One of the things I’ve been working towards is a less-cluttered workspace. Transitioning the bulk of my work to digital files has helped that effort tremendously. My most important tools now consist of a computer, a scanner, and several different photo editing software packages.

Almost two years ago, when I decided to pursue my photography work more seriously, one of the things I was missing was an office, a workspace. After discussing this new venture with my husband, we decided to turn the guest bedroom into my “atalier”. Needless to say, having company is now less convenient as our guests have to sleep on the couches in the living room. However, it made no sense to have a guest room reserved for the once-a-year visitors, when I could foresee using an office every day of the week.

The process has been somewhat slow. Progress is made in fits and starts, taking place between the design gigs, photography shows, work, and the rest of daily life.

We started by empyting the room and, along with several years of accumulated stuff, having a yard sale. Once that was done, we cleaned the carpet and began repainting. I had decided that I did not want a conventional office. I wanted a studio – a space that could function as a photography workspace in addition to an office.  To that end, I selected a Ralph Lauren paint color that unfortunately, doesn’t render terribly well in photos. It’s a deep mossy green. Along one wall, I painted the word “Lamour” in two shades of deep, mottled red, inspired by the gigantic steel sign looming over Christian’s flat in Baz Luhrman’s “Moulin Rouge”.

We used the yard-sale proceeds to buy shelving and work surfaces. I kept an old chest with five drawers, which I repaired (new backing), repainted (espresso), and installed new drawer pulls (brushed silver). The chest is now used to organize framing, packaging, and shipping supplies, as well as some show supplies (signs, business card holders, etc). I repainted the interior of the closet a semi-gloss bright white and installed the shelving (also white). The shelving now provides storage for prints, negatives, photo albums, photography books, my cameras and other supplies, along with items like mat board, frames, etc.

A quick trip to Ikea brought home two desks. One is at standard desk height and is home to the usual desk accoutrement (monitor, keyboard, speakers, scanner, etc) . The other desk is about 7 inches taller and provides a sturdy work surface to use while framing my prints. I really didn’t want to have the desks along the wall so I chose to place them in the center of the room, perpendicular to each other; again, the space needed to not feel like a regular office.

I pulled a set of old drapes out of storage and hung them in the room to provide some softness and a contrasting color (they’re eggplant-colored stamped velvet, which sounds just awful, but they’re actually quite nice).

It became obvious fairly quickly that I needed more space to store framed prints so I built four photo shelves (narrow shelves with a lip, upon which frames are set to lean against the wall). Sadly, two of them had to cover the “Lamour” sign. It’s still there peeking out from behind the shelves and prints.

The latest improvements reflect my growing obsession with minimalism. Every January finds me walking about the house, editing ruthlessly. Too much stuff. My office had become no exception, so last weekend I did a major purge of all the gack I don’t need anymore and now, finally, my “atalier” is complete!

On Twitter, you have the option of selecting a pre-made background image or choosing your own. If you select your own, you can either have it show up in the left corner or tile the image across your page. I thought it’d be great to create a banner image that fills the left side of the page (not tiled across the page) so that people could see a lot of relevant in formation at once and it worked!

These instructions are for Photoshop. Other similar programs probably have a similar approach.

Open Photoshop and click on File>New. A window will pop up with fields for Name, Width, Height, Resolution, Mode and Contents. Name the file whatever you choose. For the width, enter 225 pixels. For height, enter 550 pixels. (This size will ensure that your banner will be visible on the left side of the Twitter page and that people will not have to scroll down to see all your info. You can, of course, elect to make it a longer banner, if you don’t mind the scrolling). For resolution, 96 pixels/inch is fine since this is only for the web. Select RGB Color for Mode. In Contents, click on an either white or background color. Note that if you select white, you can always change it later with the paint bucket.

Next, size a few thumbnail images. I wanted three images on my banner so I opened each image in Photoshop, clicked on Image/Size in the toolbar, then re-sized each image so that it was close to 100 pixels tall. Note that the image just has to fit within the 225 pixel width.

Then I copied each image into the banner. So, for each image, make sure it’s open, then use the Rectangular Marquee to select the entire image. Hit Control-C (or copy), then open the banner and hit Control-V. Now your image is in the banner on a new layer. Use the pointer tool to move it wherever you want within the confines of the banner. Repeat for any other images.

Then add text. This could be your web address or a few words about who you are and what you do. Remember, Twitter is about connecting, however superfluously. The more people know about you, the more they may want to show their support in your artistic endeavors. Just click on the text tool and type away to your hearts content, checking that the font size/color works well within your banner. Move the text to wherever you think it looks best and you’re done. Well, almost.

