PixelatedImage Blog

This March, I spent more time making photographs with my iPhone down the coast of Oregon than I did with my D3s and Pelican cases full of gear. Many of the images I made in those days are among the best of my recent photographs; unobstructed by all the gear I was more able to play. But not once did I simply point and shoot.

Point and shoot is an attitude, an approach to photography; it is not – nor to my mind should it be – a category of cameras. So while this post is more of my usual hair-splitting over semantics, I believe it’s important. It’s important because it says something about how we think about the tools we use and – more importantly – perpetuates the same kind of nonsense as the trumped up importance given to Pros. As in, Buy This Camera, Shoot Like a Pro. The implication is that we should want to shoot like a pro because to be a Pro is to be at the pinnacle of this art. I call bullsh*t. But that’s not my point.

When the Fuji x100 was announced there were mixed reactions, as they always are when a new piece of gear is released. We polarize so quickly on some of this stuff. Many of the reactions could most easily be summed up in a comment from a friend on Twitter this evening.  The x100 is just a $1200 point and shoot camera.

It struck me as a funny thing to say. And the more I thought about it seemed completely irrelevant. Not the comment, so much, but the fact that that comment should even mean something to me. And that something is: that’s serious money for a camera that’s not serious. Might not be what my friend meant, but it’s what I inferred and I’ve heard it elsewhere unambiguously.

So what makes a camera serious? Must it be a $3200 body with a $1800 lens? Does it need a certain sensor size? Must it be a DSLR? At the most basic our tools are boxes with a hole in them. Our media are time and light. We use optics to create a quality of focus and manipulate the geometry in the frame. We need to control the amount of light coming into the box, knowing that doing so with aperture and shutter allows other aesthetic effects. But as far as I know, beautiful photography has been created with pinhole cameras, antique rangefinders, and iPhones, as surely as a Ltd. Edition gold-plated Leicas and $10,000 pro-bodies have produced an astonishing quantity of crap. The recent enthusiasm towards plastic lens cameras (eg Holgas) is a great example. I’ve seen some incredible work created by photographers using the Holga and I’ve seen work I think we’d all agree was junk, even with a gracious and liberal allowance made in order to avoid being called a “snob”.

My x100 is a beautiful camera. It does everything my Nikon D3s does in terms of creating a simple, compelling photograph. It has constraints, to be sure, but I see those constraints as an opportunity for greater creativity, not less. I’m unlikely to serve clients with this camera, but I’m very likely to create work that I’m most proud of with it. And at no point would I describe my approach to photography, regardless of the camera I hold in my hands, as point and shoot.

Point and Shoot. The words imply automation. They imply a lack of intention and care. And to me those words trivialize the efforts to create something beautiful with these fundamentally simple and elegant boxes. To me it’s about the way we approach the entire art, however it is we do that. I guess my point is this; you can point and shoot, if you choose to, but your camera can not. Having a serious camera is not the point and never has been, because in the hands of an artists, a child’s toy will create beauty. Client needs aren’t the issue, that’s different. That has to do with the best tool for the job argument. My plea here is that we alone accept responsibility for creating something great, and we do it with the camera we most enjoy.

I suspect I’m naive and idealistic in hoping we’ll see an end to some of this nonsense anytime soon. It’s perpetuated by the same engines of commerce that want to convince every still photographer that their career is in peril unless they learn video – a completely different discipline and language. I’m probably banging my head against the wall, and I’m OK with that. Where I take it personally is when my friends, readers, and students -  people new to the craft and so full of enthusiasm – are convinced every 12 months to part with serious money because they’ve been convinced the newer, bigger cameras, are more serious. And they go from promise to promise. Red herring to red herring.They learn to divert what was once an enthusiasm for making photographs to an enthusiasm for better and better cameras. God forbid they should be caught making photographs with a point and shoot camera.

