Back by Demand; Demand by Back.

Week 7 of 7. Seven weeks of 13 hour days, 7 days a week. Not a single day off. This is AFI.

And yet, here I sit. I should not be sitting here. I should be on set. I want to be on set. I want to be there for my friends. I want to get as much experience as possible.

But these 7 weeks have taken their toll. When I woke up yesterday, I was in a deal of discomfort in my lower back. At 7am, I was at the Depot, buying a back brace, hoping it would carry me through a day of Key Gripping. The Key Grip is a major part of any set, and there are few on set who work harder. It's tough, physical work: Laying and leveling dolly track, then dolly gripping; carrying stands of varying sizes and weights; flags, scrims, silks, frames, bead board, muscle carts, gennys, stingers; loading and unloading the grip truck every day.

Take a day of that on top of 6.5 weeks of build up, add one back at the tipping point of failure, and you get one horrific night.

I came home and did something I never do: Take a bath. Not that I don't clean myself—I'm just a shower guy. But a hot bath sounded good for the back. Of course, Finn had to join me as soon as he found out—despite recently having a bath himself.

A hot bath had the opposite effect of its intention. All I can say is it set a fire in my back like I've never felt. I could literally barely get myself out 10 minutes later, and what followed was one of the worst nights I've ever had in my life. It was excruciating pain, to the point that breathing hurt, and every movement induced a stabbing pain on either side of my spine. I crawled to bed, hoping that a horizontal could lend relief. It couldn't.

I kept saying "what have I done to myself?" I was genuinely frightened.

It took everything in me just to roll over. What a ridiculous thing! To roll over. But it did. The thought of the hospital at Midnight was more terrible than just laying there, so I found a position that induced the least amount of pain, and Lyndsay coached me to sleep with Lamaze breathing. I fell asleep. Woke up out of my 'position' in total pain, when back to my position. Repeat 5-7 times throughout the night. And.....morning. Still hurting intensely.

Urgent Care. Calls to my ER technician Brother. Prescriptions ordered. Now I have an appointment with a holistic chiropractor at 12:30. Fingers crossed.

I am letting my friends down. I should be on set. But this is beyond my control.

Please, body. I am trying to be good to you. Stick with me. We have a long road ahead of us.

wes.

(PS—Someone remind me to talk about Roger Deakins and Jason Reitman)

PS: WTWTA

PS — If you're not planning on seeing THIS film, then I highly encourage you to change your mind.


OCTOBER 16.

In the Thick of It.

I think I lost a follower. Serves me right, I guess. But this time I think it's omission, not commission—as I haven't published a post in.......forever.

The thing about six 12-14 hour days a week is that you're left with very little time...

But here I sit, determined to document—at least in some detail—my current experience.

It's been a month and change since I started at AFI; it's been the most potent month of my life. That's honestly why it's been so hard to sit and write: there's SO much to say that I am overwhelmed by the mere thought of actually writing it down.

It is a whole other level of busy, this new life, and it is literally the continual, perpetual and endless absorption of film and filmmaking into my system, via all 5 senses. To help reinforce that statement, let me give a partial list of the films I've watched in the last month:

— THE GODFATHER II
— UP!
— HARRY POTTER AND THE HALF-BLOOD PRINCE
— LOST IN TRANSLATION
— ED WOOD
— DISTRICT 9
— PRINCESS NICOTINE
— EDISON'S KINETOSCOPES
— 21 GRAMS
— CINEMATOGRAPHER STYLE (Super 35mm Print)
— AMELIE (also known as the greatest film ever made)
— MANHATTAN (35mm Anamorphic Print)
— INGLORIOUS BASTERDS
— KNIFE IN THE WATER
— INTOLERANCE
— EXTRACT
— 500 DAYS OF SUMMER
— THOSE AWFUL HATS
— THE REDMAN’S VIEW
— DELICATESSEN
— COCO BEFORE CHANEL
— MILLION DOLLAR BABY
— WHAT SHALL WE DO WITH OUR OLD?

And that's to say nothing of the texts I've read (books, scripts, etc), the hours and hours of lectures, and fieldtrips.

We've been visited by Steven Soderbergh (regardless of how I feel about his films, I have enormous respect for him as a filmmaker) and several other important filmmakers, including the Costume Designer for Raiders of the Lost Ark (and while she was lecturing, the CD for INCEPTION dropped in to say hello); the Writer of WALK THE LINE; the Writer of DOG DAY AFTERNOON; this old-school Script Supervisor who's been working in Hollywood since the 1940's (take that in for a moment). Last week we screened EXTRACT with its Cinematographer, Tim Suhrstedt (who shot LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE). Not a life-changing film, but funny, and a good experience with Tim.

This was my day on Friday last: Viewed our Boot Camp Dailies for a couple of hours, went to COCO BEFORE CHANEL at the Arclight, then crewed on a Walgreen's TV Spot with Doug Chamberlain (a solid DP and good friend) where we shot a Night Exterior on the Warner Bros Ranch in Burbank:


The big sphere in front of the house is actually a giant light filled with helium—a Light Balloon. Believe it or not, this is a small one at 12'x12'. And that's an 18K HMI in the top right of the screen—that's 18,000 Watts—a bit more than your typical household bulb.

And lastly, the house in the back is where they filmed I Dream of Jeannie.

Ah, nostalgia. Hollywood's full of it.

It is a life where you pass by the Warner Brothers and Disney Lots every day on the way to class; where the Hollywood Sign and Blvd (though never the people on it) are becoming quite ordinary; where you see celebrities—and it's just not that big a deal; where the headquarters of PANAVISION, KINO FLO and JL FISHER are literally 5 minutes from my house; a world where the most talented people in an industry are all living and pursuing their dreams together. It's a world that I am very comfortable in.

