New Facebook Friend

Looks like Marty’s journal will reach his son after all….. (see: “His Father’s Son” entry)

Playing In My Backyard

Our dear friend Susan sent her newly engaged niece (and soon to be nephew) down to Redondo Beach today for their engagement photographs. We played around the pier and had a grand old time keeping it all soft and romantic until Kimmie mentioned they love grunge – far be it for me not to give them grunge:

His Father’s Son

This entry must start with the disclaimer that I’m not holding any sort of a flame for the man I once considered the love of my life – even though no better chemistry ever existed. While Marty will always rate high in many memories, the downside of our relationship is worthy of mental lapse. He’s been dead for ten years which actually makes it harder to forget him.

When Marty died tragically ten years ago it naturally came as a shock – all of 33 at the time, the victim of a construction accident.  I was working for a new client in Santa Cruz and retrieved a cryptic home phone message that sounded like: “This is a call for Michelle, we have news about your mutual funds”. Only legal entities (and Marty) call[ed] me “Michelle”, thus concluding a financial institution had called with bad news. With further thought however I realized I didn’t have mutual funds. I was stumped. In returning the call, the “mutual fund” turned out to be  “mutual friend” Diana calling to tell me of Marty’s fate. I immediately started dialing a few ex-beaus to tell them they were all good people and our relationship ended only cause we were not a good match. I needed to make sure if any of them died all ends were tied. Unlike Marty.

Our four year love/hate affair ended horribly eight years pior – I might even have said “drop dead” never imagining such things came true. He was bad news for my world.  I won’t dis someone unable to defend themselves but the Cowboy Junkie’s song “Misguided Angel” might very well have been written for Marty – I first heard the song while living in Hawaii with Marty and to this day, our story comes to life in those lyrics.

The first few years of our romance Marty wrote prolifically and beautifully. We met early into his naval career, the bullshit of life aboard the U.S.S. Sam Houston had yet to surface, ultimately sinking Marty’s buoyant spirit. In those fleeting days he wrote candidly and poetically, describing life around him and the love within him. It took me many years to dispose of all his words. Half not wanting to forget the depths he took my soul and half needing to forget those depths. In the end, I kept one item, a journal he kept while on a naval deployment. A very personal communication meant for my eyes and heart only.

When Diana told me of Marty’s death, she also told me of his son Shane. A son whose existence became known only in Marty’s last year of life (or so the story goes). At the time I believe Shane was all of six, a tragic time to lose the father you’ve only known for a year. I still had marginal contact with Marty’s Mom and considered sending her the journal. I even considered finding Shane’s mother and sending it to her. In the end, I decided to hold on to it longer. I was not ready to see Marty’s feelings forever disappear, using the excuse that Shane was too young to appreciate his Dad’s adult thoughts. I also didn’t want to risk the archival skills of the adults in Shane’s life. Yet that journal was slated for Shane. Someday.

Someday came today on streaming radio, as the memories of my misguided angel wafted out my desktop speakers. I never really knew how I would find Shane. I didn’t know his last name (his parents were ships that passed one night), his grandmother had moved to Hawaii with no forwarding address, all online searches for Marty’s siblings came up empty. I have no idea what prompted me today to type “Shane Infinger” on Facebook but when I carried through the impulse, Marty’s image flashed my screen. A 16 year old version of Marty’s chest, neck, even jawline – the one, profiled image making it hard to confirm the characteristic shadows beneath his eyes. He was still a ghostly image of a bittersweet memory. Not a shred of doubt in having found Marty’s son.

Will a 16 year old appreciate his father’s journal? I’m hoping Marty’s beautiful exterior wasn’t the only gene passed. First however, Shane M. Infinger needs to be my Facebook friend…..

 

In My Backyard

If you’re holding season tickets to the LA Phil or have visited Spain in the past ten years, chances are you’ve marveled at Frank Gehry’s innovative and fluid architecture. What I didn’t know, his studio is ten miles from my house. Not only that, but I received a full tour today of his studio and all his recent projects, both those still living and breathing (Louis Vuitton museum in Paris)  and some defunct (NY Knicks Stadium, Brooklyn). Having suffered my own years as a design major, all those paper curling and balsa wood projects really do translate into real life. The numerous Dubai Guggenheim scale models alone must have cost million hours of man power, just by the gluing of the conical dome infrastructures (see http://www.designbuild-network.com/projects/guggenheim-uae/guggenheim-uae1.html). As if my life wasn’t complete enough seeing Gehry’s entire studio, I actually got to meet Frank and spend a good 20 minutes while he chit chatted with my clients, the Austrian Cultural and Arts ministry and MAK museum executives. I wish I could share the photos but it wouldn’t be ethical. You’ll just have to take my word for it!