Get a camera you love to use. Make photographs you love. If that’s a simple, used, $50, beat-up 35mm camera, or a $700 iPhone, or a $10,000 Mamiya, just do what you love: make photographs. Leave the pointing and shooting for others. Your photographs are judged on their own merits, not the tool you used to create them.

A cable vanishes into the clouds in a marble quarry high above Carrara, Italy, the place Michelangelo sourced his marble for David. Much of my own artistic journey feels like this, more of what I’m looking for is obscured than revealed at first glance. I spend a lot of time waiting for the mist to clear.

When it comes to the voices we listen to, I think there is much more to discuss than my short article could possibly cover earlier this week. Here are a couple more thoughts, some of them jarred from my head by comments left in response to the last piece I wrote.

One of the voices I touched on, but didn’t really address was that of mis-aligned ego (that’s what I call it, call it whatever you like, the name doesn’t matter). I mentioned the toxicity of a desire for fame or praise, which reminded me of a line from a Josh Ritter song – “I’m singing for the love of it; have mercy on the man who sings to be adored.” (Snow is Gone). It’s a strong voice and one many of us probably wrestle to silence for much of our lives. But fail to silence that voice and the inescapable result is work that is self-conscious and less a gift to the world than it is the photographic equivalent of fishing for compliments. I’m not saying the desire to be acknowledged is necessarily unhealthy, but that when that voice become the loudest voice, art suffers. How do you deal with that particular voice? Most religions have tried at length to address this same struggle, so you won’t find a simple answer here. But practically, I think it begins with learning simply to recognize that voice and then finding voices that speak truer things. This is part of what it means to struggle with the so-called human condition and the artist’s life.

If that voice of the mis-aligned ego might be described at times as arrogance, the flip-side of it is no less distracting. I don’t know a single artist that doesn’t wrestle with cycles of self-doubt, second-guesses, and listening to the radio station in our heads that Ann Lammot in Bird By Bird calls K-F*CK (the * is mine). We all wrestle with this one and it’s one of the reasons we need both fans and critics – to give us something closer to an objectivity that’s clouded by the collective voices of K-F*CK. Those voices come from the past, from unkind words spoken by people who ought to have known better. Parents, teachers, other kids. We know as adults that the cruel words of people from our pasts are only that, but they hold no less power subconsciously. Finding new voices to listen to begins a long process – perhaps life-long – of hearing truer, more positive things. They won’t be silenced, but they can be replaced. Until we do that those voices hold us back. “Ridicule,” Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “is a terrible whitherer of the imagination. It binds us where we should be free.”

What I do know is that this stuff is harder to work through than simply learning to chose an f/stop. It’s big picture and it’s lifelong and it probably looks like more navel-gazing than some people want to do. But folks, Art is hard. Art, to be art at all contains something of the artist within it. And to do that requires self-disclosure, courage, and a willingness to face these voices and intentionally chose truer ones. It won’t come through pretending the voices aren’t there, and it’s hard to hold a camera when your fingers are in your ears to stop the voices you don’t want to hear.

Vincent Versace wrote an article on Scott Kelby’s blog yesterday, and among the nuggets was a short discussion about the voices we listen to. I suggest reading the entire article because Vincent’s one of the rare voices of sanity in an art addicted to gear and technique, and when he’s this lucid ( Vincent gets hard for me to understand when he drifts into the academic) it’s worth a read. Here’s one of the quotes that caught my eye yesterday morning, and it offers a different solution to one of those voices.

“All artists hear a call to express themselves creatively, but too often, that voice fades with time and is replaced by one that says, “You can’t do that.” or “If it was such a brilliant idea someone else would have thought of it first.” The quickest way to silence that voice is to do exactly the thing that you think you cannot.”

