innovators of any day took risks and didn’t listen to safety warnings and made successes of their happy lives. The rest were given strait jackets or killed. The world is always changing always in a state of flux. It has forgotten to live in a state of peace and as a result its people have forgotten live in peace.

There always has to be “sides.”

“Christina?”

“Hm?”

“Deep thoughts?”

“Erm, yeah,”

“Care to share?” My sister peered into my room. I could tell she wanted to enter and help and make my life better. But there was just something wrong about allowing someone who couldn’t handle their own life to try and fix mine.

“Not really.”

“Oh…ok then.” She quietly closed the door.

How do people find joy in this obliterated world?