Think Less. Work More.
I stood for awhile gazing at this copse of trees wondering what it was that I found so attractive. I’ve been here many times and have photographed it many times. After standing there for a few minutes I realized I was getting no where. And the camera hung limp in my hand, incapacitated by thought and descending into a rabbit hole where nothing good would happen. “Just take a picture and move on,” I said to myself. “You need to think less and work more.”
Think less. Work more.
My new mantra. Specifically it’s intended for the existential malaise I feel that keeps me from working with the camera. The mental critic that assures each scene I consider or print I make has already been done. And better. The critic goes on to remind me of the opportunities I’ve missed, my personal shortcomings, and the general futile game I’m playing when it comes to anything creative. Best I seek a position as a small cog in some unimportant machine.
The more sinister effect is how it can seep into every aspect of life from the huge mess I’ll make if I attempt to fix the leaking pipes in the basement to the folly of cleaning up the garage because it will just get messy again.
And that critic tells me how dangerous it is at my age to be riding a Vespa scooter and to blog anything about it is just ego run wild or screaming into the wind where no one is listening.
The only way to shut up that critic is to think less and work more.
Vespa Scooter at the Military Museum
After a month of Vespa idleness I pushed the scooter out of the garage into a murky, slightly above freezing morning to see if I still liked to ride. The past two months of winter and illness had upset any balance and purpose and left me wondering about everything. Thinking had become a full time occupation. One without pay or return.
As the scooter rolled down the street I was immediately struck (again) at how absolutely liberating it feels to be traveling on two wheels. There’s a strong sense of leaving everything behind and a physical sense of flying. Even at low speeds. I’ve felt it on motorcycles but never as strongly as I do on the Vespa scooter. It’s one of the major reasons I ride. And one that I had conviently forgotten it seems.
Another reason I ride a scooter is the sightseeing aspect. Even places I’ve seen many times take on a new life under varied weather, my own state of mind, and a new pair of eyes on a new day. My dogs and I have passed this armored vehicle before but it never looked quite like this.
Tree Lines
I was trying to imagine the French countryside when I made this picture. Warm baguettes strapped to the scooter and my helmet replaced by a beret.
It didn’t work. I was still me on the road in central Pennsylvania.
Strange Thoughts on the Road
I often wonder what is going through the minds of people who pass by when I’m making a photograph. Not what they think about me, but what they are thinking about. On some level I’m trying to normalize my own thoughts which at times can be anxious or obsessive.
As I made this photograph in one of the idyllic landscapes not far from home my thoughts were on ticks. Last week I saw mosquitoes so ticks would surely be active. Wandering off the road on foot, even when the weeds are low and frozen, ticks may be wandering as well. So far, no new tick bites to worry about.
Salt and Gravel
While the temperature is often tolerable in winter the road surfaces leave much to be desired. Heavy applications of gravel along with salt with haunt the roadways here until well into May. If you ride during the winter in Pennsylvania riding style and habits, especially on more winding secondary roads, must take this risk into account. If you’re rocketing down the interstate or the main roads that are basically straight, it’s not as big an issue.
Rocketing in straight lines is a bore. For me.
Horror
Stopping for gas on the way home I was horrified to see my Nikon F3 HP camera missing a lens cap. A bane of my photographic life — losing lens caps. And this lens only a day old. Clearing away the frustration I retraced my use of the camera. The last shot I made with it was 12 miles back. I remember putting the lens cap on the seat of the scooter. Black cap on a black seat.
So I head back to that point thinking I’ll find the lens cap on the ground. Oh well, a little more riding. And indeed the lens cap was on the road and no one had run it over.
A minor miracle. Lesson learned. Take off the cap and put it under the seat.
Vespa Returns Home
A ninety minute ride to shake out the riding cobwebs — for me and the scooter. After sitting for more than a month sipping current from the Battery Tender the scooter started fine, heated grips along with the handlebar muffs and summer riding gloves kept my hands toasty. The apron allowed me to wear jeans without long underwear and stay warm at 37F. And most importantly, the old flame of riding joy was still there. A pilot light stayed on even though my brain had turned off the gas.