What I can share however are the photos from the Shindler house apartments we visited today. They are adding on a wing to great fanfare. I met a charming group of Austrian, Swiss and Canadian students who won a prestigious scholarship to live in the Pearl Mackey apartments. Wow, talk about sparse living conditions! I think the entire building, with some four or five apartments had maybe seven pieces of furniture – I wonder if I can form a worthy scholarship for someone to come de-clutter my home…

 

Take The Long Way Home

I’m genetically engineered to loathe traffic. I’m sure there’s few who embrace a good jam but my sanity cells start misfiring to the point where both my seat and emotional restraints are millimoments from snapping. I truly nearly walked away from my car in a 1990 jam on I5 near Anaheim. My POS (piece of shit) Datsun 210 was not worth the mental agony of the time being wasted sucking fumes.

With that established, I’m commuting this week a mere 15 miles or so to Venice Beach daily and choose the path of least resistance and convenience. It’s the coastal route running perpendicular to LAX’s departure path (don’t forget to wave). It’s a zippy but circuitous route and super moody when STORM WATCH 2009 meets the sunset. Nice trade off, huh? (PS – it’s supposed to be grainy, it’s shot with little light at 2,500 ISO)

Docweitler Beach

The Learning Never Stops

Day One of Bambi Cantrell’s Wedding Portrait Workshop. Man this Woman has zip! For eight plus hours Bambi enthused, exuded and exulted like the fountains at Bellagio. Had the additional joy of Bambi’s company over dinner at Baja Cantina. Not very creative tonight however – on the way home I found out my beloved Barbi’s papa finally left his Parkinson riddled body for a much more peaceful place. Resto in pesca Valentino Gobbi.

364 Days Later

Patrick and Rebecca booked my services in February 2008 for their October 2008 wedding. Somewhere between Feb and Oct 2008, they postponed their plans for 364 days. Yesterday was that day and the celebration, if anything, felt far more robust as if it had been fermenting for 52 extra weeks.

Generally skeptical of home based weddings, and certainly fearful when the host is the former husband of the groom’s current step mom (follow that one!) last night’s event hummed like poetry in motion. Everything looked, felt and smelled perfect (the taco people were cooking one tier down from the backyard ceremony). Held in Rancho Palos Verdes, the classical California Spanish courtyard transformed from home to another galaxy. Multiple white paper lanterns hung in the sky like moons over a mythical planet – planet Elmendorf. The DJ nailed the crowd’s dancing g-spot, Torrance Bakery blew me away with the most moist and flavorful carrot and banana cake (I’ve long felt vegetables should not be a dessert) and those tacos tasted even better then they smelled, as if that was even possible.

Surrounded by some of my closest industry pals – Alan Katz of Southern Cal Officiants, videographer Isabel Gonzalez and Debbie’s Oops-A-Daisy arrangements, the night could not have been any better without the extra months to hang the moon.

At Last

The Girl Next Door (well, across the street)

Today I photographed Orna’s wedding. As a hopeful romantic and one who cries at dog food commercials, it’s not uncommon for me to qwell a little during just about any celebrations of love but today’s wedding hit at levels deeper than I imagined existed. Orna was’t just any bride, I’ve known Orna since she was five years old – and knew her well, as she moved into the new house just built across the street from me and was the only other girl in the neighborhood; at age eight, boys just didn’t do it for me yet and the hood was rife with ‘em.

Orna and I shared so much of life in our pre-teen years, including our horse phase, cheering Secretariat on to a Triple Crown and crooning to “Shilo” at the top of our squeaky voices. We loved Donny Osmond equally and squeamishly watched her brother’s boa devour mice. We swam in matching speedos (as did her brother, what a photo op we made) and splashed many hot summer nights away in the pool while the “Dodgers Ate Cincinnati”. Starting on my 13th birthday, we counted down every minute of the three years until I got my license, a day back then that never seemed it would come. We shared a few bongs (hey, it was the 70’s) and even dated best friends. Unwittingly, we even had a few boys in common, but that’s another story for another blog. Maybe. We also buried a dear friend at a very young age, a bond I don’t wish upon anyone. And sun pickles. I’ve never tasted anything better since those lazy summers of our youth: Orna’s Mom stewed giant jars of the most fabulously dill pickles in the steaming Valley sun.

