From the Front Porch to Barn Raising.

The one thing I value most from PartnerCon is this image. And it's not because I like the photo. It's because I like the image, the memory it evokes.

It's an image of a barn raising.

In the Amish tradition, a barn raising is when a community comes together to raise a barn for one of its households. Barn raisings aren't pretty. In fact, they're pretty dirty. Everyone gets their hands dirty by lifting planks, sifting dirt or cooking food. It's not pretty, but it's beautiful.

That's how I felt last week watching you. You guys got your hands dirty; you reached out to help each other. You sat down in the dirt to teach a new friend how to understand composition. You slogged through the French Quarter late at night, trying to help an old friend track down a stolen bag. You loaned cameras to colleagues. You shared rooms and meals and tears too. You shared your vision with families in LaFitte and children at the Boys & Girls Club. You created memories for yourselves and for folks in New Orleans.

I think PartnerCon is basically a big barn raising. It unifies an entire community, and it's done without a lot of ego. In fact, getting together and helping folks seems like the most ordinary thing in the world.

And that's what makes it so powerful.

A Front Porch Community

My grandmother is my hero. She shares more wisdom in a short story and a wink than I could learn in a lifetime.

During my last visit with her in Mississippi, I opened her door and glanced over my shoulder to say goodbye. I glimpsed her porch and noticed it was sagging, a few worn pine boards sloping gently. I casually commented, "Are you going to fix your porch? It's sagging."

She met my gaze, paused and firmly replied, "Of course not. That's where all my people have gathered."

I stood there like a beanpole, breathless and dumbfounded.

Like many Southern homes, my grandmother's house has a prominent porch whose presence plays a vital role in daily life. 

A front porch is the ultimate gathering place, a clearinghouse for celebration and a shelter from suffering. We gravitate to front porches because we can check our egos at the stairs and enter a welcoming place where everyone is equal under the eaves of a home.  

On the front porch, we interact face-to-face with folks from all walks of life. It's a threshold for real, human community where new connections are welcomed and old connections are strengthened. It's a place for all of us.

The front porch illustrates the hospitality we would show if only we weren’t so damn busy being busy. So, let's slow down a bit. Let's sit for a spell, sip some drinks and share some stories and show folks that the ShootQ & Pictage community is a front porch, not a fortress.

 

The Parallax View: All Work & No Play Makes My Brain a Dull Place

 

I've been in paradise. I traveled thousands of miles to play. But that's when my real work happens.

It's not surprising; my right brains kick into high gear when it's in "play mode." 

Brain scans reveal that when you think you’re not thinking, your unconscious mind is doing sprints searching for solutions.

Einstein’s theory of special relativity came as an epiphany after he daydreamed he was riding on a beam of light. 

Greg Swartz, director of innovation at golf giant PING, claims he creates the best tees and loftier drives by stargazing. After immersing himself in golf, he hangs out in his backyard at night and lets his mind settle into what he calls a “hyper state.”

As photographers, we are content creators. And content doesn't create itself; it's born from your brain.

So, give your brain a break. Disconnect from reality and connect your brain to its core creativity. You might have a eureka moment when you least expect it.

 

The Parallax View: Making Your Mark

 

Humans love to create. 

We have an uncanny, universal desire to make our mark. 

It's why we photograph and paint. It's why we build towers and businesses.

One of my favorite shows, MadMen, dedicated a scene to the concept of human creativity. The scene lingered in my memory for weeks.

Two characters are discussing a Kodak marketing campaign about memory and legacy. 

Harry says to Don: 

"I've always been fascinated by the cave paintings at Lascaux. The bison get all the attention, but there are also these handprints, tiny by today's standards...It's like someone is reaching through the stone right to us, saying "I WAS HERE."

These cave paintings are among the earliest known works of art. They were discovered in 1940 near the village of Montignac in central France when four boys stumbled into a cave. Inside, they found paintings that were nearly 17,000 years old.

Secluded cave walls bear real imprints of humans who created the most beautiful Stone Age art. Something about these ancient human handprints is magical.

I remember when I first saw them. My Art History professor turned off the lights and projected an image of tiny handprints onto the classroom wall. The class was hushed, as if we were hearing a sacred secret.

Why does something so simple impact us so deeply?

I think it's because we're witnessing a tangible legacy left by fellow humans who responded to their desire to create. They made their mark. They reached through stone to tell us WE WERE HERE.

How will you make your mark?

A Box of Dreams

Today I had one of those mornings, the kind that begs for an extra cup of coffee.

You know these mornings. You've had them after hectic weddings, intense commercial shoots and long hours in the studio.

Your feet ache and your body grumbles with every step, "What the heck were you thinking?"

I realized - after my third cup of cathartic caffeine - that pain is a good reminder.

Because it's pain with purpose.

Last night, well past any normal person's bedtime, Andrew and I were pushing through exhaustion, determined and bleary. We were packing ShootQ's WPPI Tradeshow Booth. 

We sorted, stacked and shoved seemingly endless piles of wood, steel and plastic. Although it was simply a pile of construction materials, I felt like we were packing our hopes and aspirations into that big box. 

It's our box of dreams.

The dreams include you, too. After all, ShootQ exists for you. Our driving dream is to create tools you need to succeed, so you can pursue your hopes, your aspirations, your dreams. 

Looking at that big box, I realized that business ownership teaches us about humor and hard work. 

We have to keep laughing at ourselves, at our beyond-belief big ideas, to stay focused and hopeful. Otherwise, we'd just feel sore instead of proud when we stand back and look at our box of dreams.

What's in your box?