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Love Does

I find myself back in the office, in Ventura, California, and once again, am up before the chickens. Maybe it is jetlag. But I doubt it. My waking dream was about love. Not the manner or type of which one might think, coming from somebody who just proposed marriage to his long time girlfriend. It is the type that changes everything. As I work through the processing of 2800 images from Bali, I went straight to the above image this morning. (It was in my head as I awoke). A bracelet Betty B produces, post birth, in a Bali

Living Bali

Contained within the concept of life, if one examines the word itself, the thing (noun) is not really what one may assume. A look at the origins of the word, takes you back to a Germanic root, which actually means leave, or more to the point: to remain. Taken yet to a more finite point of purpose in definition, to live, is to OCCUPY, a space, time and place. In living, we fill a space with our heart, mind and spirit. Here is the story of the Bali Nine. A group of individuals cut off by country, and set adrift

Waking Dream

Ever have one of those mornings where you awaken to an exceptionally pleasant reality? The scenario could be anything. But everything in your emergent diorama, is as a sensory massage. A persistent tap-tap-tapping drew me as a man on a rope, to emerge from a rich and multi-hued pool of color, which slid warmly across my skin, as head to toe, my body emerged into the dimness of a small room. I have dreamed in color for a long time now. It is no coincidence that in my craft as an image maker, the principle endeavor is

Touch

It is not something I have any complete understanding of, but for some reason I recognize the touch of my friends and what may be affecting them. It often comes in the form of a subtle whisper. I have found that if I shut the heck up and just listen, the process applies quite dramatically in my work. I will experience new things as a result. That affects what I communicate to the world. It changes my perception, as the imprint broadens who and what I am. I need that. My life would be cold porridge without it. Last night

Bali Journal 4: Detritus

I am a dark shadowy form crouched at a smallish desktop in a palatial villa in Ubud Bali. The room is dark for the most part. It is Sunday night. My girlfriend Donna lies naked reading in a giant bed dressed in fresh white linen with pillows adorned with fresh white and yellow plumeria which will serenade my senses in short order. She just snapped the reading light out and I hear her sweet voice whispering some pleasant inanity. The mosquito netting hangs suspended in grey relief from the light of my laptop. Aaron Marcelino and I were roadside today

A Bali Journal: 1

Uneventful smooth sky sailing into Bali, and here we are in one of the most beautiful locations I have ever seen. David Booth and Sam Holcomb of East Bali Poverty project “get it” when “it” means hospitality apparently. The villa they arranged for us to rent in Ubud is far and away the most amazing location I have shot in. I will save the description for the images which hopefully I can scare up time to post. Long days ahead. Colorful and bright, dark and pulsating, with a richness that one from a society with less dimension, would appreciate and

Grace

In any life, in the reduction of the actions and choices that take a person on their journey, after all the stuff of a person’s existence is burned or rotted away, what remains is something quite remarkable. For lack of a better word you could call that something grace. It exists everywhere. Yet one cannot hoard it. The more selfish that one is, the less of it will remain. I crave grace, because in it, is an abundance and flow that changes and converts a world (and myself) from being entropic to regenerative. Human beings are like buckets with holes

YIKES!Bali

“Hey whatcha taking pictures of?” The voice had popped off, as I peered through the viewfinder of a video camera at Donna getting into her wetsuit at the back of her van. I think that I must have jumped two feet straight up while simultaneously turning the amber light of golden hour blue with an epithet that still embarrasses me as I write this. Then the laughing started. The poor guy who had walked right up next to me stood with a perplexed look on his face, not getting it at all. I cut the camera. I concentrate a lot

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