Yes, there are tainted souls. Yes, there are leaches and vampires (we're into metaphors here). Yes, it's an unbelievable amount of work and subsequent exhaustion. But it's exactly where I want to be, for now, and exactly what I want to do with my life. I am so proud—so very fortunate—to call myself a Cinematography Fellow at AFI. It's the genesis to the rest of my life.

This week we shot Boot Camp, which was a single scene from our Cycle 1 script—in 4 hours. It was very doable, but also very challenging. It was brilliant. Then yesterday we met with John Bailey, ASC at The Getty Center, where we viewed the Irving Penn exhibition:


As well as other original works of art, like this Renaissance Gem:


The Angel Taking Leave of Tobit and His Family, by Jan Victors, 1649.

SIXTEEN FORTY-NINE. Unreal. It just glowed. You can't imagine how beautiful the original is.

OK. I think that's a good hour's effort in making up for the last month.

But one more thing:

I want to give the first official, written praise for my wife, who is quite literally making this possible for me. She sustains—with an incredible effort—the life we've made while I go off and pursue this dream. She puts up with sleep deprivation, comforts a screaming toddler and nurses a baby; she cleans, she cooks, she does laundry and somehow still finds time to design blogs, sites and scrapbook papers. She is the real Wonder Woman. I cannot thank her enough for her sacrifice and support. No one knows how good she is to and for me.

But I do. Lyndsay Ward, I love you.

wesman.

My favorite Sign.

I don't know about the rest of Europe, but this is a very common sign in Scandinavia. When I lived in Denmark, it became a friend, and during my trip to Iceland, it became my favorite.

No words. Just a simple graphic that indicates you're leaving the city limits.

It's my kind of design: minimal, succinct, and charming (note the church).

And when you're in Iceland, it means "Adventure Ahead."

wes.

(yes, I am still lost in Iceland--if only in my mind)

D-9

I saw DISTRICT NINE over a week ago, but thought I'd throw up a couple thoughts on it anyway.

If you can withstand a number of F-bombs, it is very much worth seeing. It's an uncannily clever way of approaching a very sensitive social topic: To replace humans with aliens so that we can address issues of human rights, refugee camps, political turmoil and crime--without having to name names.

It's this storytelling device of such metaphors--these cloaks as vehicles for addressing things that would be too offensive/sensitive/blatant if they were addressed directly--that I've been really keen on lately. It's an incredibly effective tool.

Any knowledge of Africa's current situation will help you see past the aliens, and into the issues.

Well done.

wes.

ICELAND + WJP

Five days.

One Thousand Seven Hundred and Sixty-Two Miles.

Twenty Photographs.

Ísland.

I'm going to write about it soon, but for now I'll let images speak for me.

The Iceland Portfolio is up.

Access it HERE.

wes.

wes grylls.

This is really awful.

Wes Grylls

wes.

Jökulsárlón

I stitched a pano together for my many followers (all 18, and all 3 of you that actually read, and all one of you that actually cares).

You definitely need to click for the larger version, but even it does zero justice to this place.

Undoubtedly one of the most overwhelmingly phenomenal places on the planet.



I got a couple absolute gems, but am not gonna post them here. Saving for an Iceland Portfolio on my website (that's how many singular shots I'm getting; this place is a perpetual photograph)

wes.

Fjörds and Stones.

Two More. I'm giving too much away here, but I can't help my excitement over these.

Thank You, Island.

(click on the image for LARGE, beautiful versions)

Fire + Ice.

So much to say, but not now.

Mountain Tiers, near Reykholt, Iceland.


I am in heaven.

wes.

THE COVE.

Last night I saw the premiere of a film called


Let me be succinct. It's the kind of film that, when the credits roll, you ask yourself:

"What the hell am I doing with my life? How can anything be more important than this?"

Then, 30 seconds later—still livid, but more lucid—you think about the many paradoxes of our time. This is one of them.

THE COVE is a story about a few things: A man named Ric O'Barry, a highly corrupt Japanese Government, and the tragedy of the annual slaughter of 23,000 dolphins in a small town in Japan.

Now, let me elaborate:

Ric is a fascinating character. A world-renowned dolphin trainer-turned activist. He trained dolphins for the television show "Flipper" in the 60s. That show turned dolphins into world-wide spectacles of adoration and interest.

Speaking of his pet dolphin Cathy--the star of the TV show--Ric tells this story:

How did your ideas about captivity turn around?
Cathy died in my arms, of suicide. It was just before Earth Day, 1970. The next day, I found myself in a Bimini jail, trying to free a dolphin for the first time. I completely lost it.

How do you know it was suicide?
You have to understand, dolphins are not automatic air breathers like we are. Every breath for them is a conscious effort. She looked me right in the eye, took a breath, held it — and she didn’t take another one. She just sank to the bottom of the water. That had a profound effect on me.

From that moment on, Ric has spent his life freeing dolphins from captivity.

What might start out as "oh, the poor dolphins" quickly turns into a case of very real, very frightening relevance for everyone on the planet.

THE COVE shows—quite successfully—that dolphins are very much like you and me. They have a self-awareness and intelligence that reflects and in some cases exceeds our own. The film goes specifically into their communication skills and their incredible sonar capability, which makes our most advanced technology look like a Cracker-Jack toy.

And that when a baby dolphin is killed in front of its mother, its mother cries out in agony.

Here's the general facts, then you just need to see the film.

--Dolphins (and whales, and all oceanic mammals) are incredibly intelligent. On some moral level, it's wrong to kill them or keep them captive. They're not "just fish."

--Dolphins are sold for up to 150K a piece to places like Sea World, Aquariums, etc. This is what makes the industry to kill them profitable.

