Song of the Day (Could You Be Loved) 03.01.13

Friday is here! Success!

This weeks been tough. I can't exactly put a finger on it, but it felt off. My energy was low. I wasn't my usual happy self. But one thing actually helped me everyday. Listening to music. Usually try not to at work since everything I do demands my ears and my attention, but this week, I tried listening to my ipod whenever I could. To see if it could get me out of my funk. And surprisingly it did.

What music do I have to thank for that? Mr. Bob Marley.

I won't lie - I've never really given him much time. Previously, whenever I heard him, I pictured myself in a water park (think about it - it makes sense - every water park plays Marley) or on vacation in the caribbean. But this week, I gave him his due time and immediately fell in love. Most of you know I love ska and without reggae, ska certainly would not be what it is today - so I had that instant connection. Then I did some research on Marley and his beliefs and I really appreciate his peaceful, nonviolence approach to life. I can't say I live exactly like he does, but I certainly feel I align with him on some key factors. Or at least try to carry myself with the same laid back disposition.

But I digress. You can research him as you want. I'm not here to preach how to live. I'm just here to share his music. If it doesn't mellow you out or brighten your mood a little bit, I think there is something seriously wrong with you.

I don't really have an anecdote for the songs this week (sorry) - they're just three of my favorites.

Make Good Art

So tonight is about one thing. Art. In all its glorious forms.

But lets focus on the craftsmanship that goes into it. With it being Friday, of course I have videos to present to you. Specifically, two videos that show the process of art being made. Its a funny thing. Art. It's all around us, constantly, but I feel like many of us take it for granted. To me, art is someone's passion put into a physical form. People don't just make art for the hell of it - they do it because they love it. They're compelled to. Its fun and rewarding. Often times therapeutic. And I don't think we tend to appreciate the amount of work that goes into creating it. So lets take a moment and soak some of it in.

The first takes place in the kitchen. We're talking about food. Food you ask? As art? Well sure, why not. All the great chefs preach that "you eat with the eyes first." Therefor - what appears on the plate has to be appealing. Colorful. Bright. Beautiful. It has to make you want to eat it. And the video below sure makes me want to eat what it being made. The work that goes into the following dessert is mind numbing. All the steps. The little pieces that play off each other. The delicacy of putting it together. It all combines into something extremely special. Just watching, I can imagine the smells and feel my mouth watering. It's doing its job.

And don't worry - of course the video is shot beautifully - I mean, come on, I have some standards. The soft focus. The unique camera angles.  It's just awesome.

Next time you go and eat, take a moment to reflect on the work that went into it - it's art afterall and someone spent time making it just for you.

Rouge By Carte Noire - Michael & Philippe - QUAD from QUAD on Vimeo.


The second video requires a bit of commitment. It's much longer than the first, but it's worth it. Trust me. It is a little piece about an artist in the UK who still hand etches, paints, and screen prints glass/mirror signs. Everything he does is by hand (aside from scanning his drawings into a computer). The piece specifically follows signs he was commissioned to make by John Mayer. When I first watched earlier today, I was absolutely blown away. The amount of time that each step requires is ridiculous. Drawing the stencils. Scanning the print. Screen printing. Etching the glass. Washing with acid. Laying gold leafing. The amount of talent David has is just sickening. I can't even begin to imagine how horrible he must feel if he needs to start over - but I'm sure at this point, he's perfected his craft.

What I absolutely love about this piece, other than how beautiful everything is - is that this is a dying art. When was the last time you saw or even heard of a glass gilder? Its great David hasn't abandoned his art and the passion he pours into each piece is inspiring. Just sitting back and watching raw glass turn into something so stunning is mesmerizing.

It really makes you reevaluate if you're truly doing what you love.

The Making of John Mayer's 'Born & Raised' Artwork from Danny Cooke on Vimeo.


I'm thankful for art. Heck - simply put, without it, I wouldn't be in the industry I am today.

Morning Stroll

It was one of those fresh spring mornings. Where everything was wet. All surfaces littered with droplets from the clouds that had burst open the previous night. Sparkling in the early sunlight.

This was the time that she cherished the most. When the city hadn't yet woken up. She had always set her alarm clock to go off early. Giving her much more time than she actually needed to get ready for the day. There wasn't much to her routine. A rather quick shower, followed by a brief selection of clothing, usually mismatched - but she made it work, a few minutes in front of the mirror applying some makeup, and then she'd sit, waiting for her coffee to percolate. Usually she'd flip through the morning paper, skimming the articles for something to catch her eye, but most of the time she'd only pay attention to the comics, saving the meat of the periodical for the office.

Once her coffee was gargling in the pot, she'd pour herself a cup, add a gracious spoonful or two of sugar, top it off with half and half and make her way out the door, usually carrying her jacket - ready to throw it on as she went. But today she made sure to put it on before stepping outside. The sky was still grey and ominous. Peering down as if at any moment it could drench her.

As she made her way through the streets, the smell of ozone was heavy in the air. Bringing a smile to her face. Although it was dense, diving into her lungs and almost filling them up too much, it still smelled fresh - letting her know that the warmer seasons were just around the corner. Soon the trees would have their leaves back. The grass would be vibrant. Flowers would begin to sprout - tossing their perfumes into the air. And just after that, her favorite months would arrive. Summer.

