Colleen did it again!
Photo by Colleen Swartz
Another fabulous shot from Ms. Colleen
AMD World Championship "Rambler" by Cook Customs
Entries Tagged as 'From Behind The Lens'
Blogga’ Pleeze…
From Behind The Lens
By Colleen Swartz
Blogga’ Pleeze…
This is a new age that we live in. I remember when my Mom bought the first microwave oven I had ever seen from a restaurant supply store (only restaurants had them at first) it cost $800, was the size of a pinto, and boiled water in under a minute (of course it cooked your kidneys too if you stood too close to it while operating) and it was the coolest fucking thing I had even seen.
Now I have an 11-year-old who is so jaded by technology that nothing is amazing to him anymore. I’m sure that attitude has served many of them well because it has become a generation where if they think it up… poof, it happens and it has brought us some amazing technology but this old-school girl still worries about the humanity that is being left out of our technologies.
Back in 1990 I connected my computer to something new called the Internet. I was an AOL Subscriber and I think I paid something like $.70 per hour to access the Internet. I remember being immediately hooked on it. I would stare in wonder at an AOL chat room that had people from all over the world in it and I could talk, in real time, with them! It was amazing. I spent countless hours in chat rooms to the point that I actually took a job with AOL as a chat room monitor in a “writers workshop” where my job was to kick out assholes (if there were any) or to remind people not to use bad language. My pay for this? Free access to the Internet as I was regularly running up hundreds of dollars per month in access fees.
The amazing thing about the internet at that time was the fact that it was developed by institutions of higher learning for communication. The only people back then that were on the internet were intellectuals, the wealthy and the technological advanced members of society. They were the cream of the crop and you could actually learn something by chatting with these people. Eventually, the shine wore off of this superior form of networking as it became accessed by more and more of the “base” element. It went from exciting to tedious to off-putting in a few short years and I will undoubtedly never see those “golden years” of internet chat rooms ever again.
Being quasi-employed in the media world, I hear all the time about how print magazines are on the way out. I see all these editors working so hard to make their on-line sites the best so that when they stop printing paper magazines they will be able to survive, and call me naive, but I don’t see it happening. It is not that I am slow to adopt new technologies; on the contrary, I am a down-right geek when it comes to new and cool shit, but as for me, I want my print magazines. I want to hold it and pack it in my carry-on for the plane ride and I want to save it and go back and reference it later, I want to see the photos and read the story and until they develop a laptop that bolts to the shitter, I want my paper mags in the magazine rack next to the toilet right where they belong.
Beyond online access to magazine content, there are the blogs. Some are associated with some of the magazines and some stand on their own. I admit, I watch Cyril Huze more closely than Peter Jennings on any given day and I bounce around our sub-set of the World Wide Web from Jockey Journal to Cycle Source to Old Bike Barn and beyond.
What really worries me about these message boards and blogs is the same thing that worries me about Wikipedia. Any half-wit can post opinions as gospel and falsify facts with little or no retribution whatsoever. Now I’m not saying that the moderators or owners of these blogs are guilty of this, not at all. Most of these cats see themselves as journalists, albeit a new form and they abide by the same principals that columnists at print publications do. They check facts, they stay away from rumors, they clearly mark “opinion” as that but then they open up their sites for comments and responses from the peanut gallery. Here is where things get hairy.
Opening up your site for anyone to post anything has its up-sides. People are able to quickly share information, answer questions, give advice but they can also use this opportunity to exercise personal vendettas, slander publicly, start a riot and generally flaunt their ignorance and mean spiritedness.
I, personally, have witnessed disgruntle ex-employees log in anonymously and rip apart their former employers under the guise of “innocent third party observer”. I have seen an unhappy consumer take their dissatisfaction to a blog before even contacting the source of their strife and publicly post “their side of the story” for other ass-sitting morons to not only weigh in on but also take unnecessary sides and spread the rumors like wild fire. I have seen people who don’t have the balls to say it to your face say it in a chat room or on a message board and I can’t help but think how nice it is to be a hard-ass when no one knows who you are or where you live.
For me it brings up an interesting age of not only instant communication and information but an age that has not yet learned the fine art of censoring oneself. Like the advent of any new technology it will take some time for people to understand that one cannot simply regurgitate everything that comes across their mind onto their favorite blog without repercussions. It was like the first time someone told me that typing an email in all caps was considered yelling and therefore rude. Who would have figured? But now it is absolutely understood that typing a letter in all caps is not only rude, but a poor reflection on the intellect and breeding of the author.
Bottom line? Think if you have a dog in a fight before weighing in with your opinion. Question everything you read online as assuming what you are reading is true is usually a mistake. Use blogs and message boards as an addition to your social life, not your whole life and live by the golden rule. If you haven’t got any thing nice to say, don’t hit the “send” button.
