Category: Photography

The Cult of Cheap

The Bride and Her PartyToday I read a great article on PetaPixel regarding the all too common prenuptial outcry about how outrageously expensive wedding photography is. Rather than justifying his fees to customers by providing an overall expenses list, wedding photographer Pavel Kounine prefers a different approach. He clarifies the difference between getting married and “holding a wedding,” and points out that the latter is actually a luxury… and an expensive one at that. Succinctly put, he writes:

The major expenses are everything that isn’t part of the official ceremony: the venue(s), liquor and multi-course meals for guests, a multi-tiered cake, flowers, decorations, entertainment, your wardrobe, makeup and hair, accommodations, and… your desire to have a wedding photographer document the entire affair and do so with exceptional artistry.

While Kounine’s argument holds merit, I think the problem goes much much deeper, especially where everything and anything creative is concerned. This perpetual baulking about price speaks to the disturbing devaluation of art and artists of all kinds in a world where outsourced knockoffs (Chanel handbag clones included) can be had for a buck at Walmart or elsewhere. Many people also believe that they are entitled to free music and movies (acquired illegally on the Internet), and besides… everybody with a smartphone can be a ‘photographer’ on Instagram [insert sarcasm here] so $3,000 for a professional wedding photographer?!!!?!! OMIGAWD!!!

The sad truth is that today’s values have been shaped by a financially driven, corporately designed, disposable mentality and lifestyle where consumers have been conditioned to endlessly consume cheap shit, thus keeping the 1% rich and laughing all the way to the bank. They have created a society that is addicted to dopamine inducing sales and deals, where the true and horrific costs of such are unscrupulously hidden from view. All of us, whether we want to admit it or not, have fallen victim to the cult of cheap.

Given our current situation, wedding photographers continue to struggle (as do creators in all media)… so when it comes to securing contracts, I suppose it is simply more prudent to point out the “luxury” rationalization to an emotional bride-to-be rather than argue with her the psychology of the corporate conspiracy to manipulate the masses and cheapen everything on the planet. In the end, we all pay one way or another.

Disclaimer: Although I captured the photo above at my niece’s wedding, I am not a wedding photographer. Kudos to her for hiring accredited photographer, David Fong, who did an amazing job capturing the magic of the day from beginning to end.

Revisiting the Colosseum

Coliseum FrontSo… I’m still sifting through those 20+ thousand never seen by anyone (including me) photos buried in my computer. Last night I found these, processed them through Lightroom, and although they are interesting in colour, black and white just seems to transform them into something purely magical. The photos were taken during my trip to Italy in 2010 where three of my works were featured at an international exhibition. My return flight was out of Rome, so I had time to “roam” around the city a bit.

What I didn’t realize at the time was that, being Sunday in the home of the Roman Catholic Church, stores were CLOSED (my plan had been to buy a pair of Italian boots and then go sightseeing). So… I ventured out and eventually found myself walking up the busy via Labicana hoping that something somewhere might be open. Suddenly I noticed the Colosseum up ahead in the distance. It was so unexpected, such a powerful OMIGAWD moment–how could such an ancient landmark possibly be situated on a bustling urban street?! I practically ran the rest of the way in my excitement, relieved to be scratching off one of the big items on my Rome To-do List so soon. And even better, by pure chance admission was free to all museums and heritage sites that weekend, so I got to hang out at the Colosseum until closing time and sunset. It was so relaxed, not terribly crowded, and truly amazing! Here are a few of the full colour shots. Enjoy!

 

Place

Detroit

The pull of place
on frayed strings
attached to faded memories
and beating hearts
gnawed upon by time
and childhood traumas
holds strong
even now.

She looks back
on loosened ties
in so many places—
the happy moments
the kisses and farewells
the many ends
of many beginnings
each thought to be the one
that would tame
the longing
forever.

It is a haunting
that echoes
down a winding trail
of silvered hair
and dried up tears
roaming
searching
driven
and blind—
une force majeure
so terribly misunderstood
by those who would have her
bound and chained to a hell
more closely resembling their own.

But the “nomad” knows
she is not that
and now it has come to this—
a place where a bridge
spans a river
so fresh and new
in its familiarity
linking this time
with that place
in her memory
where fragile roots
were torn so violently
from their knowing
and she is finally home.

A little background:

Some years ago it occurred to me that “chemistry” was a pretty interesting concept. We often talk about finding pair bonds with our fellow humans and the role that chemistry has in successful unions. People are drawn to each other, or not.

For me the chemistry theory also applies to our relationship with place. For example, over the years I’ve lived in over a dozen cities and towns. Some were great, but there were others in which over time I began to develop a sense of angst—like I knew I wasn’t supposed to be there and it just wasn’t “my place.” This had nothing to do with friends because I’ve always had the good fortune of finding great friends everywhere, which made leaving all the harder.

I also believe that place of origin (or place of birth) imprints on the souls of young children. I was five and a half when my father died and my mother moved us from Detroit to Timmins. Those two places could not be more different. It never ever was my plan to remain in such a remote northern community with brutal winters to raise a family of my own, so at age eighteen I packed my bags and hightailed it south… then west, then east again, then north, etc., zigzagging around the country.

Now after ten years in North Bay, I’m living in Windsor just across the river from my birthplace. I remember so much from my childhood—although more like a vivid dream—and I cross over to explore Detroit as often as I can. Every time I get over there my heart just leaps with joy. It’s hard to describe, but I suppose I’ve finally found my place.