But for the moment, everything seemed magical. The streets around her were empty. The cafes had not yet opened. Their tables and chairs not yet spilling onto the sidewalk and cobblestone streets. No one else crowded the city. It was hers to enjoy. At any pace she desired. As she continued forward, she lost herself in the textures of the stone beneath her feet. Each as smooth as the last - an endless pattern that stretched on, mesmerizing her. Absolutely perfect. It was only the twinkle of her reflection off their surface that snapped her back to reality. The more she walked, the more she could see the city slowly waking up around her. Shutters were beginning to open, lights were flickering on. Other people were slowly starting to wander out onto the street. Many of which were bundled up against the brisk morning air, only hoping to venture around the corner to the local store to grab the newspaper or fresh milk. She'd catch the occasional waft of coffee - only reminding her to bring her very own thermos to her lips.

As she was getting closer to her office, the sky had taken as much as it could and slowly began spitting down on her. Not enough to be a nuisance, but enough to grab her attention. At first the drops were small enough that they only announced their presence in the puddles around her, but soon they became heavier and less sporadic, matting her hair against her skin. Just the right amount that would add an extra spring to someone else's step. But today, it didn't bother her as much. With her mug wedged firmly between her hands, warming them, she began hopping between puddles. Taking her time as she went.

After all, what was the hurry?

Restoring Humanity

So I'm breaking the mold a little bit tonight. Between frisbee, trying to fight off becoming sick (thanks coworkers), and long days at the office, I'm already burnt out. And it's only tuesday! Anyway - let's dive into it. I'm not going provide a story this evening, but I'll be showing something that is pretty damn amazing.

As you all know I was fortunate enough to travel to Spain during Christmas this past holiday season and travel about. What I didn't know, was that the country was in a state of economic crisis. I was actually caught off guard when Paige brought it up. I hadn't seen it anywhere in the news and I frequent CNN every morning. It was shocking to hear that Spain was in the same boat as Greece and Ireland, especially since it hadn't really seemed to catch wind here in America. But as I spent more time there, I began seeing the signs. The closed businesses, protests, and vandalized government banks. Yet, the people always seemed to remain upbeat. Sure, I bumped into a few who were less friendly, but as a whole, everyone still had a smile on their face. They hid their troubles well - never letting them surface. And I'll be honest to say that I don't think that'd be the same here in America. We're not nearly in the same national debt and people have become ornery, short-tempered, projecting their issues/troubles on everyone around them. I was lucky enough to meet a wide variety of people while in Spain - teachers who invited me into their classrooms, a warm jovial baker who had to honestly be one of the friendliest souls I've ever met, and not once did I feel like they were imposing any economic issues they might have been feeling.

So where am I going with this? Recently I found a video posted by Coke (yes the soda brand) that only further shows how amazing the people in Spain are. The basic principal behind the video (since it is in Spanish and I can't translate it for you) is a pay-it-forward ATM. The machine offers 100 euro (roughly  $130) to anyone who wants it, as long as they agree to use it for good - however they interpret it. All they have to do is agree and BAM the money is theirs. No string attached. One would assume not many would actually follow through on the agreement - just take the money and run. But you'd be surprised, the majority of the people that agreed, actually went out and put the money to good use. Coke also prompted that they shoot a video and upload it to their website - which the following piece is comprised of. For those of you who aren't too keen or up to date with your spanish, diapers were bought for a woman with babies, basketballs were given to kids, tortillas were given to people passing by on a cold night.

This really just restores hope in humanity. I mean, over 6 million people are unemployed in Spain right now - that's over 25% and yet, people are still kind enough to take free money, that they could easily use themselves, and use it to better the lives if complete strangers.

Seriously, just seeing people act so selflessly leaves me speechless.

Creatures of Habit

This morning had been much like many of the others that had come before it.

When she woke up. Her limbs were sore. Pressed closely to her body hoping to lock in as much warmth as possible. Each passing day, she awoke to find the air cooler than the last. Heavier. Weighing down against her skin, wanting to soak into her bones. It didn't help at all that the weather was also starting to turn. The skies were no longer sunny. Clouds dotted the horizon and left a haze floating about. There was no more blue above her, only grey. And the wind. How it was beginning to whip about through the city. She could certainly do without it. Just the mere thought sent shivers running up her back.

But regardless of the turning seasons, she had to continue on with her business. So when the sun finally broke over the horizon, its first few rays twinkling in the frozen morning dew, she was ready to begin the day - cold as it was. As it was any other day, the first task was raising the children. She walked around, from one to another, nudging them slightly, not wanting to startle them too much. A couple of them needed more coaxing than the others to wake up, but eventually, all had joined the world and were ready to go.

From there they headed out. Down the trail in front of their house and into the woods. She had always taught them that it was important to stretch out their limbs after a long night of sleep. The joints would be sore. Especially now, not wanting to work properly in the brisk morning air. Some of them walked gingerly along the path, the soil frozen solid beneath their feet, not wanting to fall and careen down the rest of the way. From an outside perspective, they were a rather funny looking flock, waddling through the woods, some with their arms stretched out wide, others walking with their legs kicking high in front of them. Like a miniature marching band that hadn't quite found their tempo or rhythm.