Save the banner. In Photoshop it will automatically save as a PSD file. I’d recommend saving it as a PSD so you can change it later of you desire. Then click on Save As, and save the image as a JPG. Save it somewhere easy to find. You’re going to need it in just a minute.

Go to Twitter, log in and click on Settings in the upper right corner. The next page will have 6 tabs across the upper portion of the page; one of which will be “design”. Click on it. Then you’ll see some pre-selected backgrounds. Beneath them on the left, you’ll see “Change Background Image”. Click on that. A field will open up below with a box next to it which says “Browse”. Click Browse and locate your image. Once you click on your image, click on “Save Changes” at the bottom of the page. Don’t click the box which says, “Tile Image”. Now you’re done!

Hope this has been a help. You can see my banner at www.twitter.com/kcwgallery. See you out in the Twitter-verse!

Now, Erasure has been around since the early ’80′s. Their formula has not changed much. Big club-style dance songs interspersed with midtempo pop tunes and a ballad or two. It’s been that way through all their 13 studio albums spanning over 20 years. Vince Clark founded the band after having left both Depeche Mode and Yaz (both of which he also founded). Clearly his musical partnership with Andy Bell was what he had been searching for.

In over two decades, they’ve sold over 20 million albums with nary a single personnel change, band break-up, or label change. They’re never in the news for personal dramas such as rehab or other “rockstar” BS. They just write, record, and tour. Vince has married and had a son. Andy has ended a long relationship, been diagnosed HIV positive, and had both of his hips replaced.

I heard them first in early 1986 when I was music director for my college radio station, KACC. I was fairly underwhelmed at the time and didn’t respond to them. A year or so later, I went to see Duran Duran, and Erasure opened for them. Andy Bell walked out onstage at Irvine Meadows Amphitheater in conservative Orange County, California wearing lycra shorts, a pink tutu, and Doc Martins. They KILLED Duran Duran (who were at one time a surprisingly good live act) and I was hooked. I’ve seen them a number of times since (10, I think…).

I was just starting to come to grips with the whole gay thing and Erasure was unafraid. While I loved that Andy was unapologetically gay, I also loved that Vince was unapologetically straight. They obviously enjoyed working together and I thought it was cool that a straight guy and gay guy could be friends and work so closely together and not give a crap about what people might say. I thought it’d be cool to be open and be good friends with straight guys and have them NOT be wierd about me being gay. Twenty years ago, that was unusal. I didn’t think it was even possible. Today, the vast majority of my friends are straight guys. Cool how that turned out, huh?

I didn’t go to the show on the most recent tour so I was curious to see the DVD. It, much like the most recent album, hearkened back to their dance-club past. The set list is full of high energy songs, with only a smattering of slower tunes. Due to the hip surgery, Andy doesn’t move quite as much as he used to. He’s also dropped a bit of the theatrics and is in fine voice. The three female backup singers are a hoot and Vince is his usual, reserved self. The show is big and fun and joyous; which is a treat to watch.

And while the lyrics will never be construed as deep, many of the songs have become more meaningful as they (and I) have gotten older. Some of the slower songs have taken on an aching quality in light of Andy’s HIV diagnosis.

All that is to say that, if you’re lucky, there are bands and songs that follow you throughout your lifetime. Erasure and I have grown up together. Other bands, friends, and lovers have come and gone; but Erasure are still there and still consistently making the music they want to make. I’ve retreated to them often when I need to blast my head open with a kickin’ song with a sing-along chorus. Sunroof and windows open – “Sucker for Love”, “Drama!”, or “Stop” cranked up all the way – sometimes, things like that (and a cold Shiner Bock, of course) are what make the day worthwhile.

Mel, August 2006

In the spring of 1999, my partner Robert and I decided to get a dog. Robert grew up with dogs. I had one when I was very young that I actually don’t remember. All I really knew was that having a dog would make Robert very happy, which was good enough for me. After some discussion about the qualities that were important to us, we bought several books and started to do some research. After reading the books, it was clear that perhaps the best breed for us would be a Boxer. We did some additional research and found Boxer Rescue of Los Angeles.

We phoned to ask about the adoption process and the woman who answered (Ursula) explained that they were an all-volunteer, non-profit organization that had been rescuing Boxers for quite some time. She directed us to their website (www.boxer-rescue-la.com) and explained that pictures of all the currently available dogs were on the site. She then asked us to select 2 or 3 to look at in order to make the process more efficient since they had an overwhelming number of dogs at the time. We made our appointment for the following weekend and set out to select our new dog on the BRLA website.