I made pictures and now I’m writing this blog post. I’m not thinking about either as part of some grand scheme or strategy. I’m just working.
Thinking less. Working more.
First of all: YAY! Alive, and apparently well enough to roll out and scoot out into the world.
Next:
“I was trying to imagine the French countryside when I made this picture. Warm baguettes strapped to the scooter and my helmet replaced by a beret.”
It’s okay: that photo reminded me of walking in just that place, in Paris, some 26 years ago. It might not have worked for you, but it did for me, so I hope that means something.
On anxious thoughts: Le Wife has had a ton of them, getting back into showing her photographic work after years of teaching, while friends and colleagues have been at it for years and getting grants, fellowships and dealer representations. I keep having to tell her not to waste time comparing accomplishments and keep moving on her own trajectory…that’s all that matters. Do the work is the only thing that’s mattered to me, run it up that flagpole without worrying about how many stop to notice, much less salute. I might make this sound too easy, but in my case the alternative in the past might’ve been despair, or worse. And, for me, doing the work is pretty much its own reward now, just like riding my Vespa.
And, riding: It’s been so pleasant of late, possibly because it’s the time of year where I likely shouldn’t be riding at all, but I do it anyway, periodically spraying the underside of Melody with PTFE to keep at least most of the road-salt nasties away from her. Riding just does so damn much good for my head, undeniably, that I cherish each and every Winter day I can do it.
And: glad you found your lens cap, unmolested. My rangefinders just have lens hoods these days. 🙂
Alive and well. Snow again today. Ready for spring.
The last time I was in Europe, not Paris though, was 28 years ago. My how the time flies. We were in Germany and Austria with a momentary stop at Heathrow. Not sure if we’ll make it back but would enjoy the chance to wander in Paris.
Yeah, comparing yourself to others is never a recipe for success. Particularly in the arts. Just keep working and let things turn out as they will. It’s easy though to get caught up in thoughts of marketing and planning and somehow believe success will come that way. The sad truth is though you have to do the work and it has to be good. That’s the scary part.
Riding the Vespa is a reward. I need more reward time on the scooter.
My Fuji XPro-1 has two lenses with hoods. Not sure where the lens caps are. Thinking of selling it on eBay and getting a Fuji X100f. Simplify, simplify…
Struck a chord with me Steve. My mantra is similar. Do more, think less. The old saw of paralysis by over analysis overtakes me. I broke through the other day on a ride of course. Just go Mike. Yes you’ve been there a hundred times and yes you’ve taken hundreds of same photos. Just go. And so I did, along with my camera and yes I took even more photos.
The realization was brutal. Where you ride matters not. What matters is that you continue to ride, for the ride. Shut the mind off for once and just listen to the wind in the helmet, the tires on the asphalt. Don’t forget the scents. An early morning lawn being mowed, cooking smells from a house with opened windows….
Do more, think less Mike. You’ll live longer. Oh and by the way, I have something similar to small black zip-ties superglued to my lens caps. I USED to lose mine.
Ride safe, work more, smile. It’s a short journey.
Your comments are spot on Mike. Riding for the ride and not the destination is hard for many to accept. Especially if some scorekeeping is taking place in terms of distance, places, etc. But just getting out for the experience — that’s a gift.
You’re right about the journey being too short. I realize that every day…
A fine mantra, Steve and marries up well with mine… Don’t believe everything you think !
Glad to hear you’re on the road to recovery.
Pretty much recovered now. The brain is slowly coming along.
Thinking can be a trap for me in so many ways. Hard to ignore but I try!
Age is a two edged sword. It can make it physically and psychologically more difficult to get on your scooter (especially in the winter). Perhaps, too, saddling up to creative work, without the youthful determination to grab the world by the, uh, camera, becomes a less driving ambition.
Riding and creating eventually depend on the wiseness of older age when the joy (and meaning) of small personal experience overcomes the fear of falling or failing. Perhaps your mantra should be, less ambition and more joy.
Less ambition. More joy. I like the sounds of it but I wonder if ambition and joy are somehow related. With no ambition can there be any joy? I’ll have to not think about that for awhile.
Aging has been interesting. I’m much better at a lot of things. And less motivated at the same time. Balance, always looking for balance.
