A story Jeff and I collaborated on was posted on dane101.com today through our content sharing partnership with the site.
Check it out: City moving forward with building use policy draft
12.28.2011
Epic Points of Light
Who wouldn't love to work in a place like Epic? My fiance has worked there four-ish years and through my comings and goings picking him up from work or seeing a new office he's moved into or giving unofficial tours to relatives, I've seen quite a bit of the campus. But it changes constantly; every time I pick him up from work I feel like I'm taking a different road, even if I'm going to the same place.
We always offer visiting relatives a tour of John's office, which makes it sound banal when you put it like that. I think the visiting relatives think the same and initially agree just to be polite. And then they see the place and know what we're talking about. I try to take my camera every time we go on an extensive tour as there's so much of the fantastic incorporated into the buildings. A fifties diner in the cafeteria, a waterfall, an Indiana Jones-themed hallway, a treehouse, a replica of the NYC subway, a Dungeons and Dragons-themed building (John's old office), just to name a few. It is a severe understatement to say that someone put a lot of thought into the campus. Literally no stone was left unturned in crafting this environment in the middle of a Verona cornfield; it is a sight to behold and difficult to describe unless you've been there. The campus resembles a theme park more than a medical software company and I hope the employees never stop appreciating the thought and wonder instilled into design of their workplace.
Anyway, I never go without my camera but I find it's difficult to take fantastic pictures of something that's already fantastic, you know? How do you find a good angle, something that's not already obvious? On Flickr, giantmike does an amazing job of capturing even seemingly mundane aspects of the campus and making them beautiful.
I snapped the above photo on a quick jaunt to see John's new office in Pluto. Yes, Pluto. They moved him in as soon as the office space was available, so there wasn't too much decor yet in the labyrinth of hallways leading to his office. I noticed the light fixture as we were leaving Pluto through the hallway that leads to the training center (I think). What could otherwise be a plain but perfectly acceptable hallway had four or five of these lights about midway up the wall on either side. The walls themselves were painted in what can only be described as a light-speed-ahead-triangle-pattern, complimenting the lights perfectly so that when one stopped to look full on at the fixtures, you were left with the image I took above.
It's just another example of how everything at Epic is thought about, every detail considered. Ordinary light fixtures and ordinary paint jobs probably have a cheaper, ordinary price. But I'm sure whoever is in charge over there also recognizes the incredible value in small moments of joy in discovering what I did above, all those perfect points of light.
We always offer visiting relatives a tour of John's office, which makes it sound banal when you put it like that. I think the visiting relatives think the same and initially agree just to be polite. And then they see the place and know what we're talking about. I try to take my camera every time we go on an extensive tour as there's so much of the fantastic incorporated into the buildings. A fifties diner in the cafeteria, a waterfall, an Indiana Jones-themed hallway, a treehouse, a replica of the NYC subway, a Dungeons and Dragons-themed building (John's old office), just to name a few. It is a severe understatement to say that someone put a lot of thought into the campus. Literally no stone was left unturned in crafting this environment in the middle of a Verona cornfield; it is a sight to behold and difficult to describe unless you've been there. The campus resembles a theme park more than a medical software company and I hope the employees never stop appreciating the thought and wonder instilled into design of their workplace.
Anyway, I never go without my camera but I find it's difficult to take fantastic pictures of something that's already fantastic, you know? How do you find a good angle, something that's not already obvious? On Flickr, giantmike does an amazing job of capturing even seemingly mundane aspects of the campus and making them beautiful.
I snapped the above photo on a quick jaunt to see John's new office in Pluto. Yes, Pluto. They moved him in as soon as the office space was available, so there wasn't too much decor yet in the labyrinth of hallways leading to his office. I noticed the light fixture as we were leaving Pluto through the hallway that leads to the training center (I think). What could otherwise be a plain but perfectly acceptable hallway had four or five of these lights about midway up the wall on either side. The walls themselves were painted in what can only be described as a light-speed-ahead-triangle-pattern, complimenting the lights perfectly so that when one stopped to look full on at the fixtures, you were left with the image I took above.