 

Some thoughts on the voices we listen to. My disclaimer: I’m still on meds that make writing a little tough. I feel foggy. I probably write more from my gut right now, which is good unless you want this stuff to make actual sense. So this one might be a little more rambling than others…

As artists and creators we listen to a lot of voices, some of them helpful and others less so. I’ve written elsewhere that to grow in our art or craft it’s important to seek critics and not merely fans. While some fans can also be helpful critics, it’s rare. The two voices perform different and beautiful roles, but they aren’t to be confused. Nor, for that matter, should they be listened to exclusively. There is, among all the other competing voices, a third voice, a more important voice, but I’ll get to that.

The Fan encourages us, gives us the strength to push on when we’re not sure the struggle is worth the effort. The Fan reminds us that the worst of our work doesn’t define us. The Fan is the cheerleader – often found in friends and family – that gives us hope. But while the Fan’s voice is always positive it’s not always helpful and can in fact be ruinous if we listen to it alone. The Fan, for all her enthusiasm, isn’t usually qualified to do much more than cheer-lead. It may feel good to be told your work is the best work ever, but if that Fan doesn’t know so much as one other photographer or the history of the art, that voice isn’t qualified. And in that case the voice of the fan is misleading. A voice enthusiastically cheering you on, while you merrily run in the wrong direction isn’t a helpful voice, no matter how well-meaning.

The Critic helps us see our blind spots and asks a lot of questions. The critic is honest and – assuming you’ve chosen your critics well – wants only to make your work better through a more objective view of it. The Critic pushes us, sometimes harder than we want to be pushed. The Critic, when he knows his stuff and – importantly – knows us – can help us ask questions of ourselves, make us aware when we’re repeating our own work, and call us forward. The Critic, properly chosen is not a negative voice, though there are many of those. I’m not referring to those voices. Critical voices can be good, criticizing ones just squelch our creative souls. The Critical voice can be the most helpful one as we push our art past our comfortable places and into the unknown places. That push can give us courage to do better.

I’ve been talking through these issues with a friend of mine and have come down to more questions than answers. How do you know when to listen to which voices? What do you do when the voices of the Fans just seems like empty praise and the voice of the Critic seems to be killing your soul? How do we know how much weight to give these opinions of others in the pursuit of something so personal? Does actively seeking feedback impact creativity and originality? All good questions, and probably ones we need to keep asking.

I think above it all we need to remember the third voice. Or rather, the voice that should be – must be – our own. That voice is our Gut. No mentor, critic, fan or otherwise will ever, ever, know what sits in our souls hoping to get out in some form of expression. Art is solitary and the decisions to make honest art are ours and ours alone. Yes, we need teachers to push us in our craft, and we need people to lay eyes on our work, but the first and last voice is our own. We need to trust our instincts, trust our gut. But we need to be open to the fact that, in the world of art, some people just have lousy instincts. The world of Art beckons. It’s alluring, a siren. Or maybe it’s just an unquenchable longing from within to express. But remember, you can express yourself in a million ways, just like every human on this planet of, what, 7 billion? And you may never become the celebrated artist you wish you could be. But if that’s the case, your longing is not expression: it’s fame. And if that’s the case you’re chasing the wrong thing and you don’t stand a chance of creating something others will respond to until you deal with that toxicity that’s strangling your creativity. Creativity is a fragile thing, easily killed if we chase money, fame, praise, or anything other than the act of creating something true instead. The reason I even bring it up is that none of this is easy and even our own instinct will betray us at times.

And on top of these voices, it’s to be remembered that different voices will be heard differently at different times in our lives as artists. At the beginning, as a photographer of one-year’s practice, the voices I need to listen to will differ from the ones I need now as a photographer who has been wrestling with his craft for 25 years. So I still weigh those voices against what my instinct is telling me. My gut might take me in some unusual directions, and it’s likely those will lead me to neither fame nor commercial success, but most important is that my instinct take me in a direction that is true.

Listen to the voices, at least the legitimate ones. Hear them out. Weigh them against your instinct and the reality that we all have blind spots, we all need a push in one area of our craft or another. Arrogance and a teachable spirit are mutually exclusive, but then listening to every voice but your own is the fastest way I can imagine to creating work that is uninspired, homogeneous, and lacks the most important element of art – yourself.