And that is how I see it, from behind the lens. Your comments are always welcome to colleen@digitalmagicbigshots and more of my work can be found at www.digitalmagicbigshots.com.
Karma and the Shed
March 2009
By Colleen Swartz
Karma and the Shed
All is right with the world, we have survived another Shed party and things are as they should be.
I hate to get all esoteric on you guys, but the more I think about what, who, why, and how the Shed exists, the more I believe that there is a higher power that balances all things in the universe.
Let me explain….
The Shed is one of Milwaukee’s least impressive architectural landmarks. It sits somewhere in the near Milwaukee suburb of Bayview which was incorporated in 1879. Filled with Polish immigrants who worked at the Milwaukee Iron Company, the only major industry in the area, the homes in the town were beautifully large to accommodate these Polish families and the extended families that continued to immigrate to the area.
The Shed is an approximately 8,000 sq. ft. building nestled in a valley where the railroads used to rumble through. It sat vacant for years until in 1998 it was rented by Big Phil for cheap since it sat so long without occupants. Without that Karma, it probably wouldn’t have been in the price range of a working man with a habitual bike habit.
Phil used it to wrench on his bikes and others in his tight-knit network of friends would stop by, bring their own projects and eventually the shed sub-divided itself into the approximately 6 stalls that are now occupied by tenants.
Over the years The Shed has changed and evolved as to its number and type of occupants, but all the while, it has been managed by karma. Lots of people have come and gone but it is the ones that stay that are the marker of character.
Back in 2002 Milwaukee Mike scored a spot at the Shed. By this time it had become a coveted space for those who moved through the bike and hot rod sub culture of Milwaukee. The people who are interested in working at the shed are a mixture of old and young, of experienced and new, but only those of strong character survive.
It is an interesting line that these guys walk. They are cool and wild, real bad-boys but the code of honor runs deep. There are tons of parts, tools and equipment and it is all owned by someone. It don’t matter what hours you keep at the shed, as long as you know where those invisible lines are drawn. There is always a stock of beer and booze and if you drink it you better replace it and what isn’t yours still isn’t yours when the real owner leaves.
Those that learned the hard way gave up much. There is a think brotherhood in the Shed community and if you steal from one of them, you have wronged them all. You might as well walk yourself into the closest jail and turn yourself in because you will never be allowed at the Shed again, you will not go to the local bar, you will not be seen at any of the bike or rod shows because anyone of these guys would sooner stomp your head than spit on you for their brother.
The beauty of the Shed is the camaraderie. The old guys are there to teach the young guys stuff they don’t know and the young guys are there to make the old guys feel young again. Karma flows both ways.
About 8 years ago the heating costs during the long Wisconsin winters became a lot for the tenants to manage, so they threw a party. It continues to this day. Every January, if you are a friend, a trusted brother, if you are cool enough or are considered a “patron of the arts” like I am, you score the knowledge of when this party is happening. It isn’t an invitation that you say, “yeah, I’ll get there if I can” to. It is like many things in this karmic world, if you know about it, it is an honor and you don’t miss it.
I have met people from all over the United States at the Shed party. People travel from miles away to be apart of this “underground” fund raiser. They come because they have been invited, they come to reunite with each other, they come to sleep on people’s floors and get shit-faced drunk 3 nights in a row and then they slog themselves back to their less than exciting lives. They come to hear some of the best music in the Midwest and they come to throw money at strippers and to watch the burlesque show (www.myspace.com/thealleycatrevuemilwaukee). They come to look at each other’s projects and to eat brats and kraut. Actually, they come to pay $20.00 at the door so that the shed will be somewhat warm in winter for those who work there.
Bayview started experiencing a revitalization of interest a few years ago and suddenly the land that the Shed was located on was worth more than the tenants who occupied it. Facing the possibility of being evicted to make way for more condos, the future of the Shed was in doubt. But karma has stayed that sentence. The real estate bubble burst and suddenly the seemingly unending surge of condo buyers dried up, and the Shed still stands.
So this year, again, I could be found among the ranks of supporters at the Shed party. I gladly paid my entry fee and picked up a shed tee shirt to boot. I showed up with lemons, limes and tonic and the energy to go all night (which I didn’t). I enjoyed the musical stylings of Mr. Deagun Jones (www.myspace.com/mrdeagunjones) and The Grinders (Blaine’s side project from “Shag” www.shagmilwaukee.com) and watched my crew completely destroy themselves with alcohol. (I, as usual, was designated driver as I can’t drink, smoke and take photos at the same time…. I’m not giving up smoking or shooting!)
So keep your ear to the ground, and maybe someday, if you are that cool or that lucky, you will get to know someone who is authorized to extend an invitation to you to the Shed party. It is a party that you will never forget. It’s the people that make it that way.
