I am a freelance cinematographer, journalist, and a creative mind. I've been incredibly lucky as far as my work goes, and so far it has gotten me into some interesting places. I’ve decided to begin keeping a public journal of my adventures around St. Louis and around the World, so join me won't you?
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Full Moon
I Can’t Stop
So much has happened in the past month, I still haven’t really been able to wrap my head around things as life continues to come at me. Two crucial project’s hard deadlines flying in like sucker punches in May, with customers expecting a product on one hand and a ten thousand dollar project for the Department of Health at stake on the other, I’m starting to feel the pressure. I’m on schedule with the former, but with about 6 rough edited minutes out of an hours worth of content finished for the later, reality is finally starting to settle in on what needs to be accomplished. All the while, it’s coming around to the year anniversary of the eviction of Dignity Harbor and the homeless encampments. As the city prepares to evict last years homeless from their apartments while a new batch of homeless is set to be bulldozed and placed in a years worth of free housing of their own, I’m doing my best with doing a follow up and revising the ending of the documentary. In all, I believe I’m juggling about 8 different fireballs. But an object in motion, stays in motion.
On top of all of this stress, a client of mine took me away from my work to examine a faulty camera of his that was purchased over the internet. Long story short, the seller sold the item under false pretenses and attempted to weasel out of responsibility when a refund was demanded. Paypal required a third party opinion on the matter, and after checking out the equipment, all it took was a letter explaining the damage and my signature to set things straight. My client received a full refund.
Fortunately, there has been some vocation vacation in the mix. A few days in Vegas for the National Association of Broadcasters convention was a welcome escape from the Rust Belt Grind. After losing almost all of my allotted gambling money (minus the $9.50 I won on the NCAA Championship game) and gaining a flattering stripper story, I left Sin City with a deposit on the new Black Magic Cinema Camera that has me in suspense like a chained dog trying to reach its new toy. I’ll be having some fun come late summer.
Another thoroughly enjoyable shoot came around a couple of weeks ago as well. Melody Riffs, a singer songwriter from LA, flew all the way to the Lou for an ‘I Love Lucy’ themed music video shoot in an unbelievable three story loft in the Tower Grove area. I must admit, when a friend called and requested my help on a 5+ hour shoot for 50 dollars pay, I wasn’t pleased. I damn near turned it down, but he was in a pinch so I helped him out, and I’m glad I did. I met some cool people and the shoot was a blast. Melody herself is quite the character, but that’s a whole other story. She was kind enough to write a charming little number for me on the spot the following day, with some of the lyrics reminding me that it probably makes people uncomfortable taking their pictures in public. As someone who’s lot in life is to take pictures of the World and the animals that inhabit it; too bad for them!
Times are busy, and that’s a good thing. I’m thankful for the work, but I am very much looking forward to a week or so out in the Arkansas bush for a reality check. It might not happen as soon as I had hoped, but it will happen as soon as I earn it.
Pictures from Las Vegas and NAB can be viewed [here].
Pictures from the Melody Riffs music video shoot can be viewed [here].
Big Times at the Big Sky Film Festival Part 2
Missoula, Montana is one of those rare places not unlike modern day Asheville, North Carolina or 1960’s Boulder, Colorado. A total flip side from the American Mainstream. All of the strangest freaks, hippest beats, and chillest peeps are gravitated into this Rocky Mountain valley making for a melting pot of fascinating and unique culture. A place filled with a mystic energy about it that makes you feel young and that the world is going to survive; where anything and everything can happen. Maybe it’s the mountains, maybe it’s the people, maybe it’s just the right time and place.
Made up of college students, young entrepreneurs and old locals, most everyone knows everyone around these parts. Whether it be the young business woman running her dream eco-department store over in the heart of the city, the older barber struggling to make a living cutting hair while trying to forget the occasion when a meth’d out transvestite bashed him over the head with a pipe, or the local Pakistani merchant finally leaving his life of organized crime and living the American dream of selling bunk jewelry to fools on the streets at a 1000% markup, it’s hard not to bump into a familiar face after just a few days in Missoula.