It's just another example of how everything at Epic is thought about, every detail considered. Ordinary light fixtures and ordinary paint jobs probably have a cheaper, ordinary price. But I'm sure whoever is in charge over there also recognizes the incredible value in small moments of joy in discovering what I did above, all those perfect points of light.
12.05.2011
Thoughts on Christmas Cards
My minor obsession with miniatures and making my own holiday cards continued again this year with the next installment of my Christmas Card Photo Shoot.
I received a lot of positive feedback from last year's attempt, mostly about my photos of Oscar el Gato (one of which even won a contest). But more than that, I get a lot of joy throughout the whole endeavor for a couple reasons.
I strongly believe that sending and receiving mail is a lost art, and it's easily buried under the process of addressing and sending holiday cards the way we modern folk do it. As a kid, I used to help my mom send Christmas cards. I remember feeling an enormous pressure to get all those cards out, plopping down with a bargain pack of 50 cards most likely bought during sales following Christmas the previous year and going through everyone in the address book. Every card had a pre-written message so it was easy enough; "Dear Aunt Somebody and Uncle So-and-So, Merry Christmas, Love, the Porter family." Sometimes I wrote out our names. And sometimes the cards already said, "Merry Christmas," so I didn't always have to write that. But I was an efficient little assembly line of card messaging and addressing, a task that catered perfectly to my love of my own handwriting and my obsessive need to complete lists.
As an adult, undertaking the societal rite of passage in sending my own Christmas cards for the first time, I remember standing in the aisle at Target in early November, unable to settle on the right holiday greetings or even sufficient holiday greetings. For some reason it felt like a big deal; I was frozen in indecision; I couldn't just grab a box and be happy with whatever I got. I can make cards better than this, I thought, nay, I will make cards better than this.
Which leads me to the point I quickly realized as I set about my task: handmade cards don't come with pre-printed messages. When you forgo the 50 pack of bargain cards, it forces you to handwrite the names of your recipients, handwrite a message, and handwrite a closing. It forces you to think, to really think about all the names, all the individuals in your address book, or at least I do while I'm writing. It forces you to actually communicate, to make a connection beyond the act of checking this person's name off a list once per year. I'm not trying sound holier-than-thou. There is nothing wrong with the assembly-line method of messaging and addressing Christmas cards, if that's the way you prefer to go about it each holiday season. But having tried the alternative, our new modern tradition just isn't for me.
In addition, let it not be taken lightly that there is something immeasurably satisfying in taking one large, seemingly insurmountable project and breaking it down into a series of tiny tasks. Plopped down in the middle of my living room, affixing photos with double-sided sticky tape to cardstock folded in half, buffing off fingerprints with a soft cloth, writing messages on the inside, over and over again, one at a time until each is done.
And so, finally, we arrive at what this blog is truly about: the photography. There's something calming about photographing miniatures. I tend to lose myself faster in the work than just about any other project I do, in the process of constructing a set, positioning lights, breathing shallowly as I try to stay as still as possible. Hours pass. I am impatient in almost every single other area of my life but this one, shifting figures fractions of inches, watching where the light falls. Click.
Last year I remember trying to go for a vintage-y Christmas look with the ornaments and didn't concentrate so much on the miniatures. But the miniatures were my favorite photos from last year, so that's what I focused on this year. I didn't try to go for any certain "look," but in reviewing the series it feels like the photos are darker. I managed to make a snowman look sinister. There were some photos that look like they were barely lit. I can't say that I was going for a certain feeling or other during the photography process. But looking at the pictures now, I feel like I captured the holidays' essential moments: picking out a Christmas tree, building a snowman, caroling, kissing under the mistletoe. Simple and classic.