--Why? Because no one eats dolphin meat. It isn't a part of the Japanese culture to do so, and what's infinitely worse:

--Dolphin meat is LACED with mercury. Whereas the maximum lawful allowance for mercury in fish meat is 4 parts per million, dolphin meat has been measured at 22,000 parts per million.

Now, whether we have sympathy for captive dolphins or not, we cannot deny that it is genocide to permit people to consume any such type of food. And the Japanese government has dolphin meat re-labeled as other types of meat so that people think they're buying one thing and actually getting another---and the other happens to be something that will cause their newborn children to have massive birth defects, including blindness, deafness, severe brain damage and so on.

A few years ago, the government in Japan tried to make dolphin meat a mandatory part of every lunch at every school in the country.

--Why? Because they're running out of other fish--because, as they say, the dolphins are eating all the fish! So, kill the pests (dolphins) and eat them in the meantime.

And we haven't even started with the IWC and how Japan buys off entire countries' votes so that they can continue to whale and slaughter dolphins.

I am done. There is so much shit that goes on in this world, and I know we all have moments where we want to throw our hands up and say "forget it--it's useless." From corporate corruption to world hunger, and everything in between.

But I think that we all need to keep each other in check. And Japan needs to be put in check. Selling dolphins to Sea World is one thing--slaughtering thousands needlessly and feeding their poisoned meat to children is another.

This is one of SO many issues--and paradoxical ones--because my son at Sea World is the happiest child on the planet.

So, do we stop going to Sea World? To the Monterey Aquarium? To Zoos? Are all people who work at these places and claim to love animals complete hypocrites? During the Q and A with the filmmakers afterwords, I posed a similar question. You can't imagine the reaction of the audience. I was the enemy.

Well, I don't feel that way. I believe those places and people do genuine good. I believe with all of my heart that God wants us to experience Nature. Zoos and Aquariums make it possible for millions of people to experience something they never otherwise would be able to. And that is good.

But their programs are not perfect, and we need to be continually improving on how we treat other species on this planet—especially the ones who save our lives when a shark is out to eat us.

Here's the coolest thing I've seen in a while.

wes.

The Hurt Locker.

Just a quick post to state that I do not share the excitement of the Critics over this film:


Saw it Saturday. I was skeptical, but hopeful.

Skeptical, because how many Middle-Eastern War films have we seen in the last 6 years? Too many to count. And after the first few, you'd pretty much seen them all.

Hopeful, because every single review (professional and otherwise) I'd read about it was one of total praise and elation.

Disappointed, because The Hurt Locker is simply a new verse of a song that was getting old about 15 verses ago. Sure, the idea of following the bomb squad was appealing in parts, but when the credits rolled, I was empty.

First and worst, the film promotes this completely horrible, contradictory message: That leaving our families to defend their freedoms leads to our addiction to conflict and alienation of our loved ones.

That the protagonist's love for defusing bombs outweighed his love for his wife and son is, in my opinion, an unforgivable promotion.

And I must add that the camera work was AWFUL. Good gravy, Camera Ops, we do NOT zoom in and out--while rolling--during coverage on dialogue! I was so aware of the man behind the camera that I was taken completely away from the story.

Overall message: War absolutely sucks. Death sucks.

I did get the usual appreciation for the fact that I don't live in Iraq, but I can get that for a lot less than $14.50 (the going rate to see a film at the Arclight).

On a more positive note, I just reserved my seat for The Cove. And even though the subject matter is just as horrific as war, I think the angle is MUCH more validated. Let's free the dolphins. Not to mention there's a Q and A with the filmmakers afterwords. Can't wait.

wes.

In a word: Classic.

The past several years of my life have been INJECTED with cinema. Eat it, breath it, drink it, dream it. I have watched so many films that I feel like I'm starting to forget more than some ever see. I've considered it my duty and, dare I say it, my pleasure...

There are certainly films that I've struggled through, but felt obligated to watch. Fortunately, they are the exception more than the rule.

The reason I'm posting this is because, even as a filmmaker, I have not been a lover of the "Classics" in cinema. This is straight-up blasphemy to some people, I know. But let me clarify when I say that I absolutely know them, appreciate them, respect them—it's just that, for the most part, my passion plays to more current styles and subject matters of filmmaking. I am, you may well say, a product of my generation. I think many of the best films ever are being made during my lifetime, and I am very proud of that.

(there's also an enormity of excrement, but amidst the coals are some true gems)

But again, the REASON that I am writing this post is to say: After viewing dozens of them, I am elated to report that I've found real love for some "classics" and I want to promulgate it.


Obviously, there's "Citizen Kane." Like many people, my first viewing of the picture did not leave me with that "this is the greatest movie ever made" feeling. But, subsequently, after watching all the DVD disc II extras (SO important to do, even before your first viewing), and seeing the film several times since, I agree that it's the most incredible cinematic achievement of all time. It's a terribly important film, too--especially for those in the Industry--and not to mention some of the best Cinematography ever put on celluloid.
So, here's to you, Orson.

In the past, I've struggled with Westerns. Being from the heart of the Southwest, I've never really appreciated how it was portrayed. An example of this is "The Searchers." I just didn't care for the movie in the least. Tedious, stereotypical, theatrical. Sorry, but that's how I feel.

But watching "Unforgiven" was a different experience.


Man, do I love Gene Hackman. Really one of the great actors of our time. Clint Eastwood is a legend, but the best move he ever made was to become a Director. He is a good actor, but he is a GREAT director.

And, again, with "Unforgiven," it's more modern filmmaking. More realistic, more veristic.

The last one I'll mention for this post is what I call my "most pleasant surprise" among the classics. Having been disappointed with a number of them, I decided to give it another go with

CASABLANCA.