We showed up at BRLA with a short list of dogs we wanted to see. As we were getting out of the car, we noticed a young couple getting out of their car who had a Boxer on a leash. I thought at first that they were bringing the dog in to give it up. However, we learned once we got inside that they were bringing their girl Boxer to find a companion. Ursula had greeted us all at the door and asked us to wait since the other couple’s appointment was before ours.

As we stood in the lobby, we noticed there were at least 6 travel kennels along the wall. Each kennel contained a dog and some of them were just barking like crazy. We looked at them, our list in hand, and as Ursula walked through she noticed us looking at the dogs. She asked us if we would mind leashing one of them and taking it for a walk as they had not time to walk these new arrivals yet. We agreed and Robert bent down to look at one dog in the bottom middle kennel who was not barking. She was lying there, her head resting on top of her paws, with a heart-breaking look on her face. My initial thought was that she was really listless and depressed.

I was surprised when Robert said, “this one”. So they leashed her up and we set out for a walk. Once she was on the leash and outside, she perked up considerably, to the point where she was walking Robert. She stopped to do her business and it was obvious that she wasn’t feeling well, which in turn made us feel really bad for her; stuck in the bottom kennel, recently arrived, not knowing where she was and what was going on, surrounded by barking dogs in the sweltering heat of Sun Valley. No wonder she looked depressed.

After we got back from the walk, we sat down in the shade of an outdoor courtyard with her while we waited for a volunteer to unleash and kennel her so we could see the dogs on our list. The couple ahead of us were also out in the courtyard and it was clear they had found a mate for their girl. He was a big, brawny Boxer, full of energy and twice the size of the dog we’d been walking. I had been petting the dog we’d walked and she felt a bit dirty so I got up to cross the courtyard to a sink to wash my hands. As I crossed the courtyard, the Boxer mate noticed me and bounded over to me. He was clearly a bouncy, exuberant, joyous dog and just wanted to say hello.

At that moment, the dog we had been walking tore away from Robert and  jumped in front of me, growling this other dog, twice her size, down. I froze because I didn’t want to be in the middle of a dogfight between one very big Boxer and one smaller but obviously pissed-off Boxer. Ursula had just come out in the courtyard and witnessed the scene.  She matter-of-factly looked at us and said, “It appears you’ve been adopted. I’ll go get the paperwork”. I looked over at Robert, who was beaming from ear to ear.

We learned from Ursula that our dog was a year old, good with kids but not good with other animals, and that her family had given her up when they moved from a home into an apartment and couldn’t keep her.

And that her name was Melanie.

We signed the papers and loaded her into the car, Robert driving, me in the backseat with her. As the 5 freeway whizzed by us, she stared out the window. I was petting her and had looked down at one point. She looked up, reached up to me and gave me one small lick on the tip of my nose. I fell, hopelessly, in love.

We stopped on the way home to buy bowls, food, and other assorted dog stuff. When we got her home, we brushed her really well, did some playing, and let her explore the house and the yard. We explained to her that she was home and that her life would be full of love. It was an incredible day.

Shortly after we got her home, she came down with kennel cough, which we found out was fairly common amongst rescue dogs. A couple trips to the vet later and we came home armed with pills and medications. In order to give her a pill, we had to tilt her head up, insert the pill down her throat, close her muzzle and stroke underneath to make her swallow. The only problem with that plan was that every time we’d tilt her head back, her sinuses would drain and she would start sneezing and the stuff that came out of her nose was the most ungodly green mucous-y slime we’d ever seen. One evening, I was seated on the kitchen floor in front of her doing this routine when she started sneezing and just couldn’t stop. I held her close to me, soothing her until, finally, she stopped. Robert came into the kitchen because of all the noise and I looked up at him, covered from head to toe in dog snot and said, “I just love her so much.” We nursed her back to health with a combination of meds and boiled chicken, brown rice, and shredded carrots.