And that is how I see it, from behind the lens.
Colleen
Turn the Page
Bettie Page: A remembrance
December 08
“I was not trying to be shocking, or to be a pioneer. I wasn’t trying to change society, or to be ahead of my time. I didn’t think of myself as liberated, and I don’t believe that I did anything important. I was just myself. I didn’t know any other way to be, or any other way to live.”
-Bettie Page
It pains me when I am photographing a young, beautiful, shapely woman and she just isn’t giving me what I need. It is important to note that a great photo is not dependent solely on the lighting or the equipment or the set or the costume; a great photo comes from deep inside of the subject. A great photo does not happen, it is created somewhere deep in the psyche of the model and is coaxed from them by the photographer. I will often say, “Give me some Bettie” and more often than not, the blank stare from my subject tells me that they do not know of the woman who has inspired me in so many ways.
Bettie Page passed away from pneumonia on December 11, 2008 nine days after suffering a heart attack. It is a time for me to reflect on the woman who defined pin-up for me and to introduce her to those who have not heard her story.
It is my opinion that Bettie Page had the potential to be as big, if not bigger, than stars the stature of Marilyn Monroe and Jane Mansfield but was beset with bad luck, missed opportunities and lack of management. Her story begins on April 22, 1923, in Nashville, Tennessee, where Bettie was born the second of Walter Roy Page and Edna Mae Pirtle’s six children. Bettie’s early years were unsettled as the Page family traveled around the country in search of economic stability. Bettie learned early how to care for her siblings and carry the responsibility of adulthood.
Bettie’s parents divorced, which worsened the family’s financial situation and when Bettie was only 10 years old, her mother placed her and her two sisters in an orphanage. Bettie’s father, who she describes as a sex addict, took the children from the orphanage after one year but began molesting Bettie at the age of 13. A first marriage to her childhood sweetheart removed her from the situation, where she lived with her sister in San Francisco while her husband was in the service, but the marriage soon failed.
Bettie moved to New York and in 1950, during a walk along the Coney Island shore, Bettie met Jerry Tibbs, a police officer with an interest in photography. Tibbs took pictures of Bettie and put together her first pinup portfolio. It was Tibbs that told Bettie that her high forehead would benefit from having bangs cut over them. It was a style decision that remained with her and became her signature look.
Tibbs introduced Bettie to numerous other photographers including Cass Carr who organized outdoor photographic sessions, which Bettie intensely enjoyed. In a matter of months, Bettie’s modeling career had taken off. Camera clubs led to posing for various magazines such as Wink, Eyeful, Titter, and Beauty Parade. But it wasn’t until her photographs were published in Robert Harrison’s magazines that Bettie became a pinup star beyond comparison.
In 1951 Bettie meets Irving Klaw, a photographer in New York that provides more than just pin-up images to the service men. Bettie quickly found that she would not get paid for the tame photography unless she did some mild bondage work. Bettie, not being burdened with the dogma of sexual society, gladly participates in these bondage images which are, in reality, light and playful poses set by Klaw’s sister, Paula. It is at this time that Bettie begins to attain some renown as the “Queen of Bondage.” At the time, most of these photo sessions were sold on a lucrative subscription basis. The customers often made specific requests as to the scenes and layouts. Bettie is said to have found many of these quite amusing.
In 1954, she meets Bunny Yeager in Florida. Bunny is considered to be the only real professional photographer that Bettie had ever worked with. Their sessions together generate some of the most famous Bettie Page photographs. Some of these were sent to Hugh Hefner, who in January 1955 made Bettie the centerfold in Playboy’s January issue. Amazingly, Bettie is 3 months short of 32 years of age at this point. She was even named the “Girl with the Perfect Figure,” with her photographs appearing in everything from record albums to playing cards. In 1955, Bettie won the title “Miss Pinup Girl of the World.”
Irving Klaw, her New York photographer who created the famous “bondage” images, is arrested for “conspiracy to distribute obscene material” though the US Mail in 1963. Bettie is called to testify in a private session. She is reported to have said that Klaw was absolutely innocent of any charge.
It was then that Miss Bettie Page disappeared from the scene. For decades there were rumors as to why, where and if Bettie was even still among the living. What happened in reality was Bettie’s life continued as a born again Christian who struggled with mental illness and two more failed marriages.
Through the 1980s and the 1990s, Bettie Page re-surged as a modeling icon. The media, intrigued by her mysterious disappearance launched a countrywide search for Bettie. Comic books soon featured characters that resembled Bettie, contemporary artists such as Olivia, Dave Stevens, and Robert Blue immortalized their idol with their powerful images.