Eventually they made it to the end of the path and found themselves at the edge of the lake. The water stretched out before them, still very much like glass. Only the occasional ripple flawed the surface - some fish hidden below nibbling at its breakfast. Not only did she believe a morning walk was valuable, but so was an early morning swim. She always took this part slow, creeping into the water. Letting it crawl up her legs and finally make contact with her chest. No matter how hard she tried, it always stole her breath. Not long after she had completely made it in her kids came storming in - much less gracefully. Water exploded everywhere, in a tangle of flailing limbs - some at least managed to skim across the water, gliding out farther in the lake. Others tumbling beneath the surface, fully submerged. Each day she tried to make it out of the splash zone, but it never worked - she'd always be soaked.

Once everyone was settled, they'd begin their swim away from the shore, deeper out, always managing to stay close to one another. She led the group, driving them forward, legs pumping beneath the water, always aware of what was going on around them. There wasn't a moment that her head wasn't pivoting, making sure every member of her family was accounted for. Even though they did this every morning, she still had to play it safe. There was just too much that could go wrong this far from shore. It was never too long before one of her kids began muttering under their breath about being hungry, to which she'd assure them that'd they'd be getting their breakfast soon.

Being the head of the group, she'd be the first to notice the little beige circles floating in the water. They'd appear rather sporadically to start, drifting along, spaced out from one another, but would soon appear more frequently until through mist that was lingering over the water she could make out the old man along the shore - sitting on the same bench he always was. Hand deep in a bag of bread. Once her kids recognized him, they all swam forward, swarming around below, quaking up at him. Their calls, without fail, always brought a smile to his face. He was so generous, making sure every member of the family got their fair share before moving onto the next - never forgetting to throw the larger pieces out to her as she waited in the back, letting her children eat first.

They'd gorge themselves for some time, until the bag was empty and the man would shuffle away, off to continue his morning routine. And they'd do the same, gliding back along the lake, disappearing into the mist.

Already looking forward to spending the next day's breakfast with him.

Song of the Day (Love Interruption) 02.22.13

It's quite obvious that I have a man crush on David Grohl. But I also have a crush on Jack White. You know, that guy who founded The White Stripes, The Raconteurs, and discovered The Alabama Shakes (all of which I've posted on my blog before). He's kind of a big deal for our generation. Not only in the music he's produced and created, but with his musical ability.

The guy is up there with the greatest guitar players of all time. Easily right next to Hendrix and Clapton.

He's recently ventured further into the solo world and I figured it'd be nice to share some of his songs with you since most people only know him for The White Stripes.

Song number one is "Love Interruption." It's smooth. With lyrics that are nothing short of haunting. To the point that you wonder if the song is really about love or not. The contradiction of theme and lyrics is great. Throw in a clarinet for good measure and you're golden. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.




Song number two is "I'm Shakin." Its got soul. Its got funk. It's a whole hell of a lot of fun. Originally sung by Rudy Toombs in 1960, this is Jack's version.

Kitten Genius

Alright - we made it. Another week down and behind us.

I'm not going to waste any time and dive right into this video. It's pretty out there, set to an awesome song, and creative as hell. Yes, the animation quality may be lacking a little, specifically in terms of the computer manipulated backgrounds, but you'll manage to get over it pretty quickly. I mean, come on, think of all the work that went into this. First they had to shoot all the "plate" shots - without the little men and manipulate all the objects (socks, remote control car and helicopter, drawers, etc) while not being seen. Then they had to shoot all the thieves on green screens, matching their movements to what they shot earlier in the bedroom. Oh right AND they had to shoot a ton of kitten footage. Um - can we say awesome? Honestly, how many takes do you think it took them before they got the shots they wanted from the cats? Combine this all together and you have something pretty special. Since I'm in the field - lets not forget about the editing either. It's subtle, but completely to the beats of the music. Cuts come on big pulses and longer shots align with when the notes are elongated and given a moment to breathe.

I specifically dig the production design. The individual masks and helmets are a wonderful little addition. And let's not forget the concept/story of the video. How original is that? Simple and to the point but perfect.

God I love slow motion kitties. Absolutely badass.

In the Wind

As far back as she could remember, her favorite story had always been about the young woman who spent every night on the edge of the cliffs. From when she herself was very young, she'd be tucked in bed, pleading for her mother to tell her the tale. She must have heard it a hundred times - her mother a saint for repeating it upon request.

It was back when great wooden ships patrolled the oceans. Tracing trade roots, avoiding pirates, and plundering others that crossed their paths. A time long forgotten. When reading was done by candle light, the world was thought to be flat, and kings still had their reign. There was once a town, nestled among the rolling hills, not far from the northern coast. Perched high upon the cliffs. It was absolutely gorgeous. Travelers from all around used to come and marvel at the beauty - soak in its brilliance. It wasn't just a town known for its radiance - but for its port. Many goods flowed in and out of the harbor to the rest of the world. Within this town was a young couple - deeply in love. Absolutely inseparable. Their affection for one another radiated in everything they did together.