What a wonderful film! From start to end, I enjoyed this film. It is gorgeously photographed and Art Directed, so if my eyes are in, the rest of me is in. And Humphrey's performance is stellar. So cool. It is one of very few Studio System films that I could watch again and again. A must see, if you've never.


I just wrote about The Godfather Part II, but I want to say again that it's one of the most remarkable films I've ever, ever seen. What an AMAZING achievement.

On that note: How fantastic is this image? What a legacy.


I want to end by saying that I welcome ANY and ALL recommendations of films you've seen and loved--especially the classics, as I am trying to fully verse myself.

My thing is this: I can't see EVERY film. So I want to see the best films made, and spend the rest of my time making the best films to come.

wes.

Radio Bikini.

Just watched a Doc called "Radio Bikini." Hard to help feeling a bit overwhelmed by the potential of Mankind, for better and for much, much worse.

After we killed a couple hundred thousand Japanese and ended WWII—indeed, it seems while they were still burying their dead and cleaning up the mess—the USA decided that we needed to run more "tests" with our newly-found God powers of Atomic Energy.

This must be how it went over: We spun a globe, closed our eyes, put our finger down and there it was: our test site. Fortunately, the finger didn't land on Washington (that would have required a definite re-spin!).

Unfortunately for the inhabitants of the Bikini Atoll Island in the Pacific, the finger landed smack-dab on them. And, in wonderfully typical US fashion, we politely told the inhabitants of who-knows how many centuries that we needed them to leave their island, because we were going to blow the hell out of it...

...and you bet your bottom dollar we did with the camera rolling, with multiple scripted takes of a military man telling the natives (through an interpreter) that "these tests are for the good of mankind" and all kinds of sunshine. Meanwhile, the natives keep waving at the camera, as they have never seen one before.

They have no idea that they will never set foot on their island again.

I've seen random footage of A Bomb and H Bomb tests, so it wasn't new, but it was still as frightening as the first time I saw it. The film shows both tests that were conducted, on the island (dropped from the sky) and in the water. Staggering imagery, that should make anyone who sees it fear for their lives, and the lives of their children.

The single scariest element of this Doc is that TEN HOURS LATER, thousands of US troops are back at ground-zero, swimming in the water, walking around the island and exposing themselves to God knows how much radiation in the process. The film centers around one man who had to have both legs amputated and eventually died from cancer. He was one of thousands of men who died due to the exposure of those days. And all the while, their officers and commanders and the trained scientists said "there's no risk here--you'll be just fine."

To this day, the island is still uninhabitable. That's 63 years.

What an important film. I would that anyone with military authority would watch it, step back and count the cost of their ambition. I do truly hate the audacity and arrogance that the US has displayed in the past and present. I can assure the world that we civilians do not share the same characteristics as so many of our military leaders.

How have we not learned from our mistakes? I am now speaking about mankind in general. The resurgence of nuclear warfare seems almost inevitable, and it will be worse than ever. Why do we destroy the earth—why do we destroy each other? How is it that we justify so much death in this world?

Maybe it did take the deaths of so many innocent Japanese to stop WWII, but I am glad I wasn't alive to make that decision—and yet, it still manages to haunt me. In my opinion, it was the last necessary war; everything since has been avoidable, and should have been avoided.

Our country needs to pull some Jesus out. We need to practice what we preach. But I won't get more political than that. I know better about blogger and politics...

If nothing else, the film is an interesting history less, free of military propaganda, except for the propaganda it documents.

wes.

The Godfather, Part II.

I just walked in the door, having had a powerful, inspiring experience: I watched an original print of "The Godfather, Part II" at the Arclight.

AFI and the Arclight collaborate to show prints from the Classics—the full blown theatrical experience. This was my first of what will undoubtedly be many viewings, and it was possibly the best possible film choice. I had never seen Part II, and it absolutely added to the effect it had on me. That film at that scale, for the first time ever = exceptional.

I wouldn't call myself a reviewer. I know where my cinematic strengths lie, and they're not in criticism. But I will say that it was revelatory. Francis Ford's direction in crafting such a masterpiece can't be overstated, and Al Pacino's performance was just stellar. You know someone can act when even (or especially) their silence knocks your socks. Vocal negative space, we'll call it, and as Michael Corleone, he is the spitting image of his father in that way.

All the exposition with DeNiro as the young Vito was just perfectly done. Not having seen the 3rd film, I immediately wanted to jump straight into it when the house lights were struck.

And I have to comment on the cinematography, as Gordon is so revered. I will say that his boldness in lighting The Godfather is undoubtedly one of the hallmarks of cinematographic history. It's noir without being film noir, and it was certainly the polar opposite of any lighting you'd find in the studio system days. There are some scenes that are literally 95% black—for minutes at a time—and I was just thinking: 'That was seriously ballsy.' You'd NEVER get away with some of those scenes today. And there were certainly moments when it was over done and a mistake to let it slide so far down the exposure curve. But you look past it in the broader context of the film.

You know when you have an experience that you didn't know that you always needed, and then once it's happened you wonder how you ever lived so long without it? That was me tonight, in that theater. I was fully inspired.

There was even an intermission. Very old-school. Very wonderful. The Arclight reveres Cinema and the movie-going experience. That's why I love that place. It's like nothing else.

And to end, I want to comment on that—on the theatrical experience. You don't have to be a filmmaker to know that films are meant to be viewed in that context. There's just nothing to compare with it: from the scale of the images and sound, to the community we feel with hundreds of people who are sharing that simultaneous moment. We're all suspending our disbelief together for a couple of hours on an experience which, in my opinion, is the most powerful and wonderful medium ever created.

I love Film.

wes.