Bettie’s undeniable influence is present still today in fashion, films, and magazines just to name a few. The dark-haired girl from Nashville has become a living legend, a modern icon, a symbol of beauty and femininity that transcends ordinary standards. In the heart of her adoring fans, Bettie will forever remain the queen of pinup.
She expressed herself as a sexual being without being promiscuous. She held incredible sexual power in playful winks, she crashed through boundaries and challenged rigid ideals imposed by a sexually repressed and puritanical society and yet, through it all, Bettie was oblivious to the incredible sexual power and cultural significance of her work. She was, after all, just a strong, independent, sexually secure woman who did what she had to do and what she loved doing.
It is a lesson that I try to teach to my armature models. Being pretty is a lot easier than being sexy. Sex comes from within. It is an undefined, enigmatic and playful quality that can’t come from anywhere but the soul.
I hope that Bettie’s soul has found peace and acceptance. She has inspired me and thousands of others to explore and understand sexuality without exploitation or degradation. It is a fine line to walk, but an extremely important one especially to this photographer who revels in the beauty and power of women and my constant search for an image that has “Bettie” written all over it.
And that is how I see it, from behind the lens.
You comments are always welcome at colleen@digitalmagicbigshots.com. www.digitalmagicbigshots.com
I Just Can’t Live Without My Radio
Our one and only, you know her, you love her, Colleen Swartz, is going to be featured on Biker’s Inner Circle Radio Show. What a talented crew we have! Did you read her Behind The Lens article this month? Well spoken!
Check out the interview with Colleen on Charlie Brechtel’s radio show available on Saturday, December 6th at www.big7productions.com
The Devil is in the Details
From Behind the Lens
By Colleen Swartz
December, 2008
The Devil is in the Details
So here we are looking at Bobbers in this issue of Cycle Source. It got me thinking about all of the labels in the motorcycle world and what they all mean. Have you ever met someone and when you discover that they have a similar interest in motorcycles you ask them, “What do you ride?”? You may find that the answer you get may tell you more about the person answering than it does the bike.
Saying, “I have a 2000 Fat Boy.” is solid answer. It answers the question very specifically as it provides a make and model of a bike that at it’s core varies little from any other 2000 Fat Boy out there. Most people are fairly familiar with most stock production bikes and such a response isn’t likely to evoke any assumptions about your character one way or the other.
If you answer, “I ride a Chopper.” I immediately have a new set of questions leap to mind. I am wondering, are you late for a date; need to take a leak; what? You sure haven’t taken the time to answer my question.
In the instant I hear your response I am going to start with the assumption that we both are aware that the word “chopper” originates from the post-World War II era when former GIs were looking for performance modifications. There was no aftermarket back then and once all engine mods were out of the way, the bikes’ weight needed to be reduced. Owners began to remove unnecessary components and eventually began to cut away (or “chop”) sections of the bike and frame. “Chopping” and “Bobbing” used to be interchangeable, but in more recent years the definition of “Chopper” has morphed into a distinct style of bike. Usually described as a radical customized bike with extended and raked front end, from which all unnecessary parts have been stripped. The early choppers weren’t raked, so the front end was high, making it necessary to reduce the size of the front wheel.
Further I am going to assume, at least for another instant, that we both realize the scope and complexity of motorcycle customizing and culture has grown so much in the last few decades that the simple term chopper has become inadequate to meaningfully describe any given bike.
Now, if in the next few moments of our conversation your simple response expands into a description: “I ride a custom motorcycle built by XYZ Customs that is board-track inspired but sports a 240 rear tire and runs a 96” S&S.”, or right after you tell me you ride a chopper you tack on, “yeah, I have a rigid 650 Bonneville that I built with my brother”, then you have just told me a couple of real important things. First, that you respect me and my knowledge of motorcycles, and that you believe I am genuinely interested in your ride.
In the case of the XYZ custom response you have told me that it is an original design and not literally “chopped” from a stock bike, but that you recognize it falls into that broad category that popular culture has come to describe as choppers. By giving me the name of the shop or the builder (as important a detail as the color as far as I am concerned) you have likely given me a mental picture of the style of bike.
In the case of the response where you gave me a bit of information about your Triumph you let me know that you own a traditional chopper. In either case, I care, because a I can tell you care. It is likely we will talk more about our common interest in motorcycles.
If you stop your response with that single word, chopper, you’ve just told me your interest in your bike is probably about as genuine as any feigned interest I may continue to display in you.
To me, someone who responds to the question, “What do you ride?” with “Chopper” and nothing else is displaying their general lack of sophistication and education in motorcycle history and culture. Either that, or they are assuming that the person asking the question is such a dumb ass that they won’t know the difference when the term “Chopper” is offered as a description of their bike. This happens to me all the time (being a chick and all) and I usually respond with the statement, “Telling me that your bike is a chopper is a bit like you asking me what state I come from and me answering, The United States.”
