The Legit, the music video shoot. Or… Ryan Goes to Rancho Cucamonga
The photo was taken on the set of “I Wanna Take You Home.” The new single, and first video offering from The Legit. Click It!
So, now that I’m a grownup and all, I’ve come to realize that if I’m ever going to escape my current menial existence I’ve got to get my ass in gear and NETWORK.
It’s all about who you know, especially in this town, and if anyone tells you different they’re bullshit.
With that in mind, I’ve begun taking every worthwhile opportunity that comes my way no matter how low the pay is. I mean who the fuck am I, right? I’m not particularly nice to look at, and I’ve grown leery of using sex to get ahead in the work place…
I’ve just been burned too many times. Okay?
So when a friend of a friend of a friend asked me if I wanted to shoot stills on his next music video, I was all about it.
I’ll let the pictures tell the story, but that day ended up being one of the most fun and rewarding experiences I’ve had since I’ve moved to L.A. I made some contacts and met a lot of cool people, what more can you ask for?
Side Note: Anyone out there looking for a still photographer for their next project? Click the contact button above, and let me know.
P.S. I have never engaged in sex acts with an employer to further my career. But if the stars were to align in such a way… never mind.
Things Are Looking Up. I Think
(artist’s interpretation of spiritual vision) (click it to see some other bullshit!)
For almost two weeks I’ve been deep in the throes of a creative depression. Blog updates stopped, retouching stopped, and I haven’t been pleased with any of the photos I’ve been taking. How did I cope? I threw on the ole Boston Bruins jerz and settled into the sofa for a Worms 2 bender. Believe me when I say it wasn’t my proudest moment.
I am excited though. I’m pretty sure my life is about to change for the better. This morning, I had what I believe was a spiritual vision.
At 5:30am, after only a few hours of sleep, I awoke. Startled and confused, the only thought I could form was hip-hop rooster. Trying to get control over my mind I closed my eyes and saw a wildly vivid image of a meadow with the words Hip-Hop Rooster, and an arrow pointing to a statuesque male chicken. I opened my eyes and closed them again. This time the image was gone. As I laid in my bed trying to understand it all, I heard a rooster crow far off in the distance. After about three minutes I heard different, closer, rooster crow. The two roosters carried on in a call and response until I fell back asleep. No Bullshit!
So many questions! First off, why are two separate households in possession of roosters? I’m reasonably sure that my crappy, suburban neighborhood isn’t zoned for livestock. How is it possible that the faint crows of a rooster, about a half mile away, were even picked up by my sleeping body? If this distant rooster was able to jar my subconscious what effect is he having on his immediate neighbors? Have they come to terms with their 5am wake up call? How do they spend the money that they save on alarm clocks? Are they investors or impulse buyers?
Back to the point. Why Hip-Hop Rooster?! What is that?! The vivid imagery! The bold signage!
Obvious conclusion - message from the gods. Gods say get back to work.
It’s beginning to look as though I might make it in this city after all.
Oh. I almost forgot to mention the days leading up to my vision. I was offered an internship at Matthew Welch Studios, offered a position as a retoucher at a youth sports photography operation (think this haha. It’s not much, but it’s better than my last job) landed a gig shooting stills for a music video, and I survived The Great LA Rain Storm!
White Lights
Art for the new White Lights album, ‘Oroboros.’ Click it to see the rest!
I’ve had the privilege of knowing White Lights for about five years now. In that time their name has changed, members have come and gone, and they’ve switched coasts. The band, in their current incarnation, are nothing short of amazing, and are growing stronger by the day.
Maybe I’m biased… I do live with the vocalist and am dating the keys player. But seriously, give them a listen. White Lights are great people, playing fresh fucking music.
As for the photo, I was presented with the opportunity to shoot the cover totally by surprise, and with a 24 hour or less deadline. It was an emergency situation. The parameters, as dictated to me by Nabeel, the band’s front man, were magic, nature, and mysticism all wrapped up in a blue/green color palate.
That night, after hiking around the hills of Griffith park, running into numerous coyotes and one stealthy homeless camper, my girlfriend and I decided to call it quits. I had about ten exposures to work with, but wasn’t particularly stunned by any of them. As we got closer to the road this scene presented itself, and I was instantly overcome with excitement. I took 3 exposure, between 15 and 30 seconds, while my girlfriend stood by and laughed at how thrilled I was.
If you’re in LA and are looking for something to do tonight, White Lights are having their long awaited CD release party at The Key Club on Sunset, in Hollywood. Admission is FREE, they go on at 10pm, and there will be copies of the EP, ‘Oroboros’, for sale.
Check White Lights out at
and hear the new album at
www.myspace.com/killthewhitelights
and friend them on facebook at
The Conquering of LACMA
“no photography please.” Click it!
The LACMA (Los Angeles County Museum of Art) gets me. They know that I need to get my moneys worth. When I go to a museum and have to pay the full price of admission, like a man, I feel compelled to conquer the place.
‘Wait. You wanna go? But we’ve only seen one building! We’ve still got six more! What about the Asian Pavilion?! What about the ROMAN VILLA?! WHAT ABOUT THE TAAARRR PIIITTTSSS?! fuck.’
It’s not a friendly environment.
The journey begins as an intellectual pursuit. Notes are taken, thoughtful insights. But with each era my souls get a little thinner, eyes a little more strained by my stark white surroundings.
