I read something profound today from an old weathered book, in the back seat of a dirty cab, somewhere in downtown Los Angeles. Did you know that right and left shoes are barely a century old? No, really. Now I understand that on the surface a hundred years seems like a very long time. But in the history of shoes??  I mean even the earliest civilization of Mesopotamia wore sandals and that was THOUSANDS of years ago. But until recently it seems that there were no difference between the left and right shoes. Crazy. My point is this. I was recently part of a (very frustrating) discussion with several other photographers who claimed that it is impossible to be original these day. “There is nothing new under the sun!” some exclaimed as others sat silently nodding their heads in agreement all the while grimacing in pain from wearing two left shoes.  You see, while shoes may have been around for ages are we not thankful that someone not only recognized that our feet are different but also took the time to create a different shoe for each? Van Gogh most certainly did not invent the paint nor the brush but to say that “Starry night” is not a truly amazing and original piece of art is incomprehensible. There are yet many things to discover friends. Many thoughts left to think. I know this to be true in the deepest part of my being. Timothy Ray Miller said “This is the precious present, regardless of what yesterday was like, regardless of what tomorrow may bring. When your inner eyes open, you can find immense beauty hidden within the inconsequential details of daily life. When your inner ears open, you can hear the subtle, lovely music of the universe everywhere you go. When the heart of your heart opens, you can take deep pleasure in the company of the people around you — family, friends, acquaintances, or strangers — including those whose characters are less than perfect, just as your character is less than perfect. When you are open to the beauty, mystery, and grandeur of ordinary existence, you “get it” that it always has been beautiful, mysterious, and grand and always will be. This is the precious present.” 
My point? Its simple. If you want to be original just try being yourself, because there has never been two people exactly alike. Happy Friday.

I am so excited to announce that there have been some changes and openings to the Hammers & Strings: The Collection tour happening this October! The new open dates and locations are as follows.

Grand Canyon, AZ: October 17, 2010
Death Valley, CA: October 19, 2010
Arches National Park, UT: October 24, 2010

I am also allowing one open slot somewhere in the Colorado/Utah area between October 25-28. There is slight gap in the tour between these dates and am open to suggestions! Please contact me at clayton@claytonaustinlovestories.com for more info.

She gets me. And I her. And we have never met. Our mediums are different though the message is the same. Love is horrible and beautiful. It will give us life and be the death of us all. It is simply the best and the worst thing that could ever happen in our lives. Those who have experienced the better part of love know what I am speaking of. So do the latter. With one person we make love. And with another we have sex.  With one person we stay until morning. And then the next. And then the next. And with another we shower and leave. For I believe that it is the accumulation of all these things that make love what it is really is. Unchained. Cruel and amazing. How is that we can fall so madly for a person who doesn’t return our calls and yet feel nothing for someone who would wash our feet with their hair? Its just plain stupid.
Neil Gaiman, and early American novelist, summed it up best when he wrote, “Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn’t it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life…You give them a piece of you. They didn’t ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn’t your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like ‘maybe we should be just friends’ turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It’s a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. “

My point is this. That despite all this, humans have the innate desire to experience these things with another human being. Its a curious thing. Sometimes we write about it. Sometime we attempt to capture it on film. And sometimes we sing about it. When I first heard Gravel Lines by Amy Seeleymy heart melted. It was the most beautiful noise I had ever heard. I turned off the lights and sat there in the dark for hours just listening. It was a rare moment in my life when for the first time my images acquired a soundtrack. Pictures for my ears. The Goodness in E Minor.

Gravel Lines
By: Amy Seeley

What do you expect from me, after these takes, after this
What do you dream in the afternoon?
I’ll never know what’s in your head

Out past the cars on the railway
Out past the city’s finery
We see our breath and connection
Underneath these gravel lines

You, you stole a page from the blanks
How do you weigh all of our fears?
Typical, isn’t it typical
That someone like me would invite you in

We took a drive in the country
Your photographs were never mine
slapped in the face by the questions
Posed by these gravel lines

Dear Amy,
Should this post ever come across your life I want you to know that mine will not be complete until I photograph you with my beloved piano. I would travel near and far. You are stunningly beautiful. Thank you for giving my images something to listen to.