Yet everyday they became separated. For the young man worked in the port on a fishing vessel. Each and every night, he and the rest of the crew would set sail, following the moon's reflection on the water, deep out into the ocean, hoping to catch a great bounty to bring back to the market the next morning. And every night, she'd stand on the edge of the cliff, watching the ship make its way from the protected bluffs out into the open sea. As she'd stand there, she'd let herself begin singing. Beautiful, airy melodies that seemed to get caught within the wind and carry for miles. Some people in the village swore she had the voice of an angel - waiting up at night, hoping to hear a passing note somewhere in the evening breeze. She'd stand, singing until the vessel was no longer visible on the horizon. It was her way of protecting him.

And the very next morning, she'd be there, waiting for him on the docks. Warm breakfast in hand. Ready for his arrival. It was a daily routine. Everyone in the town knew it. Everyone expected it. They were all jealous for what those two had - each other.

But one night, as she stood out on the bluff, she could make out a storm brewing just over the horizon. Large bulbous clouds, black enough to stand out against the starry sky. Great bolts of lightning jumped between the columns - illuminating the sky viciously. She was scared. It was exactly in the direction they were headed. So she sang louder. With more passion than she ever had. But by the time she had begun, the winds of the storm had started to blow ashore, howling in the night - drowning out her sweet melody. She battled all she could, for as long as she could. Until it started raining down upon her. Plastering her dress against her skin. With every great gust, she only bellowed louder - trying to force her voice out to her loved one. Letting him know she was there - protecting him.

When the next morning finally broke, she waited and waited. Breakfast in hand. But his boat never returned. It wasn't until later, almost at dusk that pieces began washing ashore. Large chunks of wood, smashed and splintered. A rescue ship was sent out in hope to find survivors, but no one was found.

She didn't know what to do with herself. There was nothing left. The ocean had stolen him from her. For the next few days she quietly made her rounds throughout the village, making sure to spend time with everyone she loved and had loved her. Giving each of them their moment. And then one night, she made her way out to the cliffs and began singing her final song. More heartfelt than she ever had. Filled with great sorrow. When she approached its end, she stepped off the edge, letting the final note carry out above her on the wind. She was ready to be reunited with him.

As depressing and haunting as the story was, there was something that had resonated with her as a child. Laying in bed, she had always pictured the woman's beauty. Wondered what the man's face looked like. Where in the village they lived.

And now that she was older, she'd find herself occasionally driving to those very cliffs late at night and just sitting, watching the horizon, hoping that maybe she'd see a ship. But the real magic happened when the sky was clear and the wind was wiping through the rocks - swirling between the alcoves and amongst the bluffs. On those special nights, she swore, lost somewhere within the howling gusts, she could her a melody. Light and beautiful.

Echoing out into the night.

Caffeinated Routine

The very first morning they strolled into his cafe, he thought nothing of them. Actually, he was a bit annoyed. He was going through his usual routines. Slicing the freshly baked bread, roasting the coffee, wiping down the countertops. It was surprising that such a young couple would be out so early. The cash register still wasn't turned on. Many of his usual customers hadn't even arrived yet. Their presence made him feel rushed. But none the less, he was ready.

Their request wasn't anything out of the ordinary. Two cafe con leches and some croissants.  As he usually would, he completed their order with pride and a splash of showmanship. His movements were exact. There was no room for error - this was his life - his livelihood. He glided between the grinder and the expresso machine effortlessly, knowing exactly how many steps it'd take before he was within reach.

Four.

As he moved, he was extra careful not to spill any of the grounds from the portafilter. Not a grain was to be wasted. When the coffee had finished dripping out of the machine, he brought it over the counter, pouring the freshly steamed milk into the mugs in front of them. Making sure to leave a unique design in the froth. Perfect.

He was satisfied to see the smiles on their faces and the twinkles in their eyes. If they were pleased with his presentation, so was he.

They quickly paid, collected their mugs and croissants, and made their way to a little table in the corner of the cafe, far from the door. There they remained for quite some time, talking amongst themselves, never too loud for him to hear from behind the counter. They minded their own business - barely looking up at the other costumers that came and gone - never taking their eyes off one another. It was clear they were infatuated with one another. Was it just something new? Or was it something true? When they finally left, he was surprised by their politeness. They brought all their dishes to the counter, including their used napkins and empty sugar tubes - leaving the table in the corner absolutely spotless and ready for those who'd use it next.

He was pleased to find them coming through the entrance at the same time the next morning. Pleasant as the day before, asking for the same breakfast. It was nice seeing them return. So he went about his business, as precise as always. But this time, he made sure to leave them new designs in the foam of their cups. It needed to stay fresh. The rest of the visit played out the same. They sat at the same table. Hunched over slightly, leaning in towards one another - never speaking loud enough to disrupt anyone else. And of course, just before they left, their plates were returned and the table was in the same condition as they found it - clean and ready to be used.

And so it continued. Through the third day and into the fourth. Then the fifth and six. Soon it became a week, followed by another. They no longer were just customers. They were his most regular. Although they never spoke, he felt like he had a wonderful relationship with them. There was something refreshing about how simplistic their order was. The fact that it never changed. Its consistency kept him relaxed in the morning. He knew exactly what to expect and yet it never felt old or repetitive. They always arrived on time, at the exact same moment and their cups would be ready, literally poured just as they opened the front door. The steam just beginning to rise as they made it to the counter.