So Angeleno.

My blog just got botoxed. Actually, I think it was more serious than that. I think it got a bona-fide Los Angelean Facelift.

I dubbed the name "Twenty-Four Frames" a couple months back, but now the rest of the blog has caught up in its newness.

These are the perks of being married to Banners By Lyndsay.

I am going to try to live up to the class of my new facade.

It's a homage to classic, vintage Hollywood and a record of modern experience in that same space. So, like Panavision, I am inspired by the past and focused on the future.

(you're in a movie theater, in case the concept isn't so overt)

They have actually been very eventful, these past 10 days. I've crewed on the set of a Cheerios commercial, learned from two ASC members during AFI's summer semester, met a few prominent Angelenos and spent time at Deluxe Lab. It's a wild experience to walk up a stairwell and see an Answer Print of District 9 sitting on the railing, out of the can, just asking to be borrowed...

I also caught a film which I couldn't recommend more. A refreshingly original take on a relatively popular theme, perfectly performed by Sam Rockwell. Great direction, well shot, and absolutely worth seeing. I call this film the Anti-Shamalan, and that's the highest compliment I could give it. The "twist" comes early--it's the catalyst, really--instead of relying on it as an ending.


And now I must sleep. I've got a date with Harry Potter at 9am at the Arclight, then off to Deluxe again to get the full-blown experience. I am milking LA LA land--and I should be--because I am giving pretty much everything I have for these next 2 years, which will be their own catalyst for the many more that will follow...

...and we go.

wes.

The Rabble in Arms.

Before I lay my head at the end of this Independence Day, I want to express my love for my Country: The United States of America.

I love the whole earth: Its diversity, its endless wonderment, its absolute grandeur. I love the people and the cultures and all Nature's creations.

But I love America the most. I am her son.

If anyone actually reads this and puts any stock in my words, I will ask them whole-heartedly to read the book "1776" by David McCullough. Next to the Good Book itself, there is no more important text that I know of. I truly feel that every American should be required to watch "Saving Private Ryan" and read "1776" before they graduate High School.

I wonder what a Country it would be if we all felt the gravity of those stories.

George Washington, Henry Knox, Nathaniel Greene. These are names we should revere.

Blessed be the Rabble in Arms that made my life possible. That I am able to live freely and pursue happiness is a priceless gift that holds my endless gratitude.

For all the faults that men have cast upon Her ever since, She is still the greatest country on earth. God bless the USA.

wes.

the Art and Craft of Photography.

(Hereunder are exhibited some very strong feelings. Please don't judge me until you've read the entirety of it. Then you may judge me, if you must.)

For about a Century, Creative industries enjoyed a sort of autonomous monopoly over their fields and disciplines. Film, Photography, Design — these careers were limited to a small percentage of highly educated professionals, and their 'trade secrets' were tightly guarded and passed down through a process of hard-earned apprenticeships.

Enter the 1990s. Enter Photoshop, enter Illustrator, enter In-Design, enter Final Cut. Enter the INTERNET and a social Revolution.

As a Product of said Revolution, I am the first to admit that I am one of its primary Beneficiaries. I will not deny for one second that whatever quality of work comes from my brain and hands was very much influenced by and can absolutely be attributed to the Revolution.

HOWEVER. I will not hide that I have spent the last decade devoting myself to being as educated as much as humanly possible in the field and discipline I've chosen to participate in.

SO as not to sound generic, let me be specific: I spent every waking hour of 4 years immersing myself in the study of Optics, Chemistry, Photometry, Color Theory, Art and Architectural History, 2-Dimensional Design, Lighting Practices and Theory. On my own initiative, I read Ansel Adams' entire library on Photography, "The Camera," "The Negative," and "The Print." This included learning the Zone System from scratch and mastering it through exhaustive testing and endless frustration. I lived in a Darkroom for the better part of 3 years before I decided to pick up a digital camera. That was 6 years ago.

When I graduated with a Degree in Professional Photographic Illustration, I still felt wholly inadequate to be entering into the field, so I moved to Kansas City to spend a year apprenticing with one of the great photographers in our country: Nick Vedros. He became my mentor and a dear friend. To this day, I hold no one higher. He is truly a Master Craftsman, and a prime example of what a lifetime's devotion to a Trade can accomplish.

Only after my time with Nick did I feel prepared enough to make a go of it on my own. And I did. I spent 5 years shooting professionally for clients all around the world. It was an extremely enjoyable journey, but one that required constant growth to stay up with the competition and to better myself as an artist. And only recently did I feel I truly deserved the title of PHOTOGRAPHER.

There. Now that I've established myself as a pompous narcissist, may I please explain WHY?

This is not me on my self-important soap box. This is me saying that, with ALL of my heart, I believe the Art and Craft of Photography deserves the best, the brightest, the most progressive and most devoted practitioners. To me, it's similar to a religion. I think EVERYone in every profession should feel that way about what they do. I'm no pompous, and not nearly important enough to be narcissistic. I am merely a passionate soul with very strong feelings.

The problem with Photography is that every one on the planet owns a camera. And as there are no licenses required, no Bars to pass, no official certifications or documents required, who's to say when someone is a "Photographer?"

Case-In-Point: I am a 31 year-old mother of 2, and I got a DSLR for Christmas. I absolutely LOVE photography and the way that I see the world now. I've been taking pictures of my kids, my friends' kids, and have even been asked to photograph a wedding.

AM I A PHOTOGRAPHER?

No. You are not a Photographer. You love photography. That is wonderful. You may have a knack for composition. Good for you. But you're not a Photographer. Don't feel bad about this. There is nothing wrong with not being a Photographer. You can still take good photographs. But for the sake of the working professional Photographers in the world, please don't call yourself a Photographer.

