I don’t know why this keeps happening–the falling behind on blogging. It’s pathetic. There’s no excuse. I’m a terrible person, etc, etc. That being said, I have (quite literally) 10 shoots or more that I have not blogged yet. And because I’m sort of OCD, the thought of those unblogged, unorganized thoughts makes my insides twist into knots. I mean…there are STORIES. THOUGHTS. IN MY HEAD. THAT HAVE NOT BEEN ORGANIZED. Unorganized thoughts–is there anything worse?? Answer: No, there is not–except maybe for an unorganized office.

Sidebar: My office really needs to be organized.

So, to avoid my head exploding all over my recently mopped floors (yes, I spent a good two hours sweeping, mopping, dusting and vacuuming the furniture. If I had a dustbuster, I would have vacuumed my vacuum) I’m going to just blog some of the more recent shoots I’ve had and then work backwards as I have the time.

In the past month, I’ve had a ton of newborn sessions–there must have been a full moon because ALL my newborn clients who had reserved time slots went into labor within the same 5 day period. Below is one of the earlier born clients, beautiful Miss Madison. Nadine (mommy) originally came to me wanting maternity photos as well, but soon after our initial conversation, Nadine was admitted to the hospital for bedrest until birth. She spent months (literally MONTHS) in her hospital bed until just a few weeks ago when Madison decided she was ready to join us. Welcome to the world, little lady! Your mama is way stronger than I am–one week in a hospital and I would have been going stir crazy! Every year for your birthday, you should get your mom a gift, too!

I get this question a lot from clients, other photographers, friends, parents, etc. Who owns the copyright?

And it’s a very touchy subject–because a lot of times, clients think that it’s a studio’s policy to not release a copyright or to retain it. In actuality–it’s not our choice. It’s the law…it’s just the way it is.

My understanding of the laws (which I’ll admit, even for ALL the research I’ve done, I still learn something new everyday) is that the person who creates the art, be it painter, sketch artist or photographer, owns the copyright. In copyright terms, it doesn’t matter that the photograph is of you–it matters that I am the one who took the photograph.

And it doesn’t quite work as easy as “releasing the copyright” to another person. The only time I’ve ever heard of that is in a work for hire situation in which case the pay is very, very high. However, there is an option to allow printing rights on images–this is what most photographers do. But it’s still not the same as releasing a copyright. With this license, you have the ability to print your own images, however you could not turn around and sell that image to Coca-Cola and make a profit off of the photographer’s work.

For this reason, be cautious of the photographer who is easily willing to “release the copyright” of all their images to you. It’s likely that if they’re doing this for little or no money, they probably don’t understand the business that they’re in very well. When I just began my business, I did allow printing rights for all the images, but I’ve quickly learned that you can’t earn a living that way. Like I said, I’ve been doing this for years and there’s still a lot that I don’t understand. I even WORKED in a licensing department at both a publishing house and a television studio and I still don’t have as firm a grasp as I’d like on copyright. It’s such a complicated system.

So, to sum up:

1) Copyright belongs to the photographer. The “release” of said copyright is not a single studio’s or photographer’s choice–it’s simply the law.

2) This copyright allows the photographer to use any and all images taken to be used on their websites and in advertising (but not necessarily sold, ie to stock agencies)

If I’m incorrect on any of these points, let me know! I’m constantly trying to learn and hopefully this helps us all have a clearer idea of the laws.

Yesterday, I was sitting in a health food cafe waiting for an afternoon meeting to show up. Sitting next to me was a girl and guy. Each were eating carrots, celery…and some other things.

In classic New York form, I was listening to their conversation while pretending to read. I dunno why…it just gets dull sometimes sitting in a cafe, waiting for your appointment to show up!

So anyway, the girl was talking about her vegan lifestyle. About how even the best treated, free-range animals don’t deserve to be eaten. And about how they are full of toxins and when you eat these animals you’re bringing said toxins into your body. She also went on to discuss how when you eat an animal’s energy, you carry a piece of that creature around with you as well.

Essentially, she had a few points that made sense and had me thinking–and some that sounded rather ridiculous. More than anything, I just found her perspective interesting and after I watched FAST FOOD NATION the other day, I had been considering becoming a vegetarian again.