As I recall, I am supposed to be discussing something about “Bobber’s” here. Well, replying to the question with, “I ride a Bobber” is a bit of the same thing.
Once again, I am working on the premise that everyone in the conversation is generally aware that the origins of the term “Bobber” came from motorcycle enthusiasts back in the 40’s and 50’s that practiced the art of shortening a bike’s appearance by cutting down the size of its fenders. These bikes also were known as “Strippers” back in those days (I wonder why that term didn’t stick better). They appeared before choppers and besides shortened fenders the rest of the bikes were also stripped of unnecessary parts. This was all part of the early customizing done by the returning World War II flyers.
So here we have gotten a little more specific in era, however you can “bob” just about any bike you want to, and today’s custom bike scene demonstrate numerous variations on the theme. Simply answering “Bobber” really doesn’t tell us much about the bike and maybe a bit too much about you.
So there you go, we are living in the twenty first century now and lives and motorcycles have gotten too complicated to sum up in single word description, at least if we genuinely care about them.
I won’t ask you what you ride if I don’t care. So if I do, and you decide to answer, let me know that you appreciate the bike and that you are trying to answer my question rather than just throwing out a term you think may impress me. Because if I get a thoughtful and detailed answer to my question, I will continue to ask questions and we will have a dialogue about our bikes, our tastes and our experience and whether I am a fan of the style of your bike or not, I will already be impressed by your knowledge and I will respect you taste, whatever it may be.
If I went into a restaurant, sat down, was presented a menu and when I was asked what I would like to order I respond, “Food” it would be a pretty strange and meaningless answer. If you truly love your bike and want to discuss it with someone, then you know who made it, what it was like when it was made, what you changed on it and why and when someone asks you “what you are riding?”, for God’s sake, please don’t say “A motorcycle.”
And that is how I see it, from behind the lens.
Your comments are always welcome at colleen@digitalmagicbigshots.com.
Corporate Sucks
From Behind the Lens
By Colleen Swartz
Corporate Sucks
One of the symptoms of an approaching nervous breakdown is the belief that one’s work is terribly important. -Bertrand Russell
So here I sit in Denver Colorado in a hotel room wrapped in only a scratchy towel and I’m miserable. See, last week I flew off to Las Vegas for Vegas Bike week and the Artistry in Iron Show. It was much like many bike events, only more fun. Lots to do, many people there I knew, cool bikes, cool builders, fun crowds and the un-ending stream of fun, frivolity, sex and gambling that you can find only in Las Vegas. That is not the part that made me miserable.
After Bike Week I flew to Denver to shoot a corporate event that I have done for the same company for the past 3 years. It is a good money gig, but is about as far removed from my other photography work as it gets. I’m not telling you who I worked for, but even if I did, I am relatively certain that none of these people would ever see this column anyway. This is a completely foreign world to me and it is tearing me down.
In the bike world I routinely travel on 10, 12, even 14 day trips and although it is tiring, I never have the feeling of aloneness or loneliness that I have when I do these corporate things. I’m not quite sure how these people do it, but everything that makes traveling and meeting new people fun for me is strictly off limits in this world.
Let’s start from the beginning.
I was booked months in advance for this gig in Denver but a week before I left I got a call from my contact at the corporation to confirm and discuss the event. It was going to be the same-old, same-old of taking photos of people having breakfast, going to classes, eating lunch, going to seminars, eating dinner and going to speeches. Sounds fun, hey? At the end of our conversation I was warned that there are some new “big wigs” in the company and that “we” needed to be sure we were on our best behavior and that “we” didn’t have any “boobies”.
My response was that my boobies were a package deal with myself and I was unable to leave them at home. My contact, apparently missing the humor of my statement, dryly explained that “we” needed to dress conservatively. Now, you and I both know that she didn’t mean “we” that she meant “me”. This surprised me as the last time I worked for this corporation, a whole year ago in Florida, I had bought a new 5-day wardrobe just for the event and since I hadn’t had a single good reason to wear that boring shit in the past year, I had intended to pack the same outfits again. They were as conservative as I was willing to go and they would just have to deal with it.
My outfits are the least of my worries in this oppressive and uptight environment.
At a bike event when I walk in the door with my camera I am welcomed by both friends and strangers begging me to “take my picture”! and hamming it up. I love that about my job. People ride bikes differently when my camera is around, they drink differently, they dance differently and they show off more and have more fun.
Here I walk in the room and I can immediately see people turn away from me. They shield their faces when I raise my camera up and they beg me not to take their photos and then are horrified when I do. Do you have any idea what it does to me to have to coax people to abandon their scowls when I take a photo, much less try to get them to smile? It is a full-time job just to be around these sour-pusses and I am exhausted from it.