Compared to the best shooters I know, I barely felt worthy of the title. This isn't personal, it's about standards and quality of work.

Being a Photographer should mean something; It should infer and imply; It should carry with it a certain amount of weight when it leaves our lips.

If someone says "I'm a Lawyer," it grants immediate credibility and commands instant respect. You passed the Bar. Big deal. If someone says "I'm a Surgeon," the same effect.

Now, we can't begin to rationalize in our brains that a Photographer can't reach the status or importance of Lawyers and Doctors and Such. The best Photographers have made just as many dollars and have had just as large an impact as the best in any profession.

Back to the point. A Photographer is someone who is educated in photography, is someone who consistently shoots for and works with multiple clients on a weekly basis, and is someone who generates enough income from their images to provide an entire livelihood for themselves. To put a number to it: If you're not making at least $25,000 dollars a year (a basic starting salary for many professions) from the images you produce, then you are not a Photographer. A professional Photographer is a person who makes their living from making images. This is a standard that everyone can hold themselves to, no matter what their background or gender. If you're making 25 grand in a year as a shooter, you must be decent at what you do. Double that if you're good. Triple that if you're very good and quadruple it if you're exceptional. If you are the best, tack on a couple million and even more.

Digital photography has made it much easier to make successful images. And a DSLR can teach its user much about photography — much more than they realize. Modern DSLRs can teach you about Color Temperature, about Film Speed (ISO sensitivity), about Shutter Speeds and F-Stops. This is AMAZING — to me, anyway. But that's just the problem: very, very few make and take the time to learn what their camera is trying to tell them.

The most fundamental thing a Photographer can know is one of the things that most people with a camera have no idea about: How does a light meter work? Virtually every camera has an internal light meter, and it is ENTIRELY responsible for the image that is being made when you click the shutter. Whether you shoot on AUTO or MANUAL, the meter is always working, always speaking to you.

18% Grey. It is everything.

We owe a great debt to George Eastman. If you think you want to be a Photographer, I think you are obligated to understand why. I think you should learn how a light meter works. I think you are obligated to consciously "get" what light is and what happens when it enters a lens. I think you are obligated to know your Craft.

As the saying goes:

If you can't take sting of the Stop Bath, then get out of the Darkroom.

You won't ever feel the sting of Stop Bath. You have a Digital Darkroom. But metaphorically, you had better get your hands into the Developer, the Stop and the Fixer. You had better get every drop out of Photoshop, rather than relying on a series of automated batch processes.

Know Your Craft.

In the evolution of my own career, I am following my passion into a new discipline: Cinematography. There are fewer people in the field, but there is also a much higher standard, and the competition is even greater. I will not call myself a Cinematographer until I've received my Master's Degree from AFI, and maybe not even then. Maybe it'll take another 5 years before I feel worthy. But I will get there. I will give everything I have to get there. Cinematography deserves that from me.

wes.

getting cozy at the cone.

Well, this must actually be happening.

Someway, somehow, we actually accomplished moving the great majority of our lives to Burbank, CA — exactly 8.2 miles from the AFI campus — otherwise known as the Media Capital of the World. To me, it's known as the family-friendliest place to (affordably) live in any proximity to Hollywood.

It's really the ideal place to be — to leave my family and know they're safe and happy while I go become a bona-fide DP.

We've been swimming in boxes for days, but have made time for a few good activities like eating on the Universal Lot, touring AFI, and today we hit the LA Zoo and Hollywood Blvd (only to be detoured by the BRÜNO premiere).



But really, it's just been a lot of settling and transitioning. This is not a stress-free process. Just ask my wife. It's not easy to start clean. I spent much of today dealing with car insurance, renter's insurance, wire transfers and credit cards. See, we celebrities are JUST LIKE YOU.

wes.

The British are coming.

Facebook takes a lot of my thoughts, so I don't publish as many on my Blog.
But here we are, nevertheless.

We should have more words like "nevertheless." Danes love to squish multiple words
together into the same word. Example:

"ødelæggelsesvåben"

That single word means "weapon of mass destruction." That's FOUR of our words.

Anyway. I really think New York City is an amazing place. I've been able to visit
just about every year forthe past 5-6 years, and it is just as overwhelming
--just as confirming an experience that New York City is the single greatest
man-made spectacle in the United States. Truly, you have to see it to believe it.

Here it is by night. This was my misty view from The Standard Hotel.

Had a really successful wedding shoot yesterday. Great couple, amazing location,
and a number of fortunate moments like this one (chance does favor a prepared mind):

And now I'm at JFK--took the subway, feeling very courageous...

Then it's home to AZ for 2 more weeks before a very new chapter in a perfect place. If I ever get to some status where a Celebrity Interviewer asks me a rapid succession of one-answer questions like: "New York or LA?" the answer is an instant "LA." I am a definite West-Sider.

"Boxers or Briefs?" The answer to that doesn't come quite as quickly.................."neither?"

wes.

(PS--The title of this blog comes from being on the Hudson River last night. I've read "1776" four times, and its impact on me has been indelible. Anyway, after their retreat from Boston, the British sent their whole armada up the Hudson, despite all the Americans' attempts to keep that from happening. I was imagining what it must have looked like to watch such a fearful spectacle of dozens of monumentally large ships--one alone having well over 80 canons if I remember right--flow up the Hudson. What an awe-full, awful sight that must have been. That we ever won that war was nothing short of miraculous. George Washington for President.)

Life at 120 Frames.

What's interesting about "slow-motion" is that there's nothing slow about it. High-Speed Photography—where the camera is cranking through hundreds and even thousands of frames every second—is required to get true "slow" motion when it's played back at the usual 24 frames per second.