After my appointment, I stepped outside of the restaurant and saw the same girl with her friend sitting on a bench. They were still babbling on about being vegan (I mean, really–is there NOTHING else to talk about?) and in one hand, she had a bottle of Coke (not even diet coke) and in the other hand, she had a cigarette.

Wanna talk about bringing toxins into your body? Sheesh. The lean, organic cut of steak my dad and I had last week is way healthier than either of the items in your hands.

It’s that time of year again…when soon-to-be ex-students put on their cap and gown, shake the hands of their school’s president/principal and step into the world of adulthood.

Granted, since Chris was receiving his PhD from Cornell, I think it’s safe to say he’s been in adulthood for quite some time. =0) Doesn’t he look so handsome?? And ladies–hello, he’s going to be a doctor! You can’t beat that…

Unless you’re dating a comic book artist. No, wait–no. Doctor beats comic book artist. ;0)

Also having just graduated, is Julia and Tracey–two best friends (also pictured with Julia’s sister). The girls wanted a session in Bryant Park of them together and separately. They had fun playing with hats, different outfits and shoes, and changing in the bushes (even though bathrooms were around the corner ;0)

It was a sweaty, hot day in NYC. I stepped off the train in Brooklyn, blocks from my home. After having to transfer 3 times because of construction on the MTA lines. And before that, having been on a train for 2 hours traveling from Philadelphia. Where it was standing room only—FOR TWO HOURS.

It was a miserable trip. The number one thing I wanted to do was hop into the shower and scrub the smell of train off my body. Yes, “train” is its own scent. I slid the key in my lock expecting to be greeted by my dogs…but instead sitting in my family room was a group of 5 people–and Sean standing there with a beer.

“Isn’t it a beautiful day today!?”

I gritted my teeth, nodding and forcing a smile.

I said my hello’s to the guests, asking them not to get too close to me…I didn’t want to be an ungracious host. I just really, really needed a shower.

I slipped into the bathroom and peeled the damp clothes from my body. It felt like taking a layer of skin off. The steam from the shower filled my nostrils and I immediately felt better. I noticed 4 different used towels hung up around the bathroom. Unsure at which ones were used by Sean’s dad (who had visited for the weekend while I was out of town), I grabbed the towel that I had been using before I left. It needed to be washed, but one more use wasn’t a big deal.

After cleaning up and hanging out a few hours, the guests left. I wandered around, grabbing random bits of pieces that needed to be laundered. Approaching the bathroom, I yelled to Sean: “Which towels did your dad use in here?”

He came up behind me. “Why?”

…blink…

…blink, blink…

“Because we need to wash them.” It seemed so obvious to me.

He paused again. “I don’t know. Just wash them all.”

Breathe, Colleen. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“I mean, I don’t know. He probably just used whatever was in there.”

“…but…but, my towel was also in there. The towel I just used today as well.”

“So?”

“So?!?!?! It’s my towel! MY towel! I DO NOT share my towels…particularly not with your dad!”

The conversation went on like this for about 30 minutes. Me: BECAUSE IT’S GROSS! Him: But, why? It’s just cells. Me: BECAUSE IT’S GROSS!

He couldn’t understand why it was a big deal..but I was really disgusted that he really didn’t get why it was considered so gross. In my experience and opinion…if you go to someone’s house, you either bring your own towels, or you expect to be given a clean towel that you will use for the weekend. YOU DON’T JUST USE WHATEVER TOWELS ARE AROUND AND HAVE BEEN USED ALL WEEK.

Apparently Sean doesn’t know how to be a good host. A host launders all pillowcases and sheets after a guest leaves. All towels given out should be clean and folded.

We finally came to the agreement that “because of social rules, we need to give guests their own towels, pillowcases and sheets” but I could not get Sean to admit that not doing so is disgusting. He claims that the couch is more disgusting than a used towel.

Anyone else have thoughts or opinions? I always believed that this was just proper etiquette when it came to house guests.

So basically, if you come to stay at our apartment, make sure I’M home when you come for the weekend. It’s the only way to ensure clean towels.

When I was in high school, I was VERY much an actress. Not just in the sense that I could fake a stomach ache to get out of tests (which I was quite skilled at, btw), but I was an actual actress. I was paid to act professionally and had some amazing roles back when I was a kid. I was in a few tv movies as small roles, cast in a WB pilot tv show (which never made it, obviously), several dinner theatre productions, yadayadayada.