Then the people themselves are so uptight. I instinctively do to them what I do to a frigid model during a photo shoot. I put the camera down for awhile and I talk to them. I ask them about themselves, I compliment them on their assets, I become friends with them hoping against all odds that they will crack a smile for me the next time I see them. I can tell you that is strictly frowned upon in corporate America.
Monday night, after my first day of shooting, I was going out with a guy who works with a partner company to the company I am working for. I have seen him for 3 years now and we consider ourselves friends. We had made plans even before the conference to have dinner together and it wasn’t until late in the day that I was talking to a woman and a man who were attendees of this conference and they were both lamenting the fact that they knew no one at the conference and would have to eat dinner alone. I invited each of them to come with us.
Once at the restaurant, we needed to wait about 30 minutes to get a table so I went up to the bar with them and announced that I would be buying the first round. The woman ordered a glass of wine, I and my buddy ordered mixed drinks and the 4th guy in our group immediately ordered a blue label scotch that set me back $38.00 for one pour. I thought to myself, “who does that to a virtual stranger who you met in an elevator 2 hours ago and invited to you dinner?!” Strange bird, but I let it slide. It did piss me off that he never even thanked me for the drink, but I can even overlook that.
What horrified me was late in the next day when my contact for the company pulled me aside and told me that I shouldn’t fraternize with any of the attendees as that same guy that had soaked me for a $38.00 glass of booze was taking shit about me and it got to the wrong ears.
I was completely devastated. Now, you have to remember, I didn’t tell my dirtiest jokes, I didn’t flash my tits, I didn’t even talk about myself all that much, but for some reason this ass wipe decided to tell all of his boring friends what a wild night he had with me (if he only knew, hey?) and now I probably won’t be invited back next year because of it.
Now, you can mess with me and drink 1/3 of my total food budget in one drink, but you can’t mess with my business so I told the guy to shut his mouth the next morning when I saw him, but I have never had to do anything even remotely that uncomfortable in the bike world…. Ever.
So why am I telling you this? Because like everything else in life, it is a lesson that I am learning the hard way and I want to share it with you to remind you what it is like out here in this concrete jungle full of stuffed shirts.
I worked in corporate America for awhile and I hated it. I absolutely hated it. JP (my better half) saved me and told me I should quit and do what I loved doing and that he had my back. Now, 6 years later, I am doing what I love and doing well at it…. Except for this week.
In my life as a motorcycle photographer I possess unlimited amounts of self-confidence. I can be as funny and irreverent as I want to be and I am accepted. I can wear what I want and go where I want and ride what I want and my brothers and sisters exhibit not a hint of superiority or disdain for me. I revel in my fortune and you should too. Because let me tell you brothers and sisters… Corporate Sucks!
So although sometimes it gets damn hard to keep the lights on and make the alimony payment working in your garage and riding the country, it beats the alternative which is living under the thumb and by the rules of someone you can’t even remotely relate to much less respect.
Tomorrow is my last day here and I have to drag myself out of bed again at some ungodly hour to take pictures of fat cats sipping Starbucks coffee and stuffing Danish in their faces and then the final nail in my bruised psyche will be the final banquet dinner in the evening with fat, sweaty chicks in angora turtle necks dancing to 80’s music with their shoes off. I’m sure at some point my contact with the big ugly corporation will feel compelled to give me a review of my work and behavior during the conference and I am fully prepared for her to tell me that I will not be invited to San Diego in 2009 for the next conference at which time I am fully prepared to tell her that it is fine with me because although she may work for a really big corporation, I don’t work for anyone but myself and there isn’t corporate dividends in the world that could get me to come back to this hellacious job again.
I’d rather be broke and happy than a sell out and I know that you guys out there know exactly what I am talking about. Stay Gold and I’ll see you at the next rally. I’ll be the one in the inappropriate outfit telling dirty jokes and showing my tits. I hope you don’t fire me for it.
And that is how I see it, from behind the lens.
From Behind The Lens
By Colleen Swartz
Bitching on my Soapbox
So what is the difference between pissing and moaning and editorial? It really is a fine line especially in this magazine because Wildman pretty much lets all of us speak our mind no matter what it is (a refreshing thing indeed to a writer). This month I had prepared a piece when I was in a particularly rabid mood about corporations and “the man” and after re-reading it I did think it sounded just a bit bitchy. Not that I don’t agree with the basic premises of my personal preference to not work and live in a corporate atmosphere (I hope Wildman runs the piece next month so you can read it) but then I read Wildman’s homage to Hunter S. Thompson which was pretty rough in it’s own beautiful way and it got me to thinking….. are we bitching too much?