But this morning, the steam had stopped rising. They had never made it to the counter to collect their breakfast. Of course he waited a while. Worried that they might eventually show - he even brewed a second batch and re-poured when the others mugs had lost their heat. But they never walked through the front door. It was strange. He never really spoke to them. Never uttered more than a few simple greetings and phrases - but he knew them. Their presence had become part of his mornings. It wasn't just wanted, but expected. And without him, it didn't feel right. His movements weren't precise. He spilled grounds, burnt some milk. He just couldn't get them out of his head.

He hoped they were alright. Out there somewhere, still together. Happy and content. Maybe they had moved on, found a new place - brought something special to someone else's morning.

Regardless, he'd be ready for their return - with two cups on standby below the counter, waiting to be poured.

Forgotten Path

He had traveled down that road hundreds if not thousands of times.

From the very first moment he could remember to now - it had been a part of his life. Those early morning walks with his parents, weaving in and out of the trees, holding their hands, one of each side of him, to when he used to race down the center, trying to beat his brother to the bus stop. So much of his time had been spent walking along it. Learning it. Getting to know every nook and cranny. Becoming familiar with each tree and their nuances. The patterns of their bark. Where their roots broke through the soil. But at the time, he had taken it all for granted. It was all just part of the daily routine. He had noticed it, but never truly appreciated.

As the years passed and he grew older, the road became more worn. Harder underneath his feet. Until he finally went away to school. It was only a few times a year that he'd return, but only to drive along its curves. Times had changed. He no longer walked it every morning - feeling the frost crunch beneath the soles of his shoes, soaking in the vibrant colors of the leaves that hung overhead. It still was very much a part of his routine, his life, but now it was just another place he passed.

It wasn't until he brought her home for the first time that he paid the road a true visit. His face may have looked different. He may have been taller. A little wiser. A littler older. But he felt like a child again. It felt good to be home. Strolling along with a loved one - hands intertwined. Smiling, laughing. Each footstep kicking up an explosion of the fall foliage littering the ground. Enjoying each other. It all seemed to simple. Growing up he had only shared this with his family, but now it felt so right sharing it with her.

As their relationship budded, their visits back home slowed. It was time for him to move on, find a new place to call his own. Start his own family. With her. And he did, far away, somewhere that offered what both of them needed. Soon he was only driving up and down the road when it was hidden under a blanket of snow - trunk filled with presents, cards, and holiday cheer.

Now it felt different. In the past when he drove along it, a feeling of excitement would well up in his stomach and he'd have to fight back a smile. He was returning home. But today, it only caused sorrow. Each curve brought with it a specific memory - posing for a picture on the first day of middle school, the tree that caused his first broken bone, years of hide and seek with friends. As the car continued along the dirt, the tears were beginning to form along the corners of his eyes. When the first fell into his lap, she squeezed his hand. Looking over to her, he could see his pain reflected in her eyes. He was thankful she was there with him. It was finally sinking in that these were the memories he had to hold onto - that there would be no more. It wasn't his home any longer. They were simply returning to sign the final papers and turn the keys over to the realtor.

As the final curve approached, he took his foot off the gas pedal, letting the car coast to a stop. Although it was lost in the morning fog, he knew the house was a couple hundred yards up ahead. Standing tall, just as it had his entire life. After a moment, he took the keys out of the ignition, opened the door, and slowly got out, breathing in as much air as he could - sliding his feet back and forth in the dirt - feeling its coarseness and grit. He met his wife at the front of the car, took her hand in his, and began walking the rest of the way.

They had time to make one more memory before it was all over.

Song of the Day (I Will Wait) 02.15.13

Well looky here. A song of the week? Hot damn!

Yeah yeah - I'll take full blame for abandoning it. I'd try to push it off on my travels, but thats a lame excuse.

So let's dive right into it! And don't worry - this trend will continue. No more breaks.

This week's song it "I Will Wait," by Mumford and Sons. It honestly doesn't need any explanation because it is close to perfect and I haven't been able to get it out of my head for the last two weeks.

Enjoy.

A Week In Peru

We made it! Another one in the books. Happy Friday!

This is going to be short and sweet. Been a long week and I need to catch up on some sleep - but of course I can't leave you empty handed. So I present you with the following video.

Much in the same vein as last week's video (in both style and inspiration for Ireland) - this one documents a week spent in Peru. As you can imagine, it's absolutely beautiful. Brilliant vistas, the smiling faces of locals, amazing colors. More culture packed into three minutes than most of us see in a week. This just further exemplifies why I love traveling so much. Seeing new places, meeting new people, becoming absorbed in different places on the planet - tasting, smelling, touching their culture. What isn't there to like about it?

Consider Peru on my list. Machu Picchu - I'm comin' for you.

a few weeks in Peru. from Cole Graham on Vimeo.

Strawberry Fields Forever

They just sat there. Breathing in the silence. Letting it percolate. Seep into their pores. Freshen their minds. Balm for their souls.