So, naturally, in high school I wanted to take the theatre class that was offered. It was a pretty good class. We did fun shows, The Miracle Worker, Fame, Joseph…Dreamcoat, Steel Magnolias, etc.

When I was a sophomore, I got a really bad case of mono. I was unable to perform in a show and was out of school for the better part of a month. As I healed, the theatre class was supposed to be having an improv performance–which was supposedly half of our grade. Now, apparently with mono…the lymphnodes around your organs can swell and if you’re bumped, these organs can rupture. I don’t know how common this is, but both my parents are in the medical field and tend to know what they’re talking about. They fought tooth and nail with my theatre teacher that I shouldn’t be performing while still at risk for rupturing an organ. Even if the chances were small, it still wasn’t worth the risk. And I had a doctor’s note.

But my teacher was adamant. If I didn’t perform, I would fail. Or at least get a ‘C’. ME???? GET A C???? Are you kidding me? I NEVER got a C. I cried when I got a B+….so a C was out of the question. You know what would happen if I got a C in the cIass? It would drag my GPA for the year down. I’d end up not being able to bounce back, failing out of high school, never going to college and end up dying a homeless person with an AVERAGE GPA. Because that’s the way my mind works…one little problem evolves into THEENDOFTHEWORLDASWEKNOWIT.

That just could not happen. I dragged my sorry-looking, tired ass out of bed and performed that improv show.

I remember being kind of loopy on stage. I was on meds and so, so tired. I laughed at other people’s improv and overall was just kind of out of it. I think I got a C for the show…which combined with my A, averaged a B or the class for the year. I was so pissed that it brought down my entire GPA.

Moral of the story, after this whole mess, my parents refused to let me be a part of my school’s drama program after sophomore year. I was still performing professionally and locally, but no longer through the school. And my parents made it very clear to the principle the danger that my teacher put me in by forcing me to perform.

For the entire summer before going into my junior year, I was so angry with my parents. Theatre was my life. Theatre was where my friends were. I didn’t know my identity if it didn’t involve performance. And on top of that, I had to find ANOTHER extra-curricular activity to fill its place. What did I end up choosing?

Photography. It’s funny how things turn out. Without getting mono, being forced to perform, then being banished from theatre class (by my parents), I would have never discovered my love for this art form. I never would have known I had a knack for it. I never would have been in that class the day a representative from Savannah College of Art and Design came to give a speech. I never would have gone to that college, gotten a scholarship, met Sean or found that I had a passion for something other than theatre.

Maybe I never would have become a photographer, in general. And that’s a scary, scary thought.

So….thanks mom and dad. For being such hard asses and making me explore something creative outside of my comfort zone. It would have been very easy to have stayed in a class where the teacher’s took advantage of the students and didn’t show proper appreciation. But you pushed me to do more. To be better. And I owe my livelihood and income to it.

I was bleary-eyed. The rain pounded on my windows echoing the headache pounding inside my skull. Bebop pranced around my neck, licking my face. I hadn’t heard the alarm go off yet, so I knew it wasn’t even 7am. Bebop can usually make it until AT LEAST 7:30. I grabbed her little body and tried to force her to lay back down next to me. She simply wasn’t having it…with the same persistence I’ve seen as my niece tries to open a candy bar wrapper, she continued panting in my face. It was obvious…her highness would wait no longer.

I wrapped my robe taut around my body–an ugly, faded pink fuzzy thing. I really need a new robe. I put on my galoshes. My coat. My scarf. I reached down to the place where I usually keep my umbrella only to remember that I lost it weeks ago. Instead a grab a hat.

Bebop and I go for a weary walk around the block…well, for me it was a weary walk. For her, it was playtime. She bounced around, taking her time to pee on everything. My hat blew off my head. I managed to grab it and put it back on before anyone saw the disaster that was my hair.

By 6:50am I was back inside my apartment dripping wet. For the first time in her life, Bebop didn’t seem to mind the rain. Every dog owner’s….dream? Nightmare? It was still too early to formulate coherent thoughts.

Coffee. The second the thought entered my head, I could feel the adrenaline rush hitting me. Just the thought of caffeine was enough to energize me…if only for a second. With hope, I rushed to the cabinet and grabbed the bag of French Roast.