My life feels like some weird combination of capture and playback. I am running at full speed—easily cranking out 120 FPS—and somehow playing it back at 24 at the same time.

So, it's high-speed living in real-time—which is paradoxical.

In the past 10 days, I've been to LA, Kansas City, shot multiple jobs, begun packing the house, sold virtually all of my Profoto gear, spoke in Church, finalized the lease on our new home in Burbank and made loads of preparations for the Big Move, which now happens in less than a month. And it still feels like I'm getting nowhere in so many ways.

I know I'm making progress, and that this is actually happening, but I am getting genuinely anxious to GET GONE. 

On that note: We've got a bunch of great FURNITURE that we need to let go, so if any one needs great furniture at a great price, please let me know. Please.

It's a race to June 20th.

wes.

The Death of a Diné.

I've found that phone calls from blocked numbers have a higher potency of Fate in them. I was accepted to AFI with a blocked call. Tonight I received another, with much less joyous news. I share it hesitantly on my blog, but realize simultaneously that if I don't write it down here, it won't get written down at all.

About a year ago, I was on my way to the Grand Canyon to do a portrait for Arizona Highways. As I topped out of the Sonoran, I spotted a hitchhiker and picked him up. He was Native American. His name was Herbert Tsosie. He was trying to get home: The Gap. It's a place in Northern Arizona about halfway between Flagstaff and Page.

Let me back up just a bit. As I was leaving the house that morning, I felt inclined to grab my Mini Disc recorder. I didn't know why until I saw Herbert. 

For the next 3 hours, Herbert and I talked. Herbert talked mostly, and I listened mostly. That's exactly how I wanted it. I have audio clips from that car ride that are incredibly significant to me. This is why I hesitate to post this. I try to keep my most personal feelings to myself, to my God and to my wife. There are very few people who know how deeply I love the Diné people and their land — and how important I believe them to be in the Grand Scheme of things.

I took Herbert clear to Cameron, and was consequently late for my portrait. He asked me to come to his home the next day to spend time and meet his family. I said I would.

When the next day came, I arrived at his home at The Gap. Herbert was not home, but his family was — and they were not expecting me. After a somewhat tense moment (insert stereotypical image of White Man Cowboy and Savage Injun Chief squaring off-----though it was actually me and an obese old Navajo woman — sorry to dash your fantasy), I was able to explain my presence on their property. 

They explained that Herbert was gone, that they had no idea when he'd return. This was common, they said, and he would often come home very intoxicated. I failed to mention that as I drove Herbert home the day previous, he drank two liters of beer like it was Mother's Milk. Nevermind my ignorance toward Open Container Laws — only someone less naive would have thought about that.

I left my contact information with his family and left. I also didn't say that Herbert was going to take me to see a Dinosaur footprint in the sandstone on the mountain behind their property, as well as an ancient moccasin print. Not getting to see those was also disappointing. 

Herbert never called. It was almost six months later when the phone rang. It was a "928" Area Code, which means it was from Northern AZ. A man identified himself as Harry Tsosie — Herbert's father — and asked if I would come and meet with him. He was in Glendale visiting his daughter. I eagerly said that I would — extremely humbled by his contacting me.

The next day, I spent hours in a little house trailer in Glendale learning everything about the Tsosie clan. Things that are so special to me. Harry's father was a bona-fide Code Talker in WWII — a major reason we were able to win the war. He and virtually all the men in his family had served one time or another in their lives — some multiple times. I have always been fascinated by the irony of the Native Americans' patriotism toward a people that drove and slaughtered them like cattle for centuries. I think they saw past the White Man, into the preservation of their sacred lands. 

If there's one thing I have going for me in this life, it's Sincerity. In my photography and in my life I have known that I have a way about me — people trust me and open themselves up to me. It's a gift I do not take lightly or abuse.  Herbert and Harry both opened their hearts to me, and I feel privileged for it. Harry told me that Herbert was in jail, and would be out in January. When I spoke with Harry in January, he said that Herbert's sentence had been extended for a year. Harry also asked me if I would be willing to come to The Gap to photograph his entire family, who would be gathered for the graduation of his Granddaughter. Again, with absolute eagerness, I agreed. The proposed date was May 23rd, 2009.

I sent Harry occasional texts over the next few months — to say hello, to tell  him how much I was looking forward to May. We also had plans to teach me Navajo, which I've thought about learning for years, and hope to.

Two weeks ago, after not hearing back from his texts, I decided to call and confirm everything for the 23rd. I got his voicemail, left a message and never heard back. I called again a few days later. This time a woman answered. She was Diné, so I assumed she was Harry's wife or daughter. She refused to speak with me and hung up. I called several more times, trying to explain who I was, but she became more hostile with each call, finally telling me she had no idea who Harry Tsosie was. 

Side note: After hundreds of years, I am amazed how little progress has actually been made — how much deep, abiding anger exists. It is palpable. This goes for many races.

I remembered I had another number that Harry gave me. I tried it, left a message, and never heard back. Until tonight. Harry's daughter called me. I was thrilled. I told her I figured Harry changed his number, as is so often the case with cells these days, but was so glad she got my message.

"My father passed away a couple of months ago."

 These words could not have been less expected. My heart literally lurched in my chest. I was, and still am in total shock. I feel as though a critical connection in my life has been severed.

Herbert is still in prison. The last time he saw his father was over a year ago. He was probably drunk. Harry was always very concerned for Herbert. I am sure he knows of his father's death, and I cannot imagine the pain of not being there when he was needed most.

And now it's now. I have a few Diné friends, but none were as important to me as Harry. He was, to me, an ancient and true Diné. He was one of the last of a generation of Native Americans that will never exist again. These days they don't even teach their native tongue in school, and very few Diné (Navajos) among the new generation can even speak it. This is a tragedy of enormous magnitude.