It hadn't been long since they had arrived. Pulling into the dirt patch at the base of the gently rolling hill - leaving the highway stretching on behind them, zigzagging along the ocean. Parked in the shadow of an old dilapidated barn. Getting out of the car felt magnificent - their legs had been bent for hours, crammed inside the tiny car. The breeze coming off the ocean felt refreshing as it glided over their skin and tussled their hair. Especially her's - flowing in all it's glory - contrasted against the perfectly blue sky. It had been the simple white and red sign that had drawn them off the highway. Hand crafted and charming.

As they walked up towards the little blue building, they looked at each other - unsure of what to expect upon stepping inside. But once they crossed the threshold, all their concerns melted away. It was absolutely beautiful. Adorned with little farm trinkets, highlighted by colorfully painted trims, and wide open. But the aspect that made them instantly fall in love was the aroma wafting throughout the air. That sweet, intoxicating odor that only came from freshly picked berries. They were completely surrounded on all sides. Blueberries, blackberries, raspberries - the most vibrant strawberries they had ever seen. Even boysenberries made an appearance. Not only was there the fresh produce, but all different kinds of treats made from it. Chocolate covered berries, strawberry shortcake, blackberry truffles, jams, pies. The boy couldn't help but chuckle to himself. It was if they stepped into Forrest Gump and replaced shrimp with fruit. Once their selections were made, they chose a table and sat down.

Here they were.

Sitting a few inches from one another - not saying a word. They watched as farm hands walked in and out, dropping off crates full of fruit, bringing fresh pies from the kitchen up to the display, counting the money in the cash register. Everything seemed to easy. So care-free. No one seemed to be carrying stress in their shoulders, harboring bad thoughts. As they sat there, so close to one another, both knew what the other was thinking.

It was perfect.

The rolling hills. The sound of the crashing waves. The fresh air. Not to mention the abundance of succulent berries. It'd be so easy. To just stay for a while. Offer help around the property. They didn't need to make any money. Just a place to sleep. They'd become part of the community.

After all, there was no rush to get back to real life.

Mediterranean Rebirth

He had never expected it to turn out so well.

What had only begun as a tiny seed somewhere in the back of his mind had eventually turned into a full fledged plan. Of course it took time to mature. Become something that seemed plausable. But even when it did - he questioned it. It seemed mad. Unrealistic. His friends and family all seemed to scoff at him whenever he he opened up about it. Was it the right choice? What if it didn't work out? Was there something he could fall back on?

Of course there wasn't. It was going to work. It had to. There was just too much riding on it.

So the obligatory celebrations begun. The parties. The small get togethers. In his office, at his house. Surrounded by coworkers, family, and friends. They all wished him luck. Sung his praises. Hoped for the best. They had to - he was actually going. It no longer was just some idea they had thought he was toying with. He had put in his two weeks. Found someone to take over his lease. Sold his car. It all came so quickly. Most of his things were already in boxes. But not to be shipped with him. His family would inherit it. Distribute it as they pleased amongst themselves. All he needed was his ID, his bank accounts, and clothing. Everything else could be acquired.

When the plane first took off, his stomach dropped a little. Back in the terminal, it wasn't too hard saying goodbye. It wasn't forever. He knew he would see his mother and father again - whether he came back for the holidays or they visited him. Their hugs felt genuine, if not filled with sorrow and apprehension. Was their boy making the right choice? Could they help him from across the world if he needed them? The finality of it all didn't sink in until the wheels of the aircraft lost touch with the tarmac.

There was no turning back now.

The flight seemed to stretch on for days. The air in the cabin had grown stuffy, people around him closed in, invading his space. Children became restless - running up and down the aisle. Nudging his elbow as he tried desperately to sleep. Fifteen hours was a long time to be trapped in one's own head - contemplating if the right choice had been made.

When the plane finally touched down, his nerves began pumping again. All he had to his name was in his carry-on and checked luggage. He was in a place where he didn't know the language. Didn't know the geography. The customs. The city. His phone was useless. He had no one to contact. It was just him.

At first it was tough. He had always been shy. Nervous to explore the language - approach the people. Regardless of how friendly he heard everyone was. Once he tested what few phrases he knew and found they could understand him, he was able to relax a bit. It didn't take him long to find a taxi and describe where he needed to go. Of course he was sure a few key points were lost in translation, but he got the sense the driver knew where to go. As the car pulled away from the curb he let out a sigh of relief and closed his eyes for a bit - only to be startled awake by a bump in the road. He looked around frantically - scared he had been asleep for too long, only to see the brilliant teal water of the coast to his left. It was absolutely radiant. Piercing his soul and flushing his eyes with beauty. This was it.

When the cab stopped and dropped him off in front of the house - he was absolutely speechless. All of his doubts and concerns immediately melted away. It was perfect. And he hadn't even stepped inside yet. The bright blue door. The pure white walls. The adorable little window. He had risked it all. Finding a home online, quitting his job, moving away from his family and friends - his country. No connections. No job security. It was all worth it. It had paid off.

Now he just had to wait for the final piece of the plan. Her.

She'd be arriving in a couple days. Bags in tow - as excited and nervous as he was. They'd brave this new place together. Start fresh. Start new. Make it work. Together.

It was their next adventure.

Dawn Haze

As she continued down the highway towards the city, she didn't even feel her feet anymore. They had stopped hurting miles ago. Back when her skin couldn't take anymore friction - when the blisters popped and her socks began to soak through with blood. For a while, each step had been a struggle. Her shoes had felt like lead weights, pulling her legs down towards the asphalt. Not wanting to let her continue forward. But she had to keep going.