I packed Orna a lunch her first day at UCLA and as the BWOC, knew exactly where to intersect her between classes. At UCLA, Orna ended up befriending a guy named Larry all on her own. Turns out, I’d known Larry since we were born – his grandmother and my Dad were best friends from their days in a Swiss refugee camp (late 1930’s). As Larry and I grew, we spent many Sunday dinners under the same roof – 15 years later, he and Orna became best friends and roommates. Walt nailed it – it’s a small world after all.

Today we married Orna off to the truest soulmate match if ever I’ve seen one. I never thought it possible for someone to harness the force known as Orna but by golly, Matthew from KC MO is just the man for the job. What I wasn’t prepared for however was the cavalcade of people I’d known over 40 years – Orna’s family, childhood friends and college friends. Later in life friends and old boyfriends. I left the house this morning prepared to photograph another wedding and ran into a brief history of my life.

Surplus

Yup, there are a lot of wedding photographers out there these days but no sour grapes here, I know what goes into being the best, brightest and most fun. In the immortal words of MC Hammer: “Can’t Touch This”.

Truly everyone, do your research, compare work, ask questions. It breaks my heart to keep receiveing tearful phone calls from brides who had a bad experience with a “cost effective” photographer and wonder if I can breathe life back into their disappointing photos. If you’re willing to spend money to “save” your bad photographs, why not just spend the money beforehand on a trained, educated and experienced career professional.

There are a lot of super nice people out there who love photography, have spiffy gear and call themselves wedding photographers. And then there are people who have dedicated their entire career to learning, growing and investing in the craft – it’s a craft, and a science! If your photographer cannot explain the science of photography to you (in layman terms) then buyer beware!

I think you all get the picture. I hope it’s a good one!

Here’s a little treat for the weekend….

Just You And Me

Watermarking Photos – batches too!

Not one for bleeding edge technology, I just discovered a nifty tool. I’m sure most first graders already know this trick, but for the few at my distraction level, here is how to create a watermark action (preset) in Photoshop, an action you can even apply to a whole batch! Wohoo!!! Arrrgh you scurvy copyright pirates…

Watermarking Photos (Batch)

The Watermark – courtesy of Photoshop 911

Start with a pencil and a note pad. Make a note of any settings as you go along. This will be a big help once we generate the action and droplette.

Next, open a typical photo image you’ll be watermarking.

If you haven’t already set up a logo or symbol for watermarking that’s okay, we’ll simply use type. If you have a logo for watermarking, then use it instead of the type. For most photos you will want the watermark to work in both light and dark situations, yet still have an amount of transparency so it allows the photo to be viewed clearly. So, we’ll have to introduce some white and some black. Additionally, we recommend a sans serif font to reduce the visual complexity of the mark.

Click new layer
Type in the watermark info as you wish it to appear.
Rasterize the type
Run the Emboss Filter, adjust settings to suite
Set the layer blending mode to “Hard Light” to let the image show through

This sets up the file and its attributes.

Choose: File > File Info

Key in the information you want attached to the file. Enter author’s name, business name and insert your URL if you have one. For the sake of automation, don’t insert any information that is pertinent to this specific file — you want generic, company information only.

Be sure to enter the copyright notice (c) 2004 and your business name. Use the Copyright symbol key. Make sure you select the Copyright Status and set “Copyrighted Work”

Click Okay and the info is added to the file.

Flatten the file.

Recording the Action

Next we’ll record the action. Of course you kept notes of all the settings for the file, right?

Move that file window to the side and open the next file.

Open the Actions Palette (Window > Actions)
Click the “New Action” button (next to the trash can.)
Name the action and select the Function key you want to activate the action.
(In lieu of this, you can simply run the action from the Actions Palette, but the F-key will be much more convenient.)

Now, are you ready? Click the “Record” button and it will glow red.
This means you are in record mode.

Now, walk through each step you took before. (Got notes?)
Be sure to select the font, size, leading, etc., exactly as before.

When done, click the STOP button. (Black Square)

Open a new photo and test the action by clicking on the “Run” button.
Did it work? What did you leave out?

Once it’s perfect, it’s ready to go.

From this point on, any time you want a watermarked photo, just run this action.

Batch Watermarking

If you have a whole folder you want Watermarked, proceed to the File Menu and
choose Automate > Batch.

In the resulting dialog is divided into four sections: Play, Source, Destination and Errors.

In the Play section pull down “Action” and select the Action you just created.

In the Source section, click the ‘Choose’ button and highlight the folder of files you want watermarked. (Hopefully you copied the folder, and will actually be watermarking copies of your files!)

In the Destination section choose “Save and Close”
If you wish to move the newly copied files to a new folder, click Choose… and find the folder.

Are you ready? Click “OK” and sit back. Have coffee. When you get back, your files
will be watermarked.