Empty. Empty. Noooo, this wasn’t possible. When did I finish my coffee? Oh, that’s right. Last night during my midnight marathon of editing. There had to be more coffee somewhere in my house. I always kept reserves of it…

Fridge - no. Cupboard - no. Cabinets - no. Linen closet - no. I was, for the first time in my life, without any coffee whatsoever. For the past few weeks, I’ve been eating random things in my house - peanut butter and jelly on tortilla wraps (because I was out of bread). Then I ran out of jelly. Then peanut butter. I’ve had no vegetables in the house. No protein. I even ran out of sugar and cream. I’ve been living on take-out and brown rice every day for the past few weeks. But none of that mattered because I had my COFFEE.

But now, even that was gone. And I officially NEEDED to go food shopping.

Which was fine, because I could grab a coffee on the way…

I was chatting with my friend, Missy, the other day about last names. And I mentioned how I don’t think I will be changing my last name when I marry. Missy’s traditional (but not at all judgmental) and brought up an interesting question–one I hadn’t necessarily thought about in the past. Am I ok with not having the same last name as my children?

I think I am ok with this…though, who’s to say that my children won’t also have my last name? It doesn’t matter to me one way or another if a woman keeps her last name, hyphenates, or takes her husband’s. It’s a personal choice and I don’t judge anyone for the choice they make! If I had a crappy last name, I would ABSOLUTELY take my hub’s instead of being Ms. CrappyLastName for the rest of my life. And I understand that some women like the tradition; some like that it unifies them as a family. All are valid points.

But let’s face it–my name kicks some serious ass. Katana. KATANA. KUH-TAH-NAH. Like the sword. Like the motorcycle. It’s like being Mr. Incredible…that’s right–I’m comparing myself to a Disney Superhero! Not to mention, that my name is my business.

Every now and then when I mention my future name plans to people, I get a weird, disapproving look. “Oh,” they sneer, “you must be one of those feminists. You think it’s for your “career” don’tchya?”

This is usually the point in the conversation when I put on my faux southern accent and say, “Wayell, shucks! Ah never thought of it much beefore…but Ah suppose Ah am a feminist, afterall! You know…fer not wantin’ to change my entire business structure based on a tradition that Ah personally don’t believe in all that much. Thanks fer enlightenin’ me.”

So, my question to readers out there–did you take your husband’s last name? Why or why not?

…they start photographing their dogs on really classy backdrops from Drop It Modern.

Bebop had absolutely no idea WHAT was going on. Eventually she calmed down, but those first few minutes involved me catching her mid-leap off of the box.

Red on the other hand was a natural. He just plopped down and I couldn’t get him to stand up even after the shoot was over.

I try hard not to let Craigslist ads upset me. Most of the time, it’s just people who really don’t understand the kind of time photographers put into their work and the sort of overhead and cost of materials for a fullday of event photography, like a wedding. But this?? Here’s the ad:

_______

Looking for a photographer that can shoot ceremony and reception. Need the following 1-Premium 8 x 10, wedding album (photos sealed inside the album), 1-16 x 20 framed portrait, 2-8 x 10’s, 4-5 x 7’s, and 150 proof book with 2 parent albums and 50 thank you notes. all negatives on CD ( a comparable package would be considered). Can only spend $1000- $1100. Thank you

______

This person is looking for 3 albums, a FRAMED 16×20 , other prints, a proof book, 50 thank you notes AND a release of all the images on a CD. For $1,000.

::Blink::

::Blink:: ::Blink::

The only thing I can think here is that she must not realize that WE, THE PHOTOGRAPHERS have to pay for the cost of printing all these things. They don’t pop out of the sky from the magical printers with a free code all photographers have for products.

Those prints, albums and proofs alone would probably cost me close to the $1,000 she/he was paying. Then factor in me having to design the album pages, design the thank you cards, frame the portrait and not to mention, ohhhh, PHOTOGRAPH THE WEDDING. I’m only taking home $200 after a full day of shooting and weeks of post production? Crazy.

The only thing making me feel slightly better is that maybe, JUST MAYBE, she/he meant that the $1,000 would just be the cost of the products she wants. And then shooting time would be on top of that.

It might be unlikely, but to make myself feel better and hopefully sleep tonight, that’s what I’m going to believe.