I glance at my folding map. One building left… Contemporary Art, the grab-bag of the museum. Just thinking about it leaves me with a strange taste in my mouth, imagining sharks wearing rubber diapers. Sorry Mr. Koons but your life size chachka of MJ and Bubbles was a little too much for me. I lost my sense of humor a few hours ago. Why is Jesus holding a penguin? Why are there so many floaty toys? What?!
Phew! That was just a dramatization of what could have happened if LACMA didn’t have pay-what-you-will-evenings. This is where we see eye to eye. Pay a dollar, look at a dollars worth of art. Everyone goes home happy.
Over the last year, my girlfriend and I have leisurely nibbled our way through the LACMA. This past week we tackled the Contemporary Art building. The last building on our checklist. As you might expect, it was three floors of post-modern wackiness. At the last exhibit I was captivated by this scene. It looks like something straight out of ‘2001 A Space Odyssey’. The flap of my Nikon’s mirror echoed through the space and alerted the LACMA muscle. I had broken the museum goers second commandment (DONT TOUCH. DONT SHOOT) Brisk, sharp, hard-souled footsteps got closer until a little man in a suit stood before us. ‘No photography please’, then he turned his back to us, and walked away. You win this time little man, but I’ll be back soon… with a tripod… and a flash!
ISO 6400 is no way to live, it’s gotta be sharp!
CT Nights
This photo was taken December 23, 2008, and marks one of the best nights of my life.
Click it to see the rest.
Fresh off the plane from California, and not yet crippled by single digit temperatures of Connecticut, I went back to my old high school to take care of something I had thought up eight year earlier.
With school still in session, my brother and I spent eight hours shoveling all the snow we could find. Once the sun went down, and school was out, we cut the locks on the gates, ran some cords for lights, and broke out the 40.oz libations.
Until the early hours of the morning, the four of us took turns drifting behind a dump truck, and towing into the jump at thirty miles per hour.
When the session was over, there was talk of getting a larger crew together and doing it all again on Christmas Eve. As fate would have it, it rained the next day. The jump melted to the ground. There was nothing left, save for the muddy tracks left behind by the dump truck. Maybe it was better that way, no cops, no injuries, just good times with family and friends.
Coney Island… none of that kitschy boardwalk shit
This photo is from my senior practicum series entitled “Coney Island.” Click it to see the rest.
Coming from a small, woodsy town I was raised to appreciate and treasure the place that I came from. I understood that my town was rich with history and virgin land, but beyond that I couldn’t see what the issue was or why the members of our Open Spaces Committee were the town saviors.
It wasn’t until I moved away, for college, that it was all put into perspective for me. I heard a word that I had never heard before… gentrification. Say it with me, but do it real slow and guttural like… GENTRIFICAAATION! Sounds scary, right? Now before I lose you, I was naive, I know this. Gentrification is, more or less, the way of the world (or our country at least). The Native Americans, to some degree, probably pushed some deer or a buffalo out of a grazing space. European settlers decimated the Native Americans. Manifest Destiny and so on.
The group with the power holds it’s history, culture and ideals in higher regard than those of the area that they are about to co-opt. It’s a sad thing. It really is. No one wants to see their history erased, to be forced out of town for the sake of luxury condos or frozen yogurt or dog parks. That’s what initially motivated me to pursue this project.
Seeing the images of the iconic Coney Island boardwalk, and reading the pleas of the locals, crying out for someone to save them from the developers, riled up the social documentarian in me. You never saw the neighborhood, only the boardwalk. Coney Island as a people, not just a strip of throwaway amusement. I was going to show that.
For 15 weeks, every Thursday, I rode the Fung Wah from Boston to Brooklyn and explored Coney Island. When Monday rolled around, I took the bus back to Boston and lived in the darkroom until it was Thursday again.
It happened slowly. Every day I was there my stance shifted, just a little bit. Walking those streets (all 24 sq. blocks), I saw dead animals, half sunken ships, and open garbage pits. I witnessed spousal abuse in the middle of the street and watched thieves strip stolen cars. The first few weeks, I tried explaining my project to the locals, hoping to get a portrait or statement. I got nothing. I was just another outsider invading their home.
Look up the history of Coney Island; it reads like that of a fallen empire. For nearly a century Coney Island was the premier amusement destination for the tri-state area. At the height of their supremacy they were living fat, and resting on their laurels. However, technology evolved, and people grew tired of the kitsch. Fires burned blocks to the ground, gangs moved in and it continued from there until outside parties bought up the boardwalk. All the while the residents were stuck looking back, at their glorious history, rather than planning for their future. As it stands today, the local push to restore Coney Island is a revisionist daydream at best.
On one of my final visits to Coney Island I came across this scene, “FUCK THIS WORLD,” scrawled into the sidewalk. I’d like to imagine that it was laid there by a poet. This poet ventured to Coney Island looking for the magic that it once held, only to find unhappiness and squalor. When looked upon before noon, it is just another piece of obscene sidewalk graffiti. However, as the sun sets a shadowy phallus appears, and continues to grow until it has penetrated the message. It could be a genius act of poetry. More than likely it is a coincidence.
Let’s Begin
Friends, family, drifters and grifters - Welcome you to my new blog/living portfolio.
I hope to fill this space with my latest work, pepper it with stories from the road, and pull together some dope blog collabos for your viewing pleasure (dope- syn. for cool, not drugs… collabos- short for collaborations… don’t worry about it… the kids seem to love them).
Check back often, for it’s my grand ambition, barring acts of god, global unrest or power failure, to update these pages DAILY. Subtext, i don’t have a job.
Thanks, Ryan