One of the things that irks me about some magazines (be it motorcycle or otherwise) is an attitude that “we are right, you are lame and screw you all”. I don’t want to sound like that. I have always been the one that thinks we should have “Bike Week” and not “Black Bike Week” and “White Bike Week”. I am the one who welcomes the Honda as well as the Harley to any event and I am the one who strives to point out our similarities instead of our differences.
Writing a column or an article or an editorial or a fiction piece is always a challenge to a writer because you need to follow basic guidelines to make it interesting. You need to have a clear subject, you need to have an antagonist, you need to create a thesis and you need to pull it all together. Those formulas alone often times leads a writer to clue in on a controversial topic, take a stand, and in the case of Cycle Source, do it in a writing style that is extremely conversational and direct. To the point, you sound like you are bitching.
Living as if you were dying
From Behind the Lens
Living as if you were dying
By Colleen Swartz
September 19, 2008
Anyone who knows me acknowledges I am a National Public Radio junkie. It is an addiction of pleasure that fills my ears with knowledge and opinion and facts but most importantly it introduces me to people. Extraordinary people who live lives I cannot possibly imagine who share their experiences in a way that make me think about my own life.
Recently I met through NPR Dr. Daniel Gottlieb who is a psychologist, author and quadriplegic living in Philadelphia. Dan Gottlieb is an amazing person who lost the use of his body from the chest down when he was just 33 years old. Now, more than 20 years later his wisdom and attitude toward life touched me and made me think about the people that I love to surround myself with.
People ask me all the time, why do I love motorcycles so much and my answer always is the same. It isn’t the motorcycles that I love, it is the people and the lifestyle and the attitude. But what about it do I love? What quality do these people and this lifestyle exemplify that attracts me to it? Dr. Gottlieb told me the answer during his NPR interview. He may be a psychologist living in a wheelchair in Philadelphia but his message is as clear and poignant to us as it is to his patients from all walks of life facing all sorts of problems. Listen to some quotes from Dr. Gottlieb:
“Live as you should live, with death on your shoulder” Isn’t that philosophy one that bikers can relate to?
“I am so grateful everyday, I am so grateful for the change of every season.” An attitude that no one I know doesn’t adhere to.
“When my neck broke, my soul began to breathe. I became the person that I always dreamt I could be and never would have been if I didn’t break my neck and with each time I faced death I became more of who I am and less worried about what others might think of me.” “Most people I know spend their lives trying to be the person they think they should be and never get to discover the person that they are.”
Oh, the joy to be free of what you think you should be and just be?
On his friends, Dr. Gottlieb says, “I am sometimes embarrassed by my wealth.” And what a fitting statement to the kind, quality and quantity of those I call “friends”.
“We could not have life without death, we couldn’t understand it. The closer I come to death; and I feel I come closer every day, feel it, know it, touch it; the more that happens the more precious I feel day time is , night time, colors, knowing you, being here, writing this book, the more grateful I feel for what I have, the immanence of death just makes life more alive. I don’t know if we could do it without smelling death.” Ah, and there is the quote that stopped me in my tracks. That is it. That is the thing that this man learned through his long life as a quadriplegic and I believe is something that; whether it is voiced as eloquently or not; is the basis for so many of my friends in the motorcycle lifestyle.
It is my belief that the thing that separates the biker from the average man or woman is the fact that they are immanently aware of death and that awareness has given such sweetness to their life that the fear of death is less scary to them than the fear of not living.
This interview stuck in my mind and I rehashed it over and over again wanting to put it down to share with you. Then came the news that Cliff Gullet, head of Team Bozeman, was killed during a qualifying run at Bonneville. Although I didn’t know Cliff personally, I know him in a manner of speaking. He was one of the faithful who worked all year long to go fast that one week. Wildman told me that when he talked with , _____, a good friend of Cliff’s, that _____ said, “Cliff went the way that Cliff would have wanted to go. He died doing what he loved.”
And isn’t that the point that I am making? Some would say that Cliff lost everything racing at Bonneville but I am saying that racing at Bonneville gave Cliff more than it took. Cliff and many others like him were fully aware of the danger inherent in doing what he loved and it didn’t stop him from doing it.
We grieve their loss in our lives, but what full lives they had!
To learn this lesson early and without dire consequences in our lives is a blessing that few share. It is a lesson that resides deep inside the soul of so many of the bikers that I know. That fleeting ideal that the risk of living “wide open” is less than the loss of not living at all is that defining quality that attracts me to these like minded individuals.
To die with no regrets is the point of living. I, for one, do not want to leave this world wondering what it would have been like to fully live. To know that the road less traveled was not the one I had taken, to feel that I had not loved, given and experienced life to the fullest. It would be to cheat the sweetness out of every day of life just to avoid death, which will come anyway.
Take a moment to think of those friends we have lost. Those that stick most in our minds do so not for how they died, but for how they lived.
