Read: Newport Journal

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Just like that. Fall. One day. All it took. The turn. Even if Mother Nature decides to play her new game it doesn’t matter because mentally the switch has been made. Dusk and your jacket is in the car, or at home, or maybe you don’t even know where your jacket is. Night sweats force it from your mind. Jacket? What jacket? Just get me a bag of ice. Wandering out here and suddenly you feel alone. A smattering of humanity left. The hardcore. Those who would take their kids out of the first week of school to get the discounts stretching from LAX to the border. The kind of human who responds to his children’s request for ice cream with “I’ll beat both your asses.”
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The clouds are my companion, giving me something I haven’t had in months. Gray. Flat. I see a world void of color. I recite McCarthy lines in my head as I walk. What would he shoot? What would he think of this place? I can’t imagine him lasting long here in Newport. Scarier than the dusty borderlands. “You will wake up tomorrow and have the same breakfast you had today,” someone says in reference to the upcoming presidential “situation.” As if it doesn’t matter. As if nothing with change. That’s it people. Apathy. Explore it to the fullest of your abilities because THAT is what the winner is banking on. But the more time you spend out in the real, actual world you find apathy less and less appealing. There is so much to do.
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It’s been five years. I feel the next wave coming and there is nothing I can do to stop it. I’m not sure I even want to stop it. At least I pretend that’s true. These little excursions are critical. So much has been removed for me, drained from me, by sitting in front of the screen for so long. Sometimes it takes a jarring wound to reveal what’s changed, or maybe an illness. Boom. It comes crashing. Get on the shoulder, arch your back, arm out, flickering light and dark. A closeout. Washing machine. Break the surface, clear your eyes and paddle out again. What else are you going to do? A friend sends me fins from Hawaii and another tells me his boat is off Catalina and there’s room. I find myself wandering the jetty near the ferry service, not knowing why.

PS: Still learning the little Fuji. I’m not used to menus, so when I want to make quick changes to my shooting style I find it slow and buttony. But remember, my normal cameras only have one button and no menus. There are certain types of images I will never make with this thing, but there are others I WILL make. Perhaps the best thing about it is that I try to use it everyday. I’m posting from the road, which is fun, but I also think some of the things I’m involved in are worthwhile sharing. My plan is to use this camera on a real project in the near future.

8 Comments on “Read: Newport Journal”

  1. Been loving the words and images, Daniel. I took the plunge (for me, anyway. Any new gear is a plunge.) and picked up the X100T last week. Been interesting so far. After years of the big DSLR in my hands, the small rangefinder is interesting. And fun. And different. I fret over the menus. The blue skies look different straight out of the camera. I’ll continue to dance with it. And stumble. And dance again. ~ Mark

    1. Hey Mark,

      Alright! You and me both. I think the safest thing to do is realize it’s a unique little thing. Figure out what it does and do that. It’s nice having something so small.

  2. Hey why not. Like any camera you do get used to it. But yea, lots of menus. But I make 16×20 arches paper prints from my x camera. It’s entirely possible to use this as a pro project cam.

    1. AA,

      Totally agree. I am only making small prints, but I’m sure I could go far larger if I needed. The small prints look great. Will post about what I’m doing with these in a while. Digging it.

  3. I always come back to your writing for a good solid smack to the back of the head. Must have read this post about 15 times. Here’s to riding the next wave.

  4. Pingback: Read: Newport Journal | Daniel Milnor

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