Another point to consider: every image in this year's series was in color. I have been trying to figure that one out, as I did so many black and whites last year. What changed? I didn't convert any of my images to black and white in the editing process; I don't remember feeling a need to, though I don't doubt that some of them would look good in black and white, maybe even better than in color.
Overall I'm happy with the result. And so, hopefully, will be the people on my Christmas card list.
I received a lot of positive feedback from last year's attempt, mostly about my photos of Oscar el Gato (one of which even won a contest). But more than that, I get a lot of joy throughout the whole endeavor for a couple reasons.
I strongly believe that sending and receiving mail is a lost art, and it's easily buried under the process of addressing and sending holiday cards the way we modern folk do it. As a kid, I used to help my mom send Christmas cards. I remember feeling an enormous pressure to get all those cards out, plopping down with a bargain pack of 50 cards most likely bought during sales following Christmas the previous year and going through everyone in the address book. Every card had a pre-written message so it was easy enough; "Dear Aunt Somebody and Uncle So-and-So, Merry Christmas, Love, the Porter family." Sometimes I wrote out our names. And sometimes the cards already said, "Merry Christmas," so I didn't always have to write that. But I was an efficient little assembly line of card messaging and addressing, a task that catered perfectly to my love of my own handwriting and my obsessive need to complete lists.
As an adult, undertaking the societal rite of passage in sending my own Christmas cards for the first time, I remember standing in the aisle at Target in early November, unable to settle on the right holiday greetings or even sufficient holiday greetings. For some reason it felt like a big deal; I was frozen in indecision; I couldn't just grab a box and be happy with whatever I got. I can make cards better than this, I thought, nay, I will make cards better than this.
Which leads me to the point I quickly realized as I set about my task: handmade cards don't come with pre-printed messages. When you forgo the 50 pack of bargain cards, it forces you to handwrite the names of your recipients, handwrite a message, and handwrite a closing. It forces you to think, to really think about all the names, all the individuals in your address book, or at least I do while I'm writing. It forces you to actually communicate, to make a connection beyond the act of checking this person's name off a list once per year. I'm not trying sound holier-than-thou. There is nothing wrong with the assembly-line method of messaging and addressing Christmas cards, if that's the way you prefer to go about it each holiday season. But having tried the alternative, our new modern tradition just isn't for me.
In addition, let it not be taken lightly that there is something immeasurably satisfying in taking one large, seemingly insurmountable project and breaking it down into a series of tiny tasks. Plopped down in the middle of my living room, affixing photos with double-sided sticky tape to cardstock folded in half, buffing off fingerprints with a soft cloth, writing messages on the inside, over and over again, one at a time until each is done.
And so, finally, we arrive at what this blog is truly about: the photography. There's something calming about photographing miniatures. I tend to lose myself faster in the work than just about any other project I do, in the process of constructing a set, positioning lights, breathing shallowly as I try to stay as still as possible. Hours pass. I am impatient in almost every single other area of my life but this one, shifting figures fractions of inches, watching where the light falls. Click.
Last year I remember trying to go for a vintage-y Christmas look with the ornaments and didn't concentrate so much on the miniatures. But the miniatures were my favorite photos from last year, so that's what I focused on this year. I didn't try to go for any certain "look," but in reviewing the series it feels like the photos are darker. I managed to make a snowman look sinister. There were some photos that look like they were barely lit. I can't say that I was going for a certain feeling or other during the photography process. But looking at the pictures now, I feel like I captured the holidays' essential moments: picking out a Christmas tree, building a snowman, caroling, kissing under the mistletoe. Simple and classic.
Another point to consider: every image in this year's series was in color. I have been trying to figure that one out, as I did so many black and whites last year. What changed? I didn't convert any of my images to black and white in the editing process; I don't remember feeling a need to, though I don't doubt that some of them would look good in black and white, maybe even better than in color.
Overall I'm happy with the result. And so, hopefully, will be the people on my Christmas card list.
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