There have been a lot of well written threads about how bad it is at shows. Thought you might like one about "hope."
It always takes a lot of courage to shift gears. You know, like jets- ion your old style of art for something totally new.
I am doing again.
Done it about six times now in a career that has spanned 30 years in our biz.
I have watched people I know who did one discipline like clay for 20 years, and make oodles of dough at it, than change into something like photography. Talk about "Profiles in Courage" (JFK, folks). It takes a big leap of faith.
We all know the artist, who in his/her day was the hot one. Selling and getting in everything. Then 20 years later, they were still doing the same thing and they were dying. They had exhausted their market.
Yes, there are a few very lucky ones, who come upon a unique style, and still kill them, year after year. They are very rare like a good wine.
Most of us have to grind it out, year after year. Tweaking it here, tweaking it there. Yeah, we change colors, we stylize it a little, but do we really grow? Do we ever try to stretch the box.
If you are smart, you live to grow new work. It is what makes you excited about getting up in the morning and get into the studio.
I am taking that big step again. I am already 400 feet, down off the cliff since November, when I found this new one. Thank God! It is a long cliff. I can almost hear the parachute getting ready.
Early on, when I first started doing shows, I lived in Hawaii. I was in the Army there in the 1970's. Back then I shot pics of surfers on Banzai Pipeline (My backyard, where I lived at the time), I shot pics of guys growing monster Pakalolo plants (that's Hawaiian for ganga--literally, a "lolo" is a crazy person in Hawaiian, so Pakalolo, is weed that makes the head go crazy). Also, I shot pictures of naked women. I knew many who would pose nude, I just wasn't their lover. All these pics were black and whites. Old school photography. You know. The trays with chemicals in them. Drying them on lines. Trying to be an Ansel Adams, or today, a Clyde Butcher. We could only hope.
One day, back in that day, I had an interesting encounter, over a nude calendar that I had shot. Lucky me, I got to live and tell about it.
Let me set the scene.
Cool Lindell Cedar home sitting back on the reef of Pipeline. Cue in some Gabi Pahanui music (quintescent slide guitar player ). Wind blowing thru the palms. Nels chilling on the porch with an Oly (Olympia beer). A little whiff of Christmas in the air, if you get my drift.
Tempo changes, put on some Shaft music. Here comes the Hawaiian mafia. In this case, the North Shore boys.
Hawaiian dude, sans aloha shirt and well-muscled, walking with a big stick. Looking very secure. Followed by four guys that each make Shaquille O"Neill look like a runt.
The capo comes right up on the porch. Nods at me, says, "Aloha, Nels. I hear you are a reasonable dude. So I am going to be reasonable with you. I know you are pure of heart, but maybe a little naive."
I went WTF! Never saw this guy in my life.
I got a quick wakeup call.
A little history. A few months earlier, this girl I knew, lets call her Mara, asked me to do a nude calendar of her for her boyfriend. She wasn't exactly built. She wan't exactly cute--but, she had spunk. Oh yeah. She also paid me a $1000 to shoot this calendar. It took two months of shooting, using ingenious props (she had stretch marks). She was happy, I was happy. I got paid. She gave it to Mr. hawaiian capo as a Christmas present. Well, let's just say, he wasn't as happy as us.
Thus, cueing to the present, (A little Miami Vice music maybe) Mr. Capo paid me a visit.
He brought kuilanas(gifts). Some very good smoke and a whole bunch of "Greenies". That's what the locals called Heinekin in those days. He also brought a dose of intimidating attitude. I mean, where were my Army buddies with their gernade launchers when I needed them?
He continued, after a big inhale/exhale--it was Christmas all over the porch (editor's note: In those days, the best Pakalolo smelled strongly of evervescent wintergreen. You wanted to kiss Santa).
"Eh brah!, I want all the negatives of Mara."
Being no dummy, and badly outnumbered, I relented. We drank, we smoked, he told jokes, I got the negs, he said Aloha, and I never saw him again. End of my nude calendar career. So many lovely bodies, so little time.
I changed, went landscape. Won first place in four out of five sections of All Army Photography worldwide. Managed to make $15 at my first outdoor art show. Topic for another discussion.
In between then, 1978, and now, 2013, I have totally changed my direction of photography six times. Only once did it end in slight failure. Every other time, I stepped forward, renewed, refreshed, and relishing the beginnings of a new day so I could practice my new art.
I am floating halfwy down the cliff. I think the sound I am hearing is a parachute opening. It could be the sound of rocks below with big waves pounding upon them. Nah! It is not my time for that.
They already sliced and diced me. I am back. I am stronger than when I was 27. I am now 67. My new work carries me forward. I sleep great dreams at night. I fell that success will come. It always has before. So why not now!
Aloha, there is hope. Believe. Be open to change. Be open to new directions. What do you really have to lose? Open that door, go down that new path. There are parachute sales going on all over this world.
Nels Johnson, second night of our new cat. Aloha--and don't smoke too much Pakalolo.
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