A Stranger’s Eyes

At the abrasiveMedia gallery, during the November Arts & Music at Wedgewood/Houston, I set up a photo booth for attendees… the caveat was that they had to take 3 picture with a stranger… and they had to stare into each other’s eyes for 30 seconds while that happened. Most attendees found the idea too uncomfortable to participate, but some, either for the love of art or new experiences, did it anyway.

In the end, this experiment gave us a glimpse of our diversity. Some people remained distant, others clasped hands and drew close, some remained silent the entire time, others started conversations, some laughed, others shied away, embarrassed. A few friendships began too – in just 30 seconds, some people found common ground with complete strangers. They kept talking well after the shoot and even traded phone numbers!

At a time when loud polarizing voices are fighting for our attention and telling us how to think about others, it’s critical that we take the time to really get to know each other and find out common grounds. 30 seconds is a great start.

My only regret… in the haste to make this happen I forgot to properly setup the camera, so many of the photos came out blurry.

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All The Rage

At abrasiveMedia’s “Art In Progress” show, during the Wedgewood/Houston Art Crawl, I invited attendees to participate in a photo series called “All The Rage”, in which otherwise calm and rational people were captured in a moment of violent outburst. Of course, the “rage” was all faked (to varying degrees of realism), but there were a few primal screams which may or may not have startled unsuspecting attendees in other areas of the studio. I’m really happy with the way this turned out. You can also see these over at abrasiveMedia’s facebook page where you can tag yourself, use it for your profile, or do whatever!

Radnor Lake Stroll

I recently took a walk with Audra, Stephanie, and Ben at Nashville’s Radnor Lake. I had the camera in tow and snapped a few shots along the way. This autumn wasn’t nearly as beautiful as is typical for Tennessee, but it’s hard not to find something beautiful, especially at this city surrounded nature reserve.

Shattered Sphere – Entry 5

Jack slammed me against the moldy hull of the vessel. His antique knife pressed tightly against my throat and I felt it pass through the first two layers of skin. Had it been only us I would have wasted no time turning that blade on his bowels, but the bastards had my sisters. They were not ready. I couldn’t let them be hurt, not now. Jenna continued to sob, her adolescent mind defensively numbing itself away from this foreign brutality. Arial remained silent, but I could see the defiant resolve in her eyes. She would kill every last one of these mercs, or herself, before she would give in to their despicable intentions. But she wasn’t ready to wield this strength. In truth, none of were.

I felt my jugular pop as the blade sank inward. Air rushed out from the opening as I yelled in pain, then blood rushed in and I began to choke. I could hear Arial screaming as I sank to the floor. Blackness began filling my vision. Jack turned around to face my sisters, “Resist and you’ll end up like that,” he laughed, “you may anyway.” My heart was racing to compensate for the rapid blood loss. My vision was completely gone and only the faint sounds of Jenna’s sobs and the hungry jeers of 8 mercenaries remained. Then I felt the final heartbeat. Then I felt nothing.

Jack barked an order to secure Jenna in her quarters. He would take Arial first. The others would have their turn after him. He leaned over her while his men pinned her in the chair. She kept her eyes locked on his. Fearless, resolute… hate filled. Jack enjoyed it.

The silver mist began to leak from my torn throat, then my mouth and nose. My eyes ignited, become a white tempest of fire and electricity; silver mist now leaking from the outer sockets. I could suddenly see everything: the outside of the ship, the bridge, the galley, the corridor as Jenna was being led away, the room we were in, Jack loosening his belt, Arial’s knowing smirk, myself… I could see myself standing now. Silver mist covering my body like a new layer of skin then bleeding off in wisps, light casting a faint glow from my eyes, the gash in my neck bleeding the mist.

Jack’s men yelped and he quickly turned to see what they were seeing, what I was seeing. His eyes widened, mouth gaping in disbelief and he suddenly felt something he hadn’t felt since he was a boy, terror. I stepped out of time, moved past him and into the corridor grabbing Jenna’s two escorts and dragging them back to the room. I heard their necks snap the moment I moved them. They were already dead, but I wondered if they would see their surroundings suddenly change before their bodies realized what had happened and their dim lights extinguished. I left them standing next to Jack. The other six would suffer. I pushed my fingers, fists, and blade hands through their limbs and torsos. It was as effortless as treading water and the silver mist repelled their fluids from my flesh. When I had finished I placed a hand on Arial. She looked up at me. “Are they all dead?” I nodded slowly, “all but Jack… we still need him.” Jenna rose from the chair and we walked over to his frozen mass. He was still facing the wall he felled me upon. Jenna took his prized antique blade and we stepped back. I breathed in for the first time. The silver mist rapidly flowed into me. My eyes returned to their normal dark shade, the wound on my neck closed, my heart began to beat and my vision returned to a singular point of reference. We slipped back into time and heard sudden and final screams of the six mercenaries I had cut down. We didn’t bother to look at them, our eyes were fixed on Jack. The two men I left beside him collapsed at his feet. He looked down at them then turned dumbfounded toward us and his dead and dying men behind us. Jenna jumped forward with a flying snap kick to his face. His nose split and he stumbled back against the wall and slipped down into my spilled blood. Jenna pounced on him, pressing the blade firmly against his throat. “You will complete your service and deliver us to the Aspen Plains, or you will die…” she smirked, “you may anyway.”

What’s in a name?

Since 2004 I’ve run a small branding & digital marketing agency called Abrasive Ink (we started in 2001 as Selah Studios). Unfortunately the name and even the whole notion of owning/running the company began souring on me in 2010. I grew to dislike it so badly that I finally closed it down in 2011 (except for a few clients who we maintained on the side). I spent a few years as a creative director/manager for a Fortune 500 media company just to do something different. But in 2014 I relaunched Abrasive Ink so I could regain flexible hours (to help run a non-profit org), but I never really found my footing in that relaunch. It just didn’t feel right when I would network or pitch to new clients.

Last week (after months of planning) I finally retired that old name with the launch of Hero Agency​. My entire outlook has changed too. I feel a connection to this brand identity. I feel proud to talk about it and am eager to share it… I even went door to door in my neighborhood, introducing myself and the company to local businesses. The services are exactly the same. The internal process haven’t changed. By all accounts it’s the same business… but the name change has made a huge difference to me personally… AND apparently to potential clients as I’ve added 4 since launch.

I see a lesson in here somewhere. Sometimes our past holds us back. Sometimes the names we’ve put on ourselves (or others have put on us) are like chains that anchor us to an identity that’s no longer ours. Like the stories of iconic religious figures or comicbook superheroes, sometimes we simply have to embrace our now-identity to begin our future journey.

From there it’s up, up and away…