Creative momentum

May 27, 2009


When things are going good, from a creative standpoint, they typically continue to go good. One thing leads to another, and before long you’ve spilled out several great things in a matter of days. It’s the nature of creativity – it feeds off of itself.

In all things creative, momentum drives us from average to heady.

When I encounter these peaks of momentum, I cherish them. Like anyone who considers themselves part of the creative industry – whether a freelance artist or a copy slinger – I understand the fragility of creative momentum. It’s easy to rest when you’re at that peak, to coast for a while as your mind continues to work. But you pay for it later.

Oh, man. Do you pay for it later.

Let’s quickly define something. By “creativity,” I’m talking about the act of creating something original. Not just thinking quirkily, but – in my case - actually writing something, or photographing something.

Thanks to our recent move and a lack of opportunity, the past month has seen my creative momentum hit a screeching halt. It’s hit the bottom, begun on the next hill in earnest, and rolled backward, resting finally in a valley of uninspired funk. Some call it a rut. I call it a chasm.

Some may find solace in this. It has certainly brought me back to earth. During those times when I have convinced myself that there is such a thing as creative talent, that it’s not simply a tweak of perspective and is an honest skill (and trust me, despite my sarcastic leanings otherwise, I rarely feel confident enough to claim a heightened creative talent) it’s humbling to find myself at the bottom again.

Struggling for ideas. As if creativity was something you had to work at.

And there’s the rub. Even the most creative people have to work at this. Even those to whom writing – or photography, design, music, acting – come naturally.

In fact, the people who work the hardest at being creative are the people who are the most successful at it.

They’re successful because they never stop trying. During their downtime, they stay creative. They continue thinking. They continue working. They are always working.

Charging up the same hill. Gaining speed to overcome the troughs. Continuously thinking harder to maintain the momentum of creativity, to gain speed, to leave the uninspired moments behind.

For me, it’s one blog post, a handful of pictures, and a few projects for work. Nothing amazing. But at least I can say I’m finally beginning the climb out of this chasm.

Again. And certainly not for the last time.

Tags: On..., Photography, Writing |

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Solitary

February 20, 2009


(c) Jim Brandenburg
“DAY 57 - POACHER-KILLED DEER” - © Jim Brandenburg

As I was struggling to fall asleep last night, I thought of this image.

It’s from Jim Brandenburg’s Chased by the Light, a now out-of-print photography set chronicling 90 days and 90 shots in the Boundary Waters of northern Minnesota. It includes some of the most beautiful and striking photography I’ve ever seen, and it probably created within me some kind of subconscious desire to take up photography as a hobby.

Despite all of the landscapes and loons and wolves and prettiness, this is the photo I always come back to. Day 57, a deer struck dead by poachers.

The somberness of the photo is amazing. The life still seems to be in there, fighting to stay in, slowly leaking out. The eye begins to freeze over in the cold Minnesota air. It’s the struggle for life and the quietness of death at the same time.

It got me thinking about how I often take death for granted when it occurs in a group, far away, distant from my insulated life in Sioux Falls. Ten die in a bombing in Iraq. A hundred die in an earthquake in China. Fifteen die in a plane crash in New York.

But when it’s one person – a person of whom I may only know a name – a person with a story, who makes the front page of the Times because of their connections, I see things in such stark reality. A child dies due to negligence. An acquaintance dies in a vehicle accident. An author dies of cancer.

These deaths aren’t any more meaningful than those that happened countries away, in groups. But I can identify with them. And for that reason, I feel more grief. Grief for their family, for their life and for what they’re missing in the future.

A single life is more relatable. A group of lives is simply news.

I’m not sure why my mind works this way, but I’m positive I’m not alone. We find more grief in things that we have some kind of connection to. That’s only natural. And we find more connection in an individual than a group. We find more connection in strangers who share some of the same qualities than we do in those who are distant.

Every life – and every death – may be equal in the grand scheme of things. But when they’re isolated, they seem more real.

Which is why this picture strikes me. Because it’s just that deer and me. Eye to eye. Staring death in the face, together.

Tags: On..., Photography |

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Days With My Father

January 23, 2009


Photography and words that move.

That nearly moved me to tears as I looked at it, here, at my work desk.

Days With My Father, by Phillip Toledano - a portrait of the photographer’s father as he descends into a form of Alzheimer’s-like short term memory loss. It’s amazing. Touching.

I’m going to go back to missing my grandfather now, thanks.

Found via an older post by Bill at MTLB.

Tags: Grandpa Boyer, Photography |

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Pushing out the old

January 18, 2009


Though the older items we love are often bathed in memories, it doesn’t take much for those items to be replaced. Something new. Something better. More convenient. More flashy.

Is it because there’s no time in life to focus on the past? Or because we’re constantly trying to not only one up our neighbors and friends, but our own history as well?

This camera was Kerrie’s first SLR, purchased in college, a trusty and solid Nikon N60 - a friend through a semester abroad, documenting an eye-opening experience in a way her own eyes failed to keep.

A few years back, it broke. Needing a camera, we found it was probably cheaper to simply purchase a small point and shoot. Years later, knowing the technology was advanced enough to make the price worthwhile, we purchased our new camera - a Canon XTI.