No one in the lab had seen her leave. For months she had put in the time. Done her duties, her chores. Gotten on the good side of all the nurses and guards. Kept under the radar.  She quickly became one of the trusted ones. Allowed to go out and night for a cigarette, soak in some of the fresh air. Depending on the guard, she was even allowed to stroll the perimeter. Each night she waited. Watched their routines. Made mental notes of when each guard took a bathroom break - when the nurses switched shifts. Each night that passed begged for her to flee. But she had to be patient. There was a brief window in the early morning hours when she could slip out, go for one of her strolls and hop the fence. Finally, one night, she did it. When the nurses were busy talking to one another and the guard had gone to grab his nightly coffee, she slipped outside, around the corner of the building, and nimbly climbed over the fence.

Once she was in the woods - she had no idea where to go. Her plan hadn't stretched that far. So she just walked. Eventually making to the highway she was dragging herself down now. One she recognized. Up ahead the city shown brightly. Her city. A beacon. She hoped her family was still there. Asleep in their beds, waiting for her return. It wouldn't be long until she was right outside their door - ready for their embrace.

As she continued forward, she had trouble focusing. For the last year she had been kept as a prisoner against her own will. Stolen from her bed at home. Force fed a slurry of pills every night. Sedating her. Keeping her in line. But now, her muscles were calling for the meds. Yearning for the numbness and salvation they brought. She had not expected this. The shakes. The cold sweat.

She no longer could tell if the haze ahead was just the early morning fog rolling in or the withdrawals.

First Time For Everything

Welp.

Consider me published.

http://www.fubiz.net/?s=spanish+holidays&type=posts

A Day In India

Friday honestly could not have come soon enough.

Long week of work. Long days. Long tasks. But I'm glad its over.

Luckily I've been keeping busy by slowly gearing up for my next trip - this time to Ireland with my mother and brother - making a few purchases here of there. The two big additions are a new camera for time lapse footage and some new lenses for my DSLR. After how well the last video/picture piece turned out, I'll obviously be making another one focusing on the rolling green hills - hopefully with all the kinks worked out. But of course, like I always do, I've been looking for inspiration on what to shoot, how to shoot it, etc.

Classic me - I've fallen in love with a new video and want to try to emulate it. The only issue is, I may be biting off more than I can chew. Taking a couple thousand photos and capturing time lapse footage in a week is a lot by itself. Throw in how much footage I'd need to replicate the video below and I'm surely in over my head. But who knows - I'll try my best. Can I show you what a day in Ireland is really like?

Give the piece below your full attention because it is drop dead gorgeous. The colors. The music. The camera movement. The focus. The food. The smiling faces. Everything about it is marvelous. I've never had much interest in going to India - but after this, consider it on my list of places to see.

Cheers.

A Day in India from The Perennial Plate on Vimeo.

Temporary Home

He was lost in the reflections as his feet played across the wet asphalt. All the signs and neon were bouncing back at him with such vibrance that he couldn't help but become absorbed in them. He was lucky that it had rained - otherwise the colors that were shining upon his face would not exist. It didn't matter to him that he couldn't understand what all the signs meant. Actually - it made the stroll even more special. It was a surprise to find the words he knew - pharmacy, hardware store, cafe. Every time he was able to translate something in his mind, a smile crept across his face.

As he continued down the street - he soaked everything else in. He made sure to wander off the sidewalk and into the middle of the street - between the cars. Taking his time. No rush to go anywhere in particular. The cobblestones bulged against the soles of his shoes, pushing into the bottoms of his feet gently. They felt old. Weathered. Even through the rubber. He could feel their age. Imagine the time they were being laid. Men and women, down on their hands and knees. He was humbled by the mere thought - forever indebted to them. Their work made his stroll possible.

All around him, people spoke languages he didn't understand Their tongues seemed to move at light speed - spitting out consonants and vowels that his mouth wasn't familiar with. But there was something mesmerizing about it. How it flowed out of their mouths and into the air effortlessly. Absolutely beautiful. He walked in silence, just letting the words find their way to his ears. Never before had he felt so vulnerable. Or alone. But at the same time, he felt completely engulfed. Cushioned by foreign words. Hugged from all sides.

Eventually his eyes drifted from the passing faces to the architecture that stretched out above and before him. And again he was lost. In the hues of the paints, the arches above the windows, the plaster work of storefronts. He loved how close every building was. Neighbors by construct. The narrow streets felt more like home than the bustling highways he was accustomed too - more secure and inviting. Safe. Flares of old mingled with tinges of modern. Every building oozed history. Proud of their heritage. Who built it and where its roots began.

Even the air was special. Clean and pure. Intoxicating to his lungs. Changing as he meandered between the different neighborhoods. At times he smelled fresh produce, other times stale beer seeping from a bar. Depending on the street he chose to wander down, he could run into the lingering smell of french cuisine or a kebab stand. But for now, since the last corner he had rounded, the smell of fried dough invaded his nose with a slight accent of warm, melted chocolate.

As he continued on, further and further into the heart of the city, he quickly realized he no longer felt like a tourist.