The endlessly beautiful panoramic view of the surrounding snow capped mountains and the friendly faces don’t come without it’s fair share of troubles, however. With the local economy starved by lack of jobs and plagued by an overabundance of young adults, a typical job is hard to come by. That doesn’t stop the steady increase of creative people, flocking to the area on a whisper and a whim to start fresh and make a living by any means necessary—in the true spirit of the Wild West. And more often than not they get by.
Despite the damage done by the Great Recession, there was one field that defied all odds and made a hugely positive impact on the Montana economy. The medical marihuana industry defied all signs of a slowed economy and absolutely thrived. The incredibly lucrative business had growers, suppliers and distributes all creating jobs and revenue for the state as well as themselves. On top of all of that green energy, sick people were finally getting their medicine they’ve been asking for without risking their freedom. Times were good.
This unfortunately changed in late 2011 when Montana House members decided that the current laws made pot too readily available to the public and that those laws needed to be ‘fixed.’ This made becoming a MM caregiver a long, drawn out process that involved jumping through so many hoops that it was not hardly feasible for a small company to get off the ground. With dispensaries and grow houses shut down and torched, new laws mean that the easiest and most hassle free way now for patients to receive their medication would be through illegal means. Which begs the question; are the people and their communities better off than they were before?
Despite their economic woes, Missoula proudly hosts a few big booming events that bring people far and wide to that wonderful piece of Earth. The Big Sky Documentary Film Festival being one of them. Now working toward it’s 11th year, the ten day festival invites people from around the world to share in the wonders of film making. Exploring new and often life changing stories, meeting and chatting with filmmakers, and of course the nightly wrap parties with all of the free micro-brew you can drink. With drunken tourists wondering the streets, you can bet that the locally owned shops and restaurants are drunk off customers for at least a few good days.
Most days you forget, many days you live, few days you remember for the rest of your life. Good Times
Big Times at the Big Sky Film Festival Part 1
The five planned days I spent in Missoula for the BSFF were incredible. A true experience filled with adventures climbing icy mountains and frozen phenomenon, desperate confusion trying to locate a person of interest with a racing clock ticking towards the deadline, excitement wandering the streets of a new place meeting new people, and just a touch of some of the finer things in life. It was an unforgettable journey nestled in a Rocky Mountain valley.
The events that unfolded in the two extra days that followed, however, is where the true story begins. After a devastating blizzard wrecked havoc in Colorado, all flights connecting in Denver were canceled, and I had the misfortune (fortune) of spending another two days in Missoula full of uncertainty, marihuana, and British People. The entire trip deserves nothing less than a book to document the story to keep it safe from my short term memory. For now, the tumblr will have to suffice.
I landed in Missoula International Airport with my backpack, my camera and nothing much more. The Festival had comped me two nights at a local hotel, which would have been great if those comped nights hadn’t of been booked for the days prior to my arrival, so I packed with my potential homelessness in mind. My pack included only what I needed: a few days worth of cloths, some snacky bars and trail mix, The Lucifer Effect for down time, a first aid kit, toiletries, and two fleece blankets in case I had to truly experience the streets if it ultimately came down to it. With my minimalist budget to match my minimalist pack, my goal was to avoid spending any money for housing, and being in a college town had me optimistic about my situation.
I had a day to worry about that anyway, as I had already secured shelter for the first night. I had made a post on the couchsurfing.com weeks before and received a reply by a man who lived about an hour north of Missoula. He seemed decent enough after a quick glance at his public profile; a former college professor at the University of Montana with a naturalist’s beard and a PhD in French Lit. When he mentioned he would be happy to drive me up to Glacier National Park, I was sold. My excitement was palpable as I sent a reply explaining my interest.
After I sent my message with my itinerary and plans for the week, I decided to really go through and check out this internet man’s profile to see who I’d be staying with. My stomach did an interesting flip when I ultimately got to the line where he proudly proclaims that he’s a nudist, that his house is clothing optional, and that by God he’s a member Gay Bear Couchsurfers group. He was a naturalist, alright.
After a moment of contemplation, I let out a long guffaw at what I had jumped into. I had no problem with those facts, but when you meet somebody from the vast internets, you never really know who you’re meeting. And I’d be in a strangers house in the middle of the woods far away from anything and everyone. His honesty and openness was comforting, but I told friends and family I’d be packing my bear mace—just in case.
