Category Archives: Photography

Secure In His Identity

“I.D., please, before I can tag your luggage.”

It was five days after the Nigerian wanna-bomber set his pants on fire. We were traveling home from Christmas with the fam on Vancouver Island. Security at YVR was at Code Pat-Down-Grannies-and-Babies.

“Shoes, belts, laptops, creams and gels in a baggie, loose change, silver bangles, pacemakers and nose rings in the bins, please. Have your I.D. out to show the security officer.”

Get dressed for the second time that day. Make mental note to buy new socks.

“Zone four… zones one, two, three, and four may now board. Have your boarding pass and photo identification ready.”

Return to upright, replace to locked, stow beneath, shut down, disable wireless…

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And finally, we are signed, sealed and settled in 12C and D. Time to put the passports away.

“Yes, I’d like the Pringles and a CC on ice, please. Is American Express okay?”

“May I see your I.D., please?”

Men’s Hats Gone Bad

Yes, I have hats on the brain, and yes, I’d like to move on just as much as you would. But if it’s any consolation, I’m just as fascinated with other people’s hats as I am with my own.

As an aid to species identification, hats on men can hardly be beat. For one thing, they’re a reliable shorthand for “hero” versus “villain.”

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The good guys wear white. Your second clue is that he’s the one sitting on the cushy seat holding the reins. The good guys always get to steer.

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The bad guys wear black and are given road apple duty.

The clues can be more subtle, if you know what you’re looking for. For example, which one is the chauffeur?

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Okay, maybe the boots and jodhpurs helped a bit on that one. (Have you ever tried to spell “jodhpurs” before your second cup of coffee? I think I hurt myself.)

Let’s try a trickier one.

Of the four men visible in this photo, which two are the most in touch with their inner animal spirit guides?

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Perhaps a better angle will help.

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Maybe it’s just me, but I think the sweater was a sub-par fashion choice. Horizontal stripes on a bear can work, but they’re tough to get just right.

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Of course, sometimes a hat is just a means of extending a hair wash an extra month or two…

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… or to keep the sun out of your eyes.

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… or to keep your head warm in a chilly old farmhouse. Or when you’re getting geared up for a game of “Who Wants To Be A Viking?”

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After all, sometimes a dude just needs a way to exert his sense of personal style.

But for my money…

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… nothing screams “run hither!” like a Christmas ball necklace and birthday cake hat.

Well. I think I’m done with hats for a while.

New Olympic World Record in the “Bobbled Bilodeau”

I had to start over. Twice.

By the time we took this photo, I was pretty chuffed with my progress and was gunning for the gold in the event. (Rick is still waiting by the phone for the modeling contract offers to start pouring in. As I said in the post, he’s very patient.)

However, when the judges reviewed the tapes, it seemed that I had added several gates at the top of the hill and had disqualified myself from that heat. The photo evidence was in: my hat was lumpy and getting lumpier with every round.

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The second round of out-ripping wasn’t as disheartening as you might suspect.

My secret? By February 18, I had watched so many hours of Olympic coverage that the lyrics to the new Nike spot had burned themselves into a prominent earworm in my head:

“It’s not how you start, it’s how you finish. It’s not where you’re from, it’s where you’re at. Everybody gets knocked down, how quick are you going to get up?”

Okay, just a small point of clarification, Nike: sometimes how you finish is a direct result of how you start.

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All philosophical nit-picking aside, where I “was at” was back in front of the TV in my red recliner with one new and one slightly used ball of lovely baby Alpaca wool.

I also had taken a quick jog down to Fengari Fiber Arts for a brief but intensely enlightening tutorial from Ann on what the hell “Rnd 1 Work 8 sc in ring. Do not join or ch 1 on this or foll rnds, work rnds in a spiral” means.

Plus, the Muse in White and Red had visited and I was in possession of an Olympic inspiration for an original creation.

Yes, I had aimed my crochet hook at a Bobbled Bilodeau, and I wasn’t going to holler “Crosby!” until I reached the summit. Er, hem.

Except somewhere along the way I realized they weren’t bobbles…

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… they were moguls, so I added an extra set just to make the course more technically challenging.

That’s how we do it in Canada. Plus we add fog so you can’t see where you’re going… more fun that way.

Yup. Canada shone in the Arctic sun that presided, at least a couple of times, over the best Olympic games I have ever enjoyed. Rick now loves hockey and is curious about curling. (Me: “Ever watched curling?” Rick: “No, but it’s like Eskimo bocce ball, right?”)

And my national-pride-o-meter got re-set to 33 million, give or take an Ol’ Bear or two.

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After those hockey games, things look a little different from under the ol’ Bilodeau.

Thanks, boys and girls.

The Real After Shock? No Tsunami in Half Moon Bay

Well, one out of three isn’t so bad.

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Of my three predictions yesterday, only the final one came true: Rick and I now have an additional 317 fabulous wave photos in our archives.

We’re gonna need another external hard drive.

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There was plenty of drama, but it was more of the “sun streaming through the clouds on breath-taking back-lit scenery” than the “tragedy at sea” type.

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There were lots of people down at the coast, many choosing a safe perch from which to peer into the horizon for signs of the monster waves. The front yard of the Ritz Carlton is about 75 feet straight up from the beach.

It could be anywhere from 40 to 100 feet of cliff. I’m bad at guesstimating that kind of thing. But it’s up there.

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See? Safe.

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Some settled for the mid-span viewing zone. Adventurous, yes, but still within the “not likely to need an at-sea rescue” margin of sanity.

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Others? Not so careful.

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Of course, if you’ve traveled all the way from South Carolina and never had a toe in the Pacific ocean before and this was your only window, and you were only going to be down there for five minutes…

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… well, there are always a thousand stories beyond the yellow tape.