So, this post is for Harry. It is for the Diné whose culture and land I love beyond words. It is one of my main goals in life to tell a small part of their story — to pay tribute to their sacred landscape — in a way that does it justice.

wes.

924 South 72nd Street.

What's the silliest decision a person could make in this market? Sell a house like this.

What's the smartest decision a person could make in this market? Buy this house.

This post is not directed at its readers; I am not trying to sell you my house. I am simply asking you to help get the word out that this home is for sale, and if you know anyone who is looking to buy—who coincidentally has eclectic taste—then I hope you'll help me with a referral.

I love this home. I did not buy it—did not pour thousands of hours and tens and thousands of dollars into it—with the intention of leaving so soon. But life intervened, and my fate has its own schedule—a schedule that is impeccably out of sync with the Real Estate Market.

I want to let the images speak for themselves, but suffice it to say that I believe this is the single best home, dollar for dollar, on the market—which it is, as of today.

2,350 Square Feet; 3 Bed, 2.5 Bath; Golf Course; Quiet Seniors for Neighbors; Custom EVERYthing.

I am not shy about numbers. I hate games. So I'll shoot straight: I have $315 Grand in this home, and I think it shows it. There isn't one aspect of the home that we haven't improved and updated. We're listing it for $259,000. That means I am losing lots of money. That also means the buyer is getting an unbelievable buy.

So here it is. If you know anyone who's looking, please send them the link to this post.












...and so much more.

wes.

cinematogra-me.

Welcome to the newly-named version of my same-old blog.

I decided upon a rebirth for my blog because everything else in my life is starting over. Not starting over as much as evolving, but there's a lot of newness.

For the next several years, I will be establishing myself as a Cinematographer: 2 years of school followed by a lifetime of passionate exploration of a medium that I consider the highest of all art forms. I deal in Light, and Cinematography is the ultimate man-made expression of it.

"twenty-four frames" for those who may not know, is the standard framerate for recording motion pictures: at twenty-four frames per second, which most closely approximates/replicates the way humans see the world. There's other framerates (which can be wicked fun to utilize) such as 12 frames per second ("fps"). This would, when played back at 24fps make everything appear to be moving very quickly. Or 48fps, which would slow things down. We call this "under cranking" and "over cranking." You can always go faster or slower with your frame rate, but you can only shoot at 24fps for sync-sound (to match with the audio of people speaking).

So, there's that. This blog will now reflect my life, which life will be comprised of 95% of my time being devoted my education, and 5% for everything else--the "maintenance" of everything else: my family, church ,etc. That 5% will be very potent, very qualitative time. I want to thank my wife in advance for her patience, for her support, for her love. There is no way on God's Green Earth that I could be doing this without her confidence in me. She is, as I like to say, the H-Bomb.

There will be long, hard and trying times ahead. This education--this pursuit of passion--will come at a significant sacrifice, financially, emotionally, physically and otherwise.

But on the other side of such sacrifice comes the reaping of a satisfaction known to very few.

Slow, steady growth. That's what wins the race. And here we go. August will be here in no time.

There's still loads to get done: Properties to sell, Student Loans to acquire, a Home in Hollywood to be found, and a million little things.

wes.

Låt den rätte komma in.

Do you know what I love? Language. I wish I was more of a linguist, but I think my brain is limited in that sense. I just don't know if I could learn more than a couple of languages.

Or maybe I'm limiting myself...

But in another way, knowing one language has given me access to others. Speaking Danish enables me to tap in to all Scandinavian tongues, as well as bits of German and Icelandic.

I can read Norwegian as if it was Danish, and I can understand most Swedish (especially with subtitles). And that's a bit of a segue into the point of this post:

"Låt den rätte komma in."

I want to talk about the single best film I've seen lately. It's a Swedish Vampire flicker (titled above) which translates roughly to "Let the right one in."

(Lyndsay, please forgive me for this)

With all the "Twilight" buzz these days, it's hard to think that a Vampire film could be more than sappy teenage drama. "Twilight" was not a bad film, but it was a variation on a theme—a theme that taps in and plays to the perpetual demographic of teenagehood.

But as a 30-year-old filmmaker, I am looking for something more: more original, more veristic, more engaging.

"Låt den rätte komma in."


Anyone who knows me knows that my LEAST favorite genre of film is horror. It is gratuitous, it is unintelligent, it is sensational and it is predictable. It is, in a word, pointless.

"Låt den rätte komma in" would fall under the "horror" category, but it could not be LESS of a horror film.

Nor am I a fan of the Vampire genre by any stretch of the imagination. But that's just it! That's exactly why this film takes you by such surprise—why it is so refreshingly original.

I am not one to ruin a film by divulging too much, but let this post suffice to say that "Låt den rätte komma in" is the most original—and interestingly, the most human—take on what it means to be a Vampire.

It is a story told from the perspective of 2 twelve-year old children. I think so much of its brilliance comes from this one decision: Before the teenage drama begins.

And yet, that's also just it. The Vampire is a 12-year-old girl, shy and powerful—fearful and frightening.

OH MAN, it is so good. I want to watch it again immediately. If I had seen this sooner, it would absolutely have been in my Top 5 for 2008. That's how highly I recommend it.

Now, a disclaimer: It's got some seriously intense moments. I would equate it to "Pan's Labyrinth" in terms of intensity. Definitely for adults only.

ONE LAST THING: No matter how you feel about subtitles, DO NOT WATCH THE DUBBED VERSION. It is absolutely awful. Please give it the respect it deserves and watch it in its original language of Swedish. You'll enjoy it SO much more. Trust me on that.

wes.