My collection of screws and plates. Click the image for a closer look.

This is just a quick update. I’m nearing 2 weeks post-up, and am nearing 4 weeks since the accident. The days are getting better, my mind is less foggy now that my pain meds have been significantly reduced, and each day contains small victories. I’m slowing down, learning to find meaning and joy in the moments that might otherwise feel like nothing more than a string of boring seconds assembling themselves into boring minutes and unending hours.  The image above is my recent set of scans. Feels like one of my surgeons finally found a place for all those left over bits from the IKEA boxes and just dumped them in.

Corwin flew out on Monday and we’re spending the days working and talking and catching him up to speed on my new dreams – really old dreams that have had to become somewhat more flexible than I imagined.

Flowers and cards, books and videos keep showing up, gifts from people, many of whom I really don’t know and as my feet heal I feel my heart changing too. Still overwhelmed, it’s stretching to accomodate the surplus. For all the unexpectedness of this, the setbacks, the change of plans, and the pain, I wouldn’t do this differently. I’m losing weight in ways I’d rather not, my hair is shaggy, and I’ve long stretches of boredom. I’m limited to cafeteria food. I still pee in a bottle and wrestle with a bedpan most of the time. But I’m also truly and unexpectedly happy.

One of the most unexpected aspects of this entire thing was my evacuation from Italy. Since I started travelling I’ve held a much-valued membership with MedJet Assist. I pay something like $200/year for my policy and it’s beautifully simple: if I am hospitalized over 150 miles from my home, they come get me and fly me to any hospital in the world. No fine print. So on the eve of day 4, when my two pilots and my nurses, Tiffany and James, came into my room I don’t think I’ve ever been happier to see anyone. That was at midnight. They assessed me, medicated me, and said goodnight to me. 6 hours later I was on my way to a Leer jet at Pisa airport. They were incredible. Gentle, professional, extremely capable, and – for the first time since I fell – I was in the care of people who spoke English, kept me in the loop, managed my pain and laughed with me. They are my new heroes, and when I last saw them they were leaving me at the Ottawa Civic Hospital and giving my mother a hug. I don’t know how I might otherwise have traveled home. I can’t imagine what it might have cost me. If you travel at all, let me put in my strong recommendation that you make a MedJet Assist evacuation policy a non-negotiable necessity. I always imagined I’d never use it, and if I did it would be from some near fatal gastro disease picked up in the Congo or something. I never imagined I’d call them to pick my broken body up in Tuscany. MedJet Assist is one of the most positive customer-service experiences of my life and I’m deeply grateful to them. If I could buy a lifetime membership right now I would.

More information on MedJet Assist HERE.

It’s been a while since I’ve had a good, proper, rant. Part of that has been the adventure of this year; i think it’s softened me and given me more patience, made me a little more graceful. Another part of it, probably closer to the heart of the matter is that I’ve been busy doing other things and a good rant takes time to incubate.

Well if there is one thing I have had lately it’s time. And somewhere in all that time a rant’s been building. Actually a couple rants have been building, two of which may never see the light of day because when I finally release them to the wild it’ll be me that has to pick up the pieces. One of those rants is about HDR. I’ve finally snapped on that issue and if I hear one more supposed teacher post a ludicrously over-processed HDR image and tell the world it’s closer to what the eye sees things I might re-consider my reluctance to rant about it. Over-processed HDR robs us of shadows which we require to interpret the real world, which is why subtle use of HDR effects can be amazing and over-use sucks. If you teach photography and you tell me that HDR is closer to how the eye sees then it damn better be an image that looks even vaguely realistic, and it sure as hell better be a decent image to begin with. Layering 9 weak photographs together doesn’t make the original weak photograph better, it makes for a bucket filled with 9 layers of suck.