P.S. This morning, March 1, there are reports of devastating tsunami damage and loss of life along the coast of Chile. Our hearts go out to all who are suffering as a result.

Jarvis Architects

Rick and I are avid fans of good design. If only we had a few more lifetimes between us, we would have been architects. One of us might even have been good.

Good architects build upon ancient design principles and guidelines for pleasing aesthetics.

They also know and adhere to contemporary building codes, navigating the whole potential nightmare of permitting with the apparent  ease and grace of that cocoon woman in OVO I wrote about last week.

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And don’t underestimate the significance of having a knowledgeable and experienced professional on your side of that permitting process. Without compliance, a design project can be a brilliant creation…

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… yet go nowhere.

From the creative perspective, the true mark of architectural genius is knowing where and when you have to hang on…

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… and where and when you can slingshot from the anchors into uncharted design directions.

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Congratulations to our buddy Sue, and to all those at Jarvis Architects who share your passion and the Mayor’s Award for Excellence in Architecture!

Drawing On a Bigger Napkin: Wacom Intuos4

There’s nothing like a good tool.

I love a well-balanced hammer, a heavy-duty 18/10 roasting pan that doesn’t scorch the bird, or a German-engineered sports coupe that corners just right (and brakes when it should).

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When the FedEx guy delivered a brand-new Wacom Intuos4 to our door recently, I felt like Harry Potter ripping the paper off his new Nimbus 2000.

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Before I even got to the good stuff, I was impressed with the sexy packaging. Think Apple or Mont Blanc or Victoria’s Secret.

I couldn’t bring myself to take the wrapping to the recycle bin for several days, not because I wanted to reserve the option to return the goods, but because it seemed a shame to throw it away. Kathy eventually took mercy on me and chucked it while I was out.

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The set-up really was this easy.

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The product itself was equally slick: sleek black on black — partly high gloss but mostly matte.

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The Intuos4 is a “pen tablet” that uses a pressure-sensitive stylus instead of a mouse that lets you literally draw on the computer as easily as using a pen to draw on paper.

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I started using the smallest (and least expensive) version last year. It was a huge process improvement over the draw-on-paper-then-scan-into-the-computer procedure I was using before, plus there were creative advantages I hadn’t even anticipated. But almost as soon as I got accustomed to the tablet-based interface, I felt like I was trying to draw on too small a napkin.

Then a really cool thing happened at work.

Karen Bartleson asked me if I’d be interested in illustrating the book she was writing (more on that in a future post).  Several years ago I had created a series of cartoons for Karen that she used in presentations, and this was an opportunity to create more — this time for a book.

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The scope of the project called for over 25 cartoons, which led to an assessment about tools and process, which led to research, purchase approval and ultimately to the very cool FedEx delivery.

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What a difference! Drawing from the shoulder not only produces a looser and more pleasing artistic result, it also makes a huge ergonomic difference over the course of many hours of work.

I finished the cartoon project yesterday and sent the files off to the book publisher. I wish I could preview examples of the work right here, right now, but I don’t want to steal the thunder of what’s going to be a proud moment as the book rolls off press in a couple months.

In the meantime, I’m anticipating many more fun and creative uses for the Nimbus 2000 of pen tablets. In addition to new projects at work and more Toons here, stay tuned for the book Kathy has just started writing — “The Accidental Speaker.”

I definitely think she’s going to be needing some cartoons.

Cirque of Life: Ovo

The stout man wandering the aisles before the show was polite, yet firm. This is, after all, a Canadian production.

“No photos, please!”

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This is why I only have a handful of flash-free surreptitious shots of the entry tent and pre-show staging to share. Anyway, once the 6-foot grasshopper landed at Rick’s elbow and flicked his tongue at us, I was pretty much done with the camera. *

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The story is one of the most straightforward of all the Cirque du Soleil shows I’ve seen: gentlebug loses egg, gentlebug finds ladybug, gentlebug loses ladybug, gentlebug gets both egg and ladybug. However, that may be oversimplifying things a bit.

Think “Crickets and spiders and grubs… oh my!”

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Ovo creates a world where giant preying mantes are shooed into harmless retreat by the heroine, a charming rotund beetle of pendulous presence. Deftly-footed ants toss corn cobs, giant kiwi slices and each other around in a dizzying frenzy. An insectoid Slinky shimmies and flits and thoroughly confounds. I just know there had to be a person in there somewhere, but where? And how many? And… how?

In an increasingly cynical world, there is magic in a Silicon Valley crowd erupting in a genuine, collective “Ooohhh…. ahhhhh….”

The incredible athleticism of the gymnasts had me wondering why Cirque du Soleil has never won a gold at the Summer Olympics.

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One of the shortest but most sweet moments of the entire evening: A slender, floor-to-ceiling shimmer emerges from the floor, and for one miraculous minute, the audience believes it is actually watching a woman wiggle and worm her way from a cocoon, complete with the most exquisite and ephemeral 40-foot long silk wings you’ve never seen.

If only the real struggle into womanhood was that easy. And beautiful. And quick.

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The final scene of the show is, fittingly, the most spectacular. To avoid the need to post a “spoiler alert,” I’ll refrain from any detail, except to say this: If you’ve ever had a grasshopper land in your hair, you already know they can fly.

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This isn’t me.

It’s a little girl I shot when I wasn’t supposed to be taking photos a few years ago. But she pretty much summed up how I felt last night when we walked into Le Grand Chapiteau. If you can’t actually be in the show, at least you can wear the hat and hope that the Russian and French judges cancel each other out, giving Ovo the gold.


* We could have swiped some spectacular images from Cirque’s own website to use here, but that would just be wrong. Plus, we were pretty sure you all would notice. You have noticed that we only ever use original content here, right? Yeah… we knew you had. Just checking.