Luckily, he turned out to be an awesome dude with a lot of insight on the local area and beyond. He also had the courtesy of keeping his cloths on for the duration. Thanks to him, I saw more of Montana than I could have ever asked for in a days time and had a cozy bed to retire in. On top of all that, I gradually learned his unbelievable role in the region’s medical marijuana scene and the unfortunate events that lead to a series of changes in the legislature that made MM almost impossible to disperse to the people in Montana who need it. With some places having the legalization movement seeming to be thriving, I was surprised to see it being snuffed out on a scale such as this in a place where the snowball seemed to be rolling so well. But that’s another story for another time.
Long story short, the first 32 hours in Montana were a success. I was dropped off at a gas station in downtown Missoula on day two and we said our farewells. I had already seen and done so much, but things were about to change gears drastically. It was festival time, and the first hour was a complete and utter cluster fuck.
More pictures [here].
What a weekend. A happy Birthday to Paul and a happy Birthday to Charlie, and cheers to the longer days. No better way to end the break from the madness than a Clutch concert and a post game shower beer before the week begins. It’s a good thing.
Here’s another concert you should [read] about.
A Walk Down Memory Lane//A Night With a Meth Addict
It was a week well spent in Anaheim, California filming for one of my favorite clients. A week of meeting people of all walks of life, a week of incredible stories, a week of too many Double Tree cookies. It was a barrage of back to back 12+ hour work days filled with non-stop interview shooting, footage dumping, and set prepping that culminated in a Saturday night escape in a pristine silver 2013 Ford Mustang rental car. After a week of being confined to my two feet, I was more than ready to get behind the wheel of a great American Beast—300 HP and the 405 at my fingertips. Just what the good doctor ordered.
Angry shouts of Spanish from the rental lot were muffled by the thick OC air blowing through the ragtop and a yelp of excruciating excitement from the passenger seat as we bottomed out onto the road. Weaving through traffic with the top down and the radio up marked the beginning of our race against the setting sun. The Silver Bullet performed gloriously as she showed us to the zoo that is Venice Beach for some prime people watching, a scenic drive down Pacific Coast Highway to a sushi joint for a moderately sized meal with special guest Sean William Scott, and a surprise evening with Trombone Shorty at the famous El Roy Theatre. The night was capped with a quiet evening coasting through the hills of Beverly looking out over the endless ocean of lights that they call the City of Angels. Finally, somewhere around 3AM, her eyelids became too heavy for six cylinders to keep open and the week officially came to an end. Despite all of the fony Hollywood glits and glamour, however, there was one story from the trip that separates itself from the rest.
The Friday night before, after the rest of the crew went off to retire, I had a definite bug in my ass. I coudn’t just go to bed at a decent hour and wake up rested. Not after a week of work. Not in California. All the clubs were out of reach, and all the local bars I had grown tired of, but there was one thing I had yet to do on my vocation checklist.
When I left Missouri I had one goal in mind, one crave to be filled; a big sack of sodium soaked french fries, a tall cup of soda along with a giant, mouthwatering, greasy double cheese burger from the best fast food joint in the country—the In-N-Out Burger. I could almost smell the cheese dripping off of the horse meat, and I had a full intention of following my nose. Unfortunately, the two and a half mile taxi drive to the nearest location would cost roughly 30 dollars round trip, and after watching the cliche moth fly out of my opened wallet I decided that I could use a walk after the week of daily three course meals. Despite the bellhop’s warning that the area I was heading to was getting close to the poverty line, I headed off towards my meal equipped with what little St. Louis grit I’ve acquired over the years along with a glass bottle pint of Tennessee Williams Whiskey for a little bit of extra courage and an improvised intimidator in case things got interesting…
Read the rest [here]
More pictures [here]
Naughti Gras 2013
One of those nights where you need a few days to recollect the moments worth recalling and filter the moments that should probably remain forgotten. Best done with a tall glass of an American spirit; preferably Honey. Set me up, Chapster.
More pictures [Here]