This felt like home.

Maybe Someday

On most nights he would have shot right up out and bed and slammed his hand against the glass. Its fluttering and tapping too much for his mind to take when it was trying to shut down. Pulverizing it into nothing but a smear.

But tonight was different. As he laid there, mind just floating somewhere between the bed and the ceiling, he welcomed the cadence of the little critter against the glass. As it continued to struggle to break through the invisible barrier, he just smiled. Its wings drummed a unique beat, something he could connect with. Deep down and serene. He didn't want it to go away. Just groove with it forever.

Through his eyelids, he imagined it, trying with all its might to break free. Get out into the world - towards the hundreds of glittering lights of the city. They called for it. Blinking and flashing brightly in the night sky. Out where the rest of its kind was. But no matter how hard it tried, it just couldn't. Eventually the sounds of struggle were too much and he opened his eyes - surprised to see how tiny his company was. Just holding on, staring out. All around him were little plumes of powder, glittering against the glass - the only evidence of its attempted escape.

Tonight, more than any others, he needed a friend. Someone who would be there for him, no matter what. Listen to him if need be. Console him. Just be near him. But as he laid there and watched for some time, he felt bad for it. Saw how much effort it was putting into pushing against the glass - flying up and down, looking for a hole that didn't exist.  It needed to be free. Out in the world - experiencing everything it could. He knew it only had primal instincts - food, reproduction, shelter, but it didn't deserve to be trapped. Especially not in a cramped little bedroom. So with much hesitation, he sat up and cracked his window ever so slightly - just enough for a breeze to begin to flow into the room. He hoped it would notice and flutter out through the crevice, but it just held firm to the glass. Unaware. So with a gentle hand, he nudged it ever so slightly - making sure not to touch its wings and remove any powder - towards the crack. Eventually it caught on and with a quick flap - darted out the window.

As he laid back down, his heart ached a bit. Maybe someday, as he fell asleep, he'd hear a slight tapping on the glass and it'd be his friend - wanting to be let back in.

Until then - his window would remain unlocked.

Holding It All

He'd just lay there, drifting in and out of consciousness. The world outside drowned out to nothing more than a dull buzz. There was never a warning or sign that he was about to go into one of those types of dreams. It'd begin like any night. He'd slide down in between his comforters and relax, letting his breathing slow and become deeper. His eyes would just naturally shut. But then he'd feel it coming. That wall of silence. Bringing with it something different - unlike the night before. There was no use resisting it, trying to open his eyes at the last moment. This was not a normal dream. Once the cascade had come, he had to just let go and become engulfed. He was gone. Lost within.

It wasn't every night that he dreamt geographically.

One of the very first times had been about the oceans. He had always loved water as a child. Growing up around the sea. Constantly running in and out of the waves. Splashing the cool water against his tanned skin. Hundreds of hours of giggles combined with the crashing surf. But now, gliding high above in his dream, the water represented something else. It reminded him of her eyes. How deep and magnificent they were. The colors radiating outward towards him. Within them came life. The sun shown brightly against the cresting waves, twinkling back into his eyes. It was if the oceans were her's, looking back at him. Acknowledging his presence.

The time after had taken him a bit to realize he was zooming across the plains of Africa. Long and spread out, but drenched in warm radiant sunlight. Below him all he saw was miles and miles of sand. Pure, smooth, beautiful sand. As he flew high above, all he wanted to do was dip down, close enough to reach out and stroke it - let his fingers run between the granules - feel it against his skin. He bet it was as soft as it looked - silky to the touch. Pristine. Untouched and perfect. Absolutely inviting. It was only a few moments before his eyes shot open the next morning that he realized it had represented her skin.

His favorite dream thus far had been spent in Europe. It was the first in which he wasn't alone. There were other people. Lots and lots of people. Wandering about, continuing on with their daily lives, as if it wasn't strange he was floating around in the air right before their eyes. Many of them even interacted with him. Speaking to him in their native tongue - to which he was surprisingly able to reply. Everyone was so intelligent and polite. Asking him where he came from, what were his goals, details about his family. He felt welcome. Part of the society. Here, he wasn't just a visitor. He was one of them. As the dream continued, he didn't want to leave. Their wit was charming and infectious. Their intelligence stunning. It didn't take him long to decide this had to be her mind.

As the dreams kept occurring, he fell asleep each night hoping he'd stumble into another part of the world. And of course he did. But as it happened more and more, the details became smaller and smaller. More refined. He spent a night flying along the coastline of Peru - to which he only realized a few days later was the curve of her back. An evening in Alaska turned out to be how cold her feet got at night. The pungent floral aroma and rooftop canopy of the Amazon couldn't have been anything else other than her hair. Slowly but surely, piece by piece, and bit by bit, as he slept, she was being built from his memories.

And tonight it was all going to culminate. As he closed his eyes and felt the wall approach, he was surprised to reopen them and still be in his bed. Not floating above some land mass or body of water. It only took a few moments to realize what his arms were wrapped around. Her. Lying there next to him. In all her glory. Warm and inviting. The crest of her back tucked perfectly into his waistline. He could feel her breathing. See the rise and fall of her shoulders.

Even if it was just a dream - he couldn't ask for more.

The world was in his hands.