Dammit, I said I wasn’t going to go there.

The second rant has to do with finding a happy place in between the two toxic poles of mediocrity and snobbery. In the last couple years I attended a photography conference that I ended up referring to as a celebration of mediocrity. Presided over by so-called leaders and teachers and Explorers of Light, etc, I was astonished and disappointed that the bar was set so low. So, so, low. I would never advocate exclusivism nor snobbery. Never. I am the first to acknowledge that we all learn at different paces and in different ways and that art, such as it is, is meant to be about expression and that gives us enormous latitude. However, it’s time we all focused more on growing as artists and less on our egos. When we get serious about our art we’ll start looking for critics, not fans, and right now too many people are Without using the strong language I’d like to, it’s really, really, really, overdue for us to stop the lunacy about gear. Choose your tools, enjoy them, then make something amazing. We need to stop the feeding frenzy. We need to stop patting people on the back for derivative, repetitive, imitative work and lovingly encourage them to move forward. We need to lovingly tell people – and give the same people permission to tell us – when we’re stuck, lazy, or boring. We all do this for different reasons, so not for a moment am I suggesting we become a group of photographic vigilantes. I’m suggesting we ourselves settle less, over the long term, with work that is less than what it could be. But I don’t want to rant about that.

Shoot, I did it again.

The third rant, the one I very much want to give in to, is probably not much more than a re-rant. But Oh Lord am I tired of the discussions about going back to film because it’s better. Finally transitioning to digital or medium format because it’s better. Using wide angle lenses because, “they’re better.” And when one photographer knows his 35mm camera is better and one knows his DLSR is better and they get to squabbling, well, just shoot me now. There is no better. In fact, you know what’s better? Art. Expression. Forgive me  but the rest of it is merely a photographic wank; a substitute for actual photography. The best camera is the one you enjoy using. Right now I’m using my iPhone and loving it and straining at the bit to get the Fuji x100 that I’ve ordered to use while I recover. I’ve got 3 DSLRs, a 35mm Pentax, and a Hasselblad 500C/M. I love them all and use them for different things. Is one better than another? What does better even mean?

Might it not be time to stop worrying about the meaningless and overly-vague questions of which cameras, lenses, formats, computers, even photographers, are better, and return to the ongoing attempt simply to make photographs that are better and better at expressing ourselves and moving other people? That’s the only better that matters.

I know it’s all been said. But I don’t write my blog to disseminate new information but to hash it through for the sake of my own brain. Where this all – and by all I mean the last rant, not the first two, which, as I told you, I refuse to discuss – touches me is in the need to embrace more widely the photographic world, to try new techniques, new formats, to change my preferred lens or  aspect ratio once in a while in search not of better gear but a better process that leads me to stronger work.

** Ooops. I just got back from lunch with my father to find this had been published. Dang. I was going to sit on it a couple days, maybe do a re-write. Should probably learn to avoid hitting that publish button. Anyways, I’ll leave it sit as it is. But please know these are unedited thoughts. Might need to interact a little more in the comments to clarify things…

With all the recent talk around here of risk and adventure, I can’t imagine a better time to release Alexandre Buisse’s eBook – Extreme Perspectives, An Introduction to Mountain Photography.

Alexandre is a both a mountaineer and a photographer, creating beautiful images of high places and the journey of getting there. If photographing in the outdoors appeals to you at all, this book is a must. If beautiful images of unbelievably inaccessible places inspire you, this book is a must for you too. I’ve long said there is no one discipline in photography that can’t be learned from, and the same is true here.

This exciting ebook takes you through some of Alexandre’s expeditions and gives you access to the gear and the vision he used when shooting in these breathtaking remote locations. And, in a way reminiscent of The Print & Process Series,  Alexandre describes the behind-the-scenes action while making a selection of his photographs. The travel and harsh conditions are only just the beginning! When creating truly unique and inspiring images there’s nothing quite like living the dream one day at a time, one adventure at a time.