Image by: Shannon Sewell

 “When you have come to the edge of all light that you know and are about to drop off into the darkness of the unknown, Faith is knowing one of two things will happen: There will be something solid to stand on or you will be taught to fly”

An open letter to Clayton Austin:

It’s hard to believe that I wasn’t planning on hiring a photographer. I thank God that the powers of the internet brought you to me one sleepless night. You were an impulse buy (I wasn’t even expecting you to be available 4 weeks before the wedding!), but it turns out you were the best investment I have ever made. When it comes to weddings, when it’s over the only things you can take with you are the photographs. And I couldn’t be more thankful that I have YOUR photographs to take with me. July 4, 2010 was the absolute best day of my entire life, and you captured all the love, joy, excitement and fun so beautifully and magically. Please never stop doing photography. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Nickey (and Joe!)

“Lets go! Lets go!!” I yelled from the back of the ambulance. I was scared and at a loss for what to do next. A yound girl was crying frantically for her little baby boy in my hands. And he wasn’t breathing. And I wasn’t breathing either. She had fainted while bathing him, letting him slip beneath the water and woke to find it drowned. God knows we did all we could but the odds were just stacked against us. At least that’s what I was told. But I felt differently. Maybe it was this, maybe it was accumulation of events. Thinking back, there is no one particular job that really made the difference. I think it was more the fact that after seeing 8 years of death, sadness, and sickness it just gathered, like a leaking tap, filling my emotional reservoir until it couldn’t take any more in. I was dying on the inside getting less and less sleep until the days folded one into the other.

Fast forward 15 months later and here I am. I took a deep breathe and took in the scent of rain on the wind. The tall summer grass danced at my feet and rarely have I felt so alive. I looked to my left and saw Hunter and Brittney holding hands. He pulled her close and kissed her forehead. Hunter dug his hand deep into his pocket and grasped the tiny little box hidden there until his knuckles turned white.  My soul smiled. I knew something that she didn’t. That he loves her more than he could ever express in words. That he wants her something fierce. That somewhere between now and sunset he will ask her to be his wife. And I will be a witness.

I try not to think of the ways my life has changed these last two years. If I do I will cry. These two hands that once held a tiny life and had the agony of feeling that life slip through my clinched fingers now holds a new kind of life. The contrast between my life then and my life today is more than can be expressed or comprehended. Further from the east to the west. And I am thankful to be here. And I am happy to be happy again. 

I took one last deep breath and gathered my thoughts. And I smiled. “You two love birds ready?” I asked as played one final note on my beloved piano, my friend. My heart fluttered in my chest because deep down I knew this was going to be a good one.

She said yes…

As we lie here there is a sound in my ears,
in the deepest core of my being.
Its your voice saying “I do”,
the melody of our children singing.
Verse one.
I am yours, completely undone.
Verse two.
My life is nothing without you.
The chorus is unwritten
though I know it by heart.
I have never sung aloud for you love
But today I will start.
I will sing you our song
I will sing
I will sing
For you I will sing.

I am not a photographer. I have never claimed to be such. I am a starving artist. A writer of thoughts. An unusual suspect of sorts. But not a photographer. Or at least  not JUST a photographer. In fact I feel so strongly about this that if I were in a crowded room consisting of a variety of creative persons and we were asked to divide the room with photographers on one side and sculptures, painters, and dancers on the other other, I would not hesitate for one moment in joining the latter. In my humble opinion a photographer is some one who captures a moment through an image. An artist is some one who see the potential in the moment and possesses the passion to see image into completion. A vision fulfilled. Camille Pissarro, an early french impressionist painter, once said “Blessed are they who see beautiful things in humble places where other people see nothing.” And even Picasso said “What do you think an artist is? An imbecile who has only his eyes if he is a painter, or his ears if he is a musician, or a lyre at every level of his heart if he is a poet, or, if he is merely a boxer, only his muscle? On the contrary, he is at the same time a political being, constantly alert to the heartrending, burning, or happy events in the world, molding himself in their likeness.” I am not a photographer. I am a painter. I do not shoot from lists. I dance. When the shutter is released and the moment frozen, the real work is just beginning. And to me, that’s the best part.

“Summer’s Progression”

The end.