I never considered myself a dog person, but this little pup changed all that. She bonded quickly with both of us. We remarked often that we were surprised at how she seemed to be equally close with each of us. Her morning routine consisted of getting up with Robert. After he put the coffee on, he would feed her and refresh her water (later in life that routine expanded to include pills for hip dysplasia). Once he had poured a cup of coffee, they would walk out the front door together around the house to the backyard. This quickly became known as the “perimeter check”. Mel loved our garden, or more accurately, her garden. Thankfully, she wasn’t a digger (digging was NOT one of the qualities we wanted in a dog). She had the truly bizarre habit of eating bees. She would get stung on the inside of her mouth, run out into the main yard and flop down, rubbing her muzzle against the grass. Occasionally, we’d find little piles of dead bees that she’d puked up. Yeah, I know, gross, but that was her thing for a while. She chased and barked at crows and tried in vain to catch lizards.

In her early years, she played a lot. She would take off running around the yard and up the stairs where she’d make a full pass through the garden, back down the stairs and onto the lawn where she would tear around our carrotwood tree, doing laps. Then she’d collapse, spent, in a heap on the lawn and lie there with her tongue hanging out, panting and elated.

I was out of town one time when Robert called me and told me Mel had broken her leg. She had been at the door and when let out, she bolted up into the back garden to chase something. She slapped her foot against the top step and kept going. A few minutes later the limping started and off to the vet Robert went with her. She mended quickly. The sight of her with the cone around her head (to keep her from getting to the dressing on her leg) and the thudding sound of her cast hitting the hardwood floors as she’d try to navigate the house made both of us giggle for weeks.

In her early years, she had no shortage of toys to play with, from rope chews to her big orange ball which lasted less than a week.Whenever she’d get a new rubber toy that squeaked or made any kind of noise, she would lay down on all fours with the toy captured between her front paws and pinned to the ground. As she would chew on it the toy would squeak of course, and she’d make the most bizarre little growly, talky noises at it.

We lucked out as far as her training was concerned. While we didn’t know if she had been actually trained, it was clear she knew all the basic commands. Like any dog, she tested her boundaries at first. She’d try to lead when walked or even try to get the leash off of her. She fought us both several times when leashed at first. We believed in treating her equally and we each tried to reinforce her training as much as possible in order to provide her some structure and routine. No table-scraps, ever (until she chowed her way through some brie we had absent-mindedly left on a cocktail table). Always sit before doing anything else. Whenever we’d go outside, all the humans went first while she waited her turn.

We tried to crate-train her but she hated the crate. It was serious drama to get her in the crate. The first few nights we had the crate in our bedroom. We’d get her to lay down in there but as soon as the lights were out she’d start panting and whimpering, which led to a lot of sleep-deprivation for us in the beginning. We’d crate her when we left the house and when we’d come home, she’d be covered in her own saliva from panting so much. We figured out fairly quickly that she had a severe case of separation anxiety. We slowly started letting her be free while we were not home for short periods of time. As we realized she was not inclined to act out due to our absence, we increased the amount of time we were gone. Whether by training or instinct, she was an unusually well-behaved dog. In her entire life with us, she had only two accidents in the house. She never tore up pillows or chewed on furniture. I think her damages were limited to us replacing the screen material in our screen doors because in her excitement to get out into the yard to chase crows, she burst through them several times.

It became apparent that whenever we weren’t at home, she slept, either on her bed in the Sun Room or her bed in our bedroom. Very often we’d come home and find her asleep on the living room in “her spot” or on the rug in the entry hall. Later in life, she’d sleep in Robert’s office when he was gone, curled up under his desk. Both of us joked that we wished we could eat whatever we wanted, sleep 18 hours a day, and still have 0% body fat like she did. Whenever we’d get ready to leave, she’d find the single most inconvenient spot and lay down in it, usually right in the middle of the way from the bathroom into the bedroom, or right in the doorway of the bedroom. And even though she was very fond of giving overly large kisses, you rarely ever got one when she knew you were headed out the door. I’d lean down and say “kiss” and she’d turn her head in the opposite direction.

By far, the best part of almost any day was walking in the door. She’d bound up to us with a smile in her eyes, then quickly fold into us in the shape of a “C”. Not content to let her nub of a tail tell the whole story, her entire backside would wiggle like crazy. We’d sit on the floor in the living room in front of her and she’d tell us about her day (sleep, crows, UPS delivery truck) in this rolling talk/bark, which sounded roughly like, “a ro ro ro ro ro…”, with her lips pursed into different shapes creating different sounds. Truly bizarre. That was occasionally followed by singing (her, not us) and lots of it. She greeted pretty much everyone at the door the same way, making immediate friends out of the people we welcomed into our home.

She enjoyed walks and would get visibly excited by the sound of her leash but she loved taking car trips more. Every now and then, I’d need to make a quick trip to the store, so into the car she’d go. She’d wait patiently, breathing the fresh air from the sunroof, until I returned to the car where she’d greet me and want to see what was in the bags.