Yet this sturdy standby still stands on our bookshelf, gazing onto my shoulders as I upload hundreds of new photos - numbers its poor analog mind can’t quite comprehend, at speeds it was never meant to exceed.

I imagine it wonders what happened. After all, it hasn’t been that long.

And yet, here it is. The same concept, occurring in real life. With real people. Terry Wooster is forced out at the Argus Leader after decades of service to newspaper journalism. Aging creatives are squeezed out around agencies across the nation not for failing to keep up with an ever-changing landscape of design but for being too expensive to keep on. Older businesses are forced to close as they find themselves lagging behind fresh new companies with fresh ideas on how customers want to be treated.

The old becomes baggage, forcing its weight upon the new generation, bending the necks of fresh talent with a millstone of history, proven success and life lessons. Whether it’s because of resources or innovation or basic bull-headedness, things change, and those that don’t are doomed to antiquity.

Sometimes it’s for the best. Sometimes, it’s painfully obvious that the old traditions need to go. But that doesn’t make it any easier to look tradition - to stare down the barrel of this Nikon’s kit lens - and think about what we’re letting go. What we’re pushing aside.

Especially knowing that, someday, I could be sitting on my own shelf, looking over the shoulder of someone who once needed my services but, unfortunately, has moved on to something newer and fresher. It’s a sobering thought. I give a lot of credit to nostalgia, to remembering what came before us and admiring that which was successful, even if no longer so.

Thankfully, I have an advantage over that camera.

After all, the camera couldn’t keep up because it was physically impossible to do so. It couldn’t suddenly insert a digital frame inside of its analog body. It couldn’t change. Couldn’t advance. Couldn’t improve.

But I can.

NIkon N60

Tags: Career, Photography |

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The Corey Vilhauer Brand

November 19, 2008


“The unread story is not a story; it is little black marks on wood pulp. The reader, reading it, makes it live: a live thing, a story.”

This past week, I was given an offer on one of our photos – a picture taken almost as a throwaway, rescued from the pile and produced into one of my favorites. A national publication wants to use it. And they’re willing to pay us. Us. Little amateur Corey and Kerrie, skilled in ways we never realized.

A friend of mine asked how this possibly could have happened. How do you take a photo and, a few weeks later, without any promotion or marketing, get it sold?

And the answer is easy: The Internet. An amazing tool. (As long as you use it correctly.)

Three years ago, my entire creative portfolio consisted of six articles for a local men’s magazine and one blog. Yet, I desperately longed for a career in the creative industry. I wanted to be a writer, but didn’t know how to position myself.

So it was complete blind luck that I began to realize my name was starting to gain a little equity, thanks to both a published column and, even more surprisingly, this little blog. I associated my name with Black Marks on Wood Pulp, one of the few consistent South Dakota blogs at the time. I made friends with other bloggers – primarily the political ones – left comments and became sort of well known in the S.D. blogging community.

The person I interviewed with for my first ever writing job was familiar with my blog. She enjoyed it. She hired me.

From here, I realized I had something. I submitted Black Marks on Wood Pulp to 9rules, gaining a larger audience and more connections. These – and most of the local marketing or web design personalities – turned out to be the first twitterers I ever followed – and, in return, my first follwers. I took up flickr to post our photos and, through a mixture of the three, my name was suddenly known for writing, photography and basic Wordpress blog design.

There are a lot of people out there who are much more talented than I am. So it has a lot to do with luck as well. But I’ve managed to make give my name value – both through recognition and results – in a way that I never could have without the ‘net.

And in giving my name that value, I turn up on more people’s searches. Because I have a background already, my creative endeavors are automatically given more credence. All things being equal, you choose the more well known person over the unproven kid, simply because you know what you’ll get.

To answer the question my friend asked, I simply put my stuff out for all to see. I unabashedly brace for failure, discover a lack of it, and forge ahead. I embrace feedback, write and contribute to the teeming humanity located within, and come out with something I can be proud of.

This networking, though for the most part passive, has given me – and countless others – a feeling of success. The type of success that drives us to continue creating, even if only to a small audience.

Because we know that, for every person who leaves a comment, there are hundreds who stop by and silently admire. For every person who complains or writes off, there are just as many who are coming across your work for the first time.

Because it’s always out there, my name continues to gain value. And with it, my creative endeavors gain traction faster than they did when I was starting up.

It takes a long time to build brand equity into a name. But given enough time, and the willpower to continue linking back to your identity, someone will take notice.

And when they do, you can finally begin to reap the rewards.

Tags: Advertising and Marketing, Blogging, Career, Photography, Vilhauer |

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Grassy hands

October 20, 2008


I realize that, for those who don’t subscribe to Much More Sure, Sierra Picture Day has disappeared.

Sorry about that. Here’s something to tide you over.

grass on hands

That is, until you get your act together and subscribe to Much More Sure, our photoblog.

Tags: Much More Sure, Photography, Sierra |

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Sierra at 12 months

August 26, 2008


Our friend Scott Johnson took Sierra’s 12-month photos the other day, and - surprise! - she’s just as beautiful as we thought.


Sierra looking into the light

Sierra playing with a car

Always curious

These are my favorites of the bunch. They’re being posted here because: #1 - they weren’t taken by us, so they don’t belong over at Much More Sure and #2 - BMOWP loves Sierra!

Tags: Baby Pictures, Photography, Sierra |

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