Steve, you have not changed! Your outlook through the viewfinder is just as accurate as it alway has been. The images illustrated have the same, or even shall I say improved vision. The monotone photos so illustrate this time of the seasons. That tank in the parking lot is a hoot! Wonder if they took an entrance ticket at the car park entrance so they can exit correctly, if and when. For me, here in Canada where a strong military presence is not often seen, leaving such a piece of hardware is really to me odd.
Parking the Vespa beside the tank illustrates the size difference.
Actually said military device is much smaller than expected.
As to the grove of trees was thinking…an excellent subject for that field camera of yours.
Regardless every time you photograph the grove and publish it on the blog, it appears different.
However Steve your technique is as positive as ever!(pun intended BTW)
Now as to that missing/recovered lens cap.
If you wish to keep the Nikon branded cap just because
it makes the glass appear to be a real Nikon lens.,,
Get yourself some flexible plastic or rubber caps that fit over the end of the lens hood.
Measure the diameter of the end of the hood in centimetres/millimetres, and have
a look at Amazon for a black flexible rubber cap.
You might want to also look for flexible plastic lids on food storage
containers, they often fit just as nicely.
It’s difficult for me to assess the quality of my vision when it comes to photography. Looking back over old work helps a bit but it’s just a fickle thing. So I try to just shoot and not worry about it.
The military museum has a variety of vehicles on the ground from a Sherman tank to the big guns from the USS Pennsylvania. They’re big. And there’s a tank from the time when the US was preparing for a tank war with the Soviet Union that’s quite large. They’re all odd in the sense that we don’t see much military presence here either. Once a year the 28th Division of the United State Army holds a memorial event on the museum grounds. On that one day they bring in all the hardware for the public to look at — attack helicopters, tanks, artillery pieces, troop transports, etc. And there’s usually some sort of flyover as well. One year it was a formation of A10 Thunderbolts, another F16s, and one year three B-1 bombers. That’s a frightening sceen.
I’ve not photographed the grove of trees often with the view camera. Not sure why. And I’m always jumping back and forth in my head about which camera to use. The only certainty is that the Canon G15 is the only choice for the blog photos. Everything else is up in the air.
I’ve tried the attached lens caps but just have things dangling around. Mostly now I take them off when I pick up the camera and leave them off until I return home. Or something like that.
Regarding replacement Nikon caps — you can order them now on Amazon from China. Knock offs. $2 instead of 28. And you can’t really tell the difference. And less if you don’t care if it says Nikon.
Boy, do I relate to your post on this Monday morning. Thank you for sharing, Steve.
Glad this post connected for you. It’s good to know that I’m not alone in the craziness.
Re. first picture. I’ve often thought “lonely trees,” solo or in small groups, would make a worthy photographic subject. In the past I’ve made calendars for Christmas presents on such subjects as bicycling or motorcycling in Alaska. My bicycling calendar was a big hit with friends in the Wash, DC bicycle club. I’ve often thought of lonely trees or old buildings as a subject, if I ever decide to pay attention to photography again. Personally I find it distracts from mindfulness, from just appreciating whats around you. I’ve converted to snap shots with the cell phone, just enough to bring back the memory.
Is that first picture taken of the hillside next to the hospital? I’ve often stopped to look at that or similar scene from the bicycle trail.
I have a large collection of lonely tree photos stretching back into the late 1970s. I could probably mount a show of that work alone. They all seem like metaphors to me for my own existence.
The first picture was taken along Brush Valley Road not far from Linden Hall. The hillside near the hospital has changed. It’s full of solar panels now!
I’ve always assumed that you knew exactly what the end product would look like before you snapped the shutter. Well that may be something left over from the film days. I remember that I used to spend a lot of time framing the shot and checking exposure at multiple locations in the frame (spot meter) before pressing the shutter. Back then I was mostly shooting slide film as that was the affordable option besides bulk loading B/W. Nowadays with everything being digital, I don’t put a whole lot of effort in composing the shot as it’s easy enough to fix later. Exposure is much harder to fix.
I often an idea of what a picture will look like but the digital screen invites me to confirm. And that’s what I do when using a digital camera. And that affects how I see and approach things. Not bad. Just different. And I end up in different places.