For whatever reason, laundry folding time always ended up being her time as well. She’d follow Robert from the garage and he’d put the basket of clean clothes on the bed. Then as he folded or put clothes on hangers, she’d roll around on the floor on her back, making eye contact the whole time. Inevitably, he’d end up on the floor with her, giving her lots of attention.

In an effort to try to please us one time, she presented us with a gift. Robert had let her out to do her business. When he called her back in she didn’t respond so he called a few more times and she appeared around the corner of the house with a baby possum, playing dead, in her mouth. She dropped it on the patio in front of him with a thud, with immense pride beaming from her face.

While it was clear she loved us both equally, we each had a different relationship with her. She and Robert would tear around the house playing like crazy when she was younger. She loved to lay on her side, facing him, almost nose to nose. She’d stare into his eyes until her eyelids started to get heavy and she’d drift off to sleep. He laid down with her next to her bed almost every night of her life and pet her while she fell asleep. Her routine with me was for us both to lay down on our sides and she’d fall asleep with her head on my arm and her back to me, nestled against my chest. After she’d been asleep for a few minutes, she’d develop what we called “warm doggy smell”, which was just the best scent ever. Until she started farting; which she did, loud and often, while she was sleeping. The little girl could clear a room sometimes with big rippin’ farts.

We thought it was important to never just give her a treat without her earning it; and she earned them by sitting, speaking, or shaking (or sometimes, all three). Before she started losing strength in her hips, I’d have her sit, then kneel in front of her with the treat pressed between my lips. I’d pat my shoulders with my hands and she would rise on her back legs and place her paws on my shoulders. I’d say, “OK”. Then, gently, she’d lean forward and pluck the treat out of my mouth, making eye contact with me the entire time. She was exceptionally good about waiting for us to say “OK” for almost everything, giving her permission.

Whenever Robert and I were in separate rooms, she would pick a spot that was equidistant between us to lay down and hang out, allowing her to monitor both of us. When we would get done with whatever we were doing and end up in the Sun Room to watch a movie, she would come in and lay down on her bed, content that all her peas were in the pod together where they belonged.

She and Robert spent countless hours chasing each other around the house, playing with her toys. Occasionally we’d watch while she tried to deal with a 2-liter plastic bottle. Of course it was too big for her to get her jaws around so watching her try to control it with her paws on hardwood floors made us laugh because it would get away from her constantly and bounce around, which only strengthened her resolve to wrestle it to the ground and conquer it.

She’d run into whatever room he was in and pounce on the floor in front of him. Shoulders down, paws out, hindquarters up in the air. This was Mel-speak for “play with me!” So he’d get down in front of her and say, “I’m gonna get you” and then reach for one of her paws. She could spend hours dodging us, trying to keep us from getting one of her paws. We’d let her think she was winning for a while, before we’d get both her paws, at which point she’d roll over on her back (in what we called “takedown”) and wait for the inevitable tummy-rubbing that followed. When she was younger, her other favorite game was fetching. Robert would pitch one of her rubber toys down the hallway and she’d run to get it. Over and over and over again. Seriously, if we’d had the patience, she’d have spent entire days doing that.

Christmas was a new and different thing with her. She had a stocking which was usually filled with treats. We would open our gifts first while she waited, impatiently to be sure, until we got to hers. Once we were done, we’d make a big deal about her stocking and treats. Needless to say, this ended up backfiring on us as, inevitably, she thought that every time there was a gift-giving occasion, she’d end up getting something.

Back in 2005, we remodeled a home down in San Marcos with Robert’s sister and Brother-in-Law. It was the only time we ever flipped a house and we were trying to get things done quickly. Even so, it took over three months to remodel and I’d drive down there every weekend, taking Mel with me. She’d camp out in one of the rooms on her bed while I painted. There were a few times the three of us were down at the house together. We’d take breaks and walk her outside and let her explore the yard. As long as the three of us were together, she was content.

I got contracted to design and program lights for a concert in early ’08 on a weekend when Robert was working out of town, so the only way to make our schedules work was for me to take Mel to the programming session with me. So we hung out in this converted unheated warehouse in January with rain pounding on the sheet metal roof, her asleep on her bed with a heater pointed at her and me sitting at the console, listening to the songs on my laptop, coming up with looks for the show. Best programming session ever as far as I’m concerned. And while I’m sure she was happy to be there with me, she always missed