50 • 30 • 20

I like how numbers work. They’re exact, there’s no emotional attachment to their existence and most importantly numbers hold us accountable. Athletes rely on numbers to determine who wins. I also like abstract numbers, such as breaking ideas down into ratios. For instance Mike Tyson said that, “boxing is a spiritual sport…10% physical and 90% mental.” But you need all 10% in order to support the other 90. I interpret the world of commercial photography as 50/30/20.

50% of it is simply who you are. If people like you—especially if you’re smart and stylish—many times you’ll get an opportunity to work. Enthusiasm and fun matters. Appearances matter. Get into it, be a good person and look the part. There’s more of a demand for this in the industry nowadays because mean people suck. Being a diva comes with the territory, but being a downright cunt isn’t acceptable. There are some really talented people who don’t work as much because they aren’t friendly.

30% of it is talent. I’ve found this to be the most interesting dissection point because what’s considered to be ‘good’ is relative and therefore so is the bulk of perceived talent. I think that there are standards when it comes to contemporary imaging still being upheld by editorials—which is expected. But repeatedly producing introspective content, (or what I refer to as self plagiarism) is, I think, what pushes the envelope of talent. Acknowledging the place where inspiration is rooted is something you can’t fake. For instance seeing Robert Mapplethrope’s work for the first time made a lot of people feel uncomfortable, but for the artist it needed to be produced. You can look at an artist’s work and see whether they’re telling you the truth or not based on how well the artist knows himself. With that said the work doesn’t necessarily have to be ‘good,’ but honest. You can go to school or find an apprenticeship to learn how to be good, but knowing thyself is what separates the real ones from the posers.

And 20% is guts. You need all 20%.

Poseidon

Regardless of anything else happening in life, god speaks to me in the water. I’ve never been a religious man, but when I need him I find him there. I rant to myself alone and out loud (like a crazy person), about:

the heartache of failed relationships

my troubles with the opposite sex

being exploited for my talents and labor over the years

family drama

fear of losing my dog unexpectedly

paranoia of losing my freedom

having to deal with friends, family, colleagues, neighbors who refuse accountability, decency, courtesy

money…money…money

and simply feeling like a terrible person who doesn’t deserve love due to my own proclivities.

It feels odd to be feeling this odd at 41yo. One would assume that I’d have more of it ‘together’ by now, but that’s what expectations can do to a person. It all reminds me that life should be fun, and I always have the option to surrender to the unexpected, which mitigates disappointment.

And when all of my wisdom is escapes me, when life throws me a curve ball (or several), I get my board and sit in the water and speak to myself aloud. I curse him and her and them and the circumstances of my life. I boil and seethe like a raging wild animal, passing judgment on everybody who’s hurt me, real or imagined, until I cry.

And then god sends me a wave.