And that is how I see it, from behind the lens.
To listen to the full interview with Dr. Gottlieb, go to http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=5361784
Your comments and story ideas are always welcome to colleen@digitalmagicbigshots.com.
Hiatusmyass
From behind the lens
Sept. 2008
Hiatusmyass
Allright already. Here’s a “From Behind the Lens” for the first time in what, 3 months? Maybe 4.
I didn’t think that many people read this little bit of bitching every month because when I said something extra stupid or controversial I would get a couple emails mostly from my friends and occasionally my Mom; but go a few months without saying anything at all and just watch the readers crawl out of the woodwork! Not writing this column has been better for my ego than writing it.
I am now approached by total strangers at rallies and events and they usually have one of two reactions to me. They either say, “You’re Colleen that chick that writes for Cycle Source.” Or they say, “You’re Colleen that chick that used to write for Cycle Source.” And then they give me this pitiful look and ask, “Did Wildman fire you?” in a kind of under their breath way that makes me think they know something that I don’t about the whole situation. Another group says, “I think it is good that you are taking some time off.” Now thinking that Wildman fired me doesn’t seem to bother me, but insinuating that I am lying on the couch eating bon-bon’s, that pisses me off.
The truth is that Wildman didn’t fire me. I don’t think he can since he doesn’t pay me. Oh, I guess he could, but the truth is that every month he asks me what I am sending him, I make some promise I can’t keep and then the poor bastard has to scramble to fill a page that was supposed to be mine.
So, you may ask, what happened to me? Well, I am like nearly 90% of the motorcycle industry right now and I have a day job. I have always had a day job but it is one of those perfect situations where my boyfriend has another business (a couple of them actually) and one of them is this sign business. This business is truly a 2-and-a-half-man shop that consists of JP, myself and a Matt who works with us when he is done with his day-job. It makes pretty good money, way better than motorcycle photography, and when the sun is shining one needs to make hay. We don’t advertise, we can’t be found in the yellow pages, we do really specialized stuff for a small base of clients that we have had forever and normally I can do it and still have my full-time job of writing and photography.
Recently that little business went ape-shit. We have a ton of work, which is good because now we need to pay $4.75 a gallon for the diesel that we put in the bus when we road-trip to some exotic dirt hole rally, so I am thankful for the work.
Another reason for my absence is that in an effort to keep the good money flowing, I had to start working in photography outside of shooting bikes for magazines. No, I’m not shooting weddings and graduation photos (although I do that for my friends for free) but I got in with this corporate photography thing where I make a butt-load of money to show up at a company and shoot head-shots of VP’s and do stock photography for their marketing programs. Pays good but is still lame.
Throw in the fact that I have started an export business and a bike storage facility, we are planning a big party on Aug 31st in Milwaukee, I have bikes being published in Japan and Europe and South America now, and my buddy, Dave Cook, has been kicking ass with his bike building and getting all sorts of attention on his own plus the fact that I need to spend time with my 11-year-old and get laid once in awhile and you can begin to see how my life has become actually 4 full-time-jobs.
This whole situation hasn’t stopped me from wanting to do the column. The economy is pissing me off, the 105th anniversary of H-D is coming, S&S’s 50th was a blast, the reality-based motorcycle show is a whole column in itself and so many more topics are flying around my head but taking the time to sit down and put pen to paper, although it may sound easy, is actually really hard.
Last week JP bought me a 1978 Hondamatic that runs like a charm. Most of you have never seen me on a bike because in 2004 I got my first bike, an ’84 Honda Nighthawk that never ran well enough for me to ride safely (if anyone knows how to fix those quad-carbs so that it doesn’t kill when you hit the throttle, email me) and then I got an ‘80’s era Honda chopper that Dave Cook did the frame on but the rest of the bike is a nightmare in need of repair, replacement and rebuilding. Then I go a ’64 Tohatsu that is in the process of being rebuilt to run so although I now have 4 motorcycles, only one of them that is brand new to me actually can be ridden. Now I have another challenge. I want to ride.
So bear with me. I haven’t taken a hiatus, I am not sick, I am not lazy, I am just living the American dream. I am actually very lucky. I have found not one, but 4 jobs that I love doing and I am kicking ass at all 4 of them. However, I now understand the power of the monthly column. I’m not the kind of girl who sits on the phone and calls her friends, I don’t send little notes for birthdays and I don’t send group emails. I write a column and for all of you who thought I died 4 months ago, rest assured. I am working hard and still taking nourishment. I hope you are doing the same.
Colleen
Questions or comments are always welcome to colleen@digitalmagicbigshots.com and check out my new but still under construction website at www.digitalmagicbigshots.com
(yet another project I don’t have time to finish!)
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