The methodical nature of using a film camera can’t help but make the entire consideration of a scene different. Especially compared to a modern, expensive digital camera which will do everything automatically. It’s so easy to pay less attention and just push the shutter but a few times and see what happened. And as you say, you can do remarkable saves in post…
Steve you are an artist. I know that from long observation.
A tourist with a camera might think that there are only two or three views of an attraction worth taking. An artist might see nearly infinite potential in the same site.
Offer your work for sale. Start with images you know are really good. Continue working from there.
What will it cost me?
That’s for the kind words David. You’re right about the near infinite potential of a place for photographs. I remember being at a workshop at the National Arboretum in Washington DC with 20 other photographers. We were all in one place shooting Ektachrome slides. The film was processed and we gathered that evening to look at what everyone had shot. The differences were amazing. That was 40 years ago and the lesson learned stuck with me. There’s always something special to see that I’m not seeing.
I keep telling myself I should try and sell some prints. The only thing I’ve managed to make available are the prints from my exhibit last August. But I am going to try and add some collections and build out some pages in the blog to promote the work. Would be nice to share the work with others.
Just back from world adventures and glad to be here with my morning coffee and your wonderful blog of insights and great visuals. And yes, having just returned from Paris, I can easily imagine your scooter with the baguette, bottle of wine, and cheese strapped to the back. “Paris in the winter is for contemplative heart. And Paris in the winter is for the creative mind.” That means you qualify.
Ken, you just keep amazing me with your scooter exploits. Spain, Africa, what’s left? You better home SpaceX gets us to Mars in time for you to do a spin around the Red Planet on your red scooter!
Paris. Someday. If circumstances permit. Would love to hang out there with a journal and camera. Don’t even need to ride. Just be there…
The feeling you mentioned, that the picture has been taken before and probably better….it’s like you’re reading my mind.
As to you in a french beret…..the true way would be to of course wear it while Vespa’ing on some French country lane…..
I certainly recognize that I’ve taken the “same” picture before. But it’s never really the same save for the location. And better — that’s something I just shouldn’t think about.
Time will tell whether I will be wearing that beret. I’ve tried one on. Doesn’t seem to be me anymore than a cowboy had is.
That sounds like a good mantra for you if your thoughts become over active. You do a beautiful job with a camera lens, so keep on working 🙂
As the weather moderates I sense a flicker of energy for riding and making more pictures!
“The only way to shut up that critic is to think less and work more”
It’s not actually. You can always stop the work. I’m serious. It’s the route I’ve chosen after near-obsession with photography and blogging. And I have to say my life is better for it. Much better. I’m in the moment now when I ride and don’t need it to be anything else. If the work is a struggle, give it away. It should be a joy. On your deathbed you won’t say “I wish I had worked harder”, you will wish you had lived more.
The idea of stopping is not without interest. I’ve been considering the motivation for a lot of what I do — trying to decide whether intrinsic values are motivating me or more ego driven extrinsic ones. I completely understand the notion of a ride for nothing more than that experience. The last time I rode I watched myself and sure enough I would get into the blog mode — looking for landscapes and situations that would make an interesting image that I could post.
The deathbed stuff — I hope I arrive at the end without regrets. For that to happen I’ll have to live a life that has purpose and meaning. I’m still working to discover what that is.
I’ve been a reader back then for almost a decade. I kept coming back and forth reading your blog as I find your words very relaxing.
I don’t actually remember your website but I do remember the search text I need to type in to Google in order to reach you. Same as you I ride a scooter and same as you I blog but not the way you write it. It was always amazing how you describe every details of experience…
Keep it up and I’ll be checking from your site from time to time.
Cheers!
Thank you for your kind words. Riding is generally an exercise that’s both contemplative and relaxing for me. When I write I try and share those experiences.
Best of luck on your blog. You should post a link so I can check it out.
As always ride safe. I will send you one day a link of my blog as its almost not a motorcycle blog anymore…
Thank you for always sharing those experiences. I feel I’m already riding my scooter in your place.
Look forward to the link to your blog. Always interested in what they turn into.
Happy to know some of the things I write resonate with you.