In the midst of the worst week of rain & flood of the year, TJ & I decided it would be perfect time to begin principal shooting on the Valentines project. We begun the descent into the valley of The Needles, carrying what would soon turn out to be unnecessary gear, having to cross a submerged stone bridge hand in hand on the precipice of paper thin footing. As we marked out positions to capture the desolate dying beauty of this isolated kingdom, TJ reminds me that we have forgotten something, so I drag back half the unneeded material in order to bring down the rest, the few small things required that were left alone in the warm comfort of the station wagon. On the walk back down, I stop and look up in the sky, through the clearings of willow trees, and wish for this to be a separate isle to call my own, away from the City of Assholes. All I would need is, a few good books, a self sustaining coffee machine, oh and some Wifi would be nice. I want to take a holiday, not to become a full blown bum.
As the Blue Hour sets in, the light changing the shape of things to come, it too has an affect on my precious little brain, as I realize that things never work out the way you want. Just like cooking, or any creative endeavor, or even the construct of my own life, it seems to undertake several metamorphosis along the way. There begins an Ideal, which is torn apart by The Shape Of Things To Come, which melts it into Plan B, which then is scattered and blown apart by the winds of Time, and the demands of others. So we end up naked, in the forest, with few thoughts to call our own, as they have been stolen, broken, pushed and pulled. We walk the woods barefoot, collecting up our thoughts and trying to glue something back together. It will never again be the perfect china vase that used to sit in your mothers Good Room, but rather some abstractual monstrosity that somehow ends up being a far greater and more interesting piece of art than one could have ever originally envisioned.