Category: Photography

Pushing out the old

January 18th, 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


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Issues Considered: Career, Photography

The Corey Vilhauer Brand

November 19th, 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.


Comments: 2

Issues Considered: Blogging, Career, Marketing, Photography, Vilhauer

Grassy hands

October 20th, 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.


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Issues Considered: Much More Sure, Photography, Sierra

Sierra at 12 months

August 26th, 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!


Comments: 2

Issues Considered: Baby Pics, Photography, Sierra

Much More Sure

August 20th, 2008

“I hate cameras. They’re just so much more sure than I am about everything.” -John Steinbeck.

It’s been quiet around these parts for the past week or so. And with good reason. I’ve been hard at work, giving my newest hobby an outlet, creating a special place for all of this photography I’ve been spitting out.

Instead of ruin the quietude of Black Marks on Wood Pulp with image after image of Sierra or some random line of chairs, I’ve gone ahead and done the next best thing – I’ve branched off of Black Marks on Wood Pulp, into another blogging foray.

That blog is Much More Sure, taken from the brilliant quote by John Steinbeck – a quote that sums up everything I feel about photography; its stark realities, its unflinching eye, its clear look at the world and, how ultimately, we’re all bound by its power. A power that, no matter what, shows nothing but truth. (Barring a Photoshop skill or two, that is.)

Much More Sure. The new domain will be www.MuchMoreSure.com, but for now you can access it at photo.blackmarks.net.

Visit. Subscribe. Enjoy.


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Issues Considered: Baby Pics, Blogging, Meta, Much More Sure, Photography

Falling off the hobby horse

August 14th, 2008

Every few months, a bubble occurs at work. It tends to show up after a few days of downtime, when scratching together a few hours of billable time seems impossible. It comes on suddenly, with a flurry of meetings. My desk begins to pile up. My life turns up another gear. Everything is due tomorrow, and the end is nowhere in sight. It bleeds into my free time; free time that may already be stretched by prior engagements and home projects and an ever-growing pile of mind-numbing DVRed programs.

That’s the nature of the business. I grumble. But I also bask in the glow of vocation, knowing that someone depends on me for his or her words, plans and ideas. That I get paid to do something I enjoy, something I should stay quiet about lest they realize what they’re paying me to do.

But man, it sure wreaks havoc on my hobbies.

As words flow toward one end, the means to keep up with the hobby side of writing dries up; the paths diverted. What was once fun becomes work. A source of pride becomes an millstone, hanging from my neck. Taunting me with its demise.

Because with the important things claiming their share of my life’s time, my hobbies fall back a bit. I am afforded no more time to write on my own. And newer, shinier hobbies show up, too. I sometimes think my computer keyboard is jealous of our new camera. Of each new book. Of the Olympics and, in the past, the NBA Finals.

And from there, things deteriorate. Out of practice, or with my ideas used up elsewhere, it feels like something is stuck, like writer’s block has set in, or that my thoughts have been stuck in my head too long, are no longer timely or spontaneous or fresh. This leads to abandonment, of ditching a great outlet because of the convincing nature of busyness.

In this way, work can get in the way of our hobbies. And sometimes, that’s bound to happen. But without that outlet, what do we have?

So I think a little harder. I glance at the screen a few times, scanning the page for something I’ve forgotten. Then I start typing. For me. For my sanity.

And to remember that our hobbies are crucial. Make time for them. Take a few minutes and do something you truly enjoy, for yourself, for those you care about, anything that gives you the feeling of artistic merit or release, even if that release comes from creating a small city out of model trains or playing an artful game of Madden 2005 or writing or designing your own site or crocheting rabbit-shaped stuffed animals or decorating the house. Even at work. During break. That taking 15 minutes out of your work day to do something fun is more productive than stewing over your work.

Remember that, above all else, hobbies are for us to unwind. That they’ll always be there when you come back. That they don’t understand the meaning of time. Most importantly, remember that our hobbies may not give us the support we need to live comfortably, but they certainly make life a lot more enjoyable.


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Issues Considered: Blogging, Books, Career, Friends, Meta, Photography, Television, Vilhauer, Writing

Uncapping the lens

July 18th, 2008

I stood in the back of the tent, with both a camera and an All Access pass around my neck.

The heat was pressing in from all sides. The Second Stage was a sweat box. Kids crammed toward the front. Soulcrate started their set while Kerrie and I stood fast, she watching from a safe perch, me struggling to gain the nerve to move forward.

“So, you going to go take pictures?”

My stomach sank. This isn’t my gig. This is for the professionals. I can’t hop up behind the stage, in front of the stage, on the stage. I didn’t know what I was doing. I was a fraud, a hobby photographer who hadn’t even received any lumps, let along earn them. Who did I think I was?

I was nervous I’d be found out.

The All Access pass had come from co-worker. He had received two, though his was being put to good use – he was actually collecting footage for a video on Jazzfest. Others slunk around with their own passes, looking official, looking as though they knew what they were doing.

I, on the other hand, felt as if I had snuck into the clubhouse, looking around to see if anyone would catch me.

I moved to the back. I stood a few rows back from the side of the stage. I snapped some pictures, looked at them, hated them, wanted to move closer. And, I wanted to turn back.

But I didn’t. I moved in. I edged toward the stage. My pass gave a clear path, people moved aside, I got a great shot; took it, and was happy. No one had found me out yet.

I moved closer. I saw others on the stage, video cameras and digital SLRs in hand, moving from side to side, documenting the action without being noticed at all. Only one had a pass – my coworker. The rest were rouge agents, brought in by the band itself or, most likely, not giving a damn about a pass.

Taking pictures freely. As if they knew what they were doing.

And it hit me. Just like that. With the proper props, I looked just like they did. The band didn’t notice them, the audience didn’t notice them. Hell, they barely noticed each other. They were playing the part of third-bit actor, sliding into the film for some added color but never making an impact. They were documenting the action and it was action worth documenting so the more the merrier.

I kneeled down and rested on the stage. I climbed up onto the stage. I stood on the stage, camera pointing, catching what I should have been catching from the beginning. I moved to the front of the stage, grabbing the audience, getting better than a front row seat, interacting with the band without actually saying a word or moving a muscle.

Everything just slid away. There was no need to feel weird about wielding a camera. It’s a prop, its very presence making a person seem knowledgeable. You take 1000s of pictures and ten turn out, but everyone who sees you imagines you’re taking the next great portrait.

Insecurities have no place in photography. Just make your mistakes, climb up for a better vantage point and start shooting away.

Indoctrinated into the club. All for finally gaining a spine.

Soulcrate: Jazzfest 2008


Comments: 3

Issues Considered: Music, Photography, Sioux Falls