Special Offer on PDFs
For the first four days only, if you use the promotional code EXTREME4 when you checkout, you can have the PDF version of Extreme Perspectives for only $4 OR use the code EXTREME20 to get 20% off when you buy 5 or more PDF ebooks from the Craft & Vision collection. These codes expire at 11:59pm PST May 15, 2011.

San Francisco through the raindrops on the window of the Top of the Mark. Hard to believe it was a couple months ago. To my right, eating dinner, was Robert Duval. Today it expresses my mood.

At the risk of popping bubbles, the truth about my condition right now has been revealed only partly in good-humored tweets and blog posts about the great adventure of life, etc.etc. I’m grateful that people see that side of me, and I think overall I am coping with things well. But every comment that comes in has a sting on the back-end because the whole story can’t be told in tweets and soundbites.

The fuller truth is that much of the time this does not feel like part of a bigger story, it does not feel like an adventure. What it feels like is constant un-abating discomfort in better moments, and excruciating pain in others. It feels, from this tiny point in time, like a sentence that will never end. I can do literally nothing on my own, including roll over in the bed. The great accomplishments of my day include basic body functions and staying lucid long enough to get a blog post done, or a small piece of the next book edited. The nights are the worst. They last forever and have an unending lonely feeling about them. I cry myself to sleep, when I sleep at all.

It is easy to talk about living a life that leans into fear and risk in order to “live the dream” or whatever platitude we’ve attached to what it means to live fully. It is much harder to live through the darker moments life extracts from us as payment for the stories we will one day tell our kids, and the things we believe give our lives purpose. It’s the same way with art. The best of it takes work and self-examination and wading though fear and insecurity to get there. It, too, is scary and lonely at times.

Why am I writing this? Two reasons. First to state the obvious – things might be light around here awhile as I take some time off to wade through this. The second is merely to be more fully honest about it. This was not an easy post to write. Aside from talking about how hard photography can be, I am generally an upbeat and positive person. But lest anyone put me on a pedestal, right here and now it feels like I’d trade this pain and difficulty for a slightly easier story. Years later this will be part of the story that makes me who I become. These things will affect my work; they will create a new place from which I create my art. But right now it just hurts. Bravery and humor is easy to sustain for 140 characters on Twitter. In real life it seems to be much, much harder. Would I really change anything? Not at all, but if I’ve ever made this stuff sound easy, or as though it is within reach of only a special breed of people, I’ve wronged you. This is hard.

I’m learning, that’s for sure. I am learning that I am surrounded by amazing people; people (so, so many of you are those people) who think I am amazing, and what I wish I could do now is turn the mirror the other way, help them understand that they are the amazing ones – people whom I revere deeply for the size of their hearts. So forgive another meandering, emotional post, but authenticity is not a marketing strategy for me, it’s the heart of this community. The day I start faking it is the day I close shop.

As far as updates, I’m told I’m healing well and the team here is now talking about a transfer to Perth War Memorial Hospital here in Ontario. It’s closer to my parent’s home and I’ll spend about a month there. As soon as I am able, and a spot frees up, I’ll be moved to an inpatient rehab clinic, for who knows how long. A couple weeks? A month?

So again, my deepest thanks. Forgive me if I’m quieter than usual. Some days it takes too much energy to maintain the optimism and as I’ve previously been told my angst is exhausting, I’m wary of wearing you down with too much navel gazing.

My new nemesis. Nightly we are engaged in a battle of wills. It’s not a battle I am winning. But I wanted an adventure when I set out this year. I wanted to learn new things and lean into the fear and while my adventure has changed, it hasn’t stopped. Because man, do I fear this damn thing. Zack Arias is currently planning a One Day Workshop on the light modifiers you can make from one bedpan.

I’m sitting upright for the first time in 2 weeks and while this won’t be a long update I thought it was about time I updated you.

The medical evacuation came on Thursday the 28th and by 7am I was being shuttled out of the hospital in Italy and onto my own Leer jet with enough meds to keep me happy and quiet. I had spectacular nurses and they took great care of me. 14+ hours later I was in ER at Ottawa Civic Hospital in the care of family and a medical team that spoke English. Fast forward to May 04, when after swelling had gone down and there was room in the OR schedule for me, they did a marathon 12-hour surgery. I think they spent 8 hours on the right ankle alone. I made a mess of that ankle and there are bone grafts and screws in the right foot and plates and screws in the left.

Surgery went well, though elevated heart rate pointed them to pulmonary embolism, which means I’ll be on blood thinners while i recover. My cracked pelvis will heal on its own with bedrest. My right wrist, inially thought broken, seems only sprained. I’ve no idea how long I’ll be in the Hospital in Ottawa. Eventually I’ll be released to recover at my family home out in the country, and that could be 3 months. Could be less, could be more.

In the mean time Jessie is in Atlanta waiting for me and one day, when I’m strong enough to drive her home, I’ll fly down and bring her back to Ontario which is now my home-base for a while.

Coming home was amazing. The health care here is truly remarkable and anyone who bitches about it hasn’t likely spent time in hospitals and clinics around the world. Even my medical bill in Italy, which will be covered by a good travel medical insurance policy, was only about $3000. I paid more than that for 4 hours in NYC Hospital in Queens and all I got was some Motrin. I’m not commenting on anyone’s system but ours, I’m just grateful beyond words that right now I can heal without though to fighting over bills or losing everything because of one accident.

My medical evacuation was covered by MedJet Assist who were absolute gods to have pulled off what they did for me, with such patience and professionalism, and a shocking lack of red tape or fine print. I will never travel anwhere, ever again, without coverage with them.

I won’t even bother telling you how much work this has been for Corwin, who though an extraordinarily skilled manager is the best friend everyone should be so blessed to have in their corner. Dude is my hero right now.

Lastly, another attempt to express my gratitude to you all. Through this all Corwin and I have had countless emails, tweets and comments expressing concern and support. I’ve honestly never in all my life felt so overwhelmed by attention and kindness. I’m truly humbled and grateful and please don’t fill the comments on this post with more of it because honest to God I feel like I’m going to burst, but thank you. From the bottom of my heart – thank you for being the community that you are.

I’ll keep you updated, and as things settle I’ll slow down with all this talk about bedpans and will pick up the thread on more interesting discussions we were having before I decided to jump off that damn wall.

Again, you have my deepest thanks.

San Francisco, February 2011. This is a 1920×1200 wallpaper. Just didn’t have the attention span, with these pain meds, to do a couple different sizes. So this’ll do for 17″MacBook Pro and anything smaller.

Ok, folks, the Desktop Wallpaper is up for the month. You didn’t think I’d let a dozen broken bones stop me from doing this, did you? (For those to whom that is confusing, read the previous post, And Then I Fell.)

I’m still at The Ottawa Hospital, Civic Campus. Hoping today is surgery day. After that I could be here for 6 weeks then another 2 months of off-my-feet rehab while my pelvis heals. Other than that, no updates. Doctors are talking about an in-bed recovery of 3 months. I promise to be a good patient, to listen to them, follow their orders, and prove them wrong.

I know I’ve said it, but I’ll say it again and again over the coming months: thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. This community is one of the rare online communities that is not beset with trolls and haters and people for whom life is so long they have time to argue about cameras. It’s full of incredibly kind, compassionate people and I like to think you’re all rubbing off on me. I’m a better person for this community. For all the hundreds and hundreds of emails and shout-outs and kind words – thank you. If I could heal by virtue of good vibes and the quality and quantity of friends, I’d be on my feet already. To every single one of you, including sponsors and my publishers, family, friends, and most astonishingly: people I’ve never met, that have asked to help, offered company, or sent tokens of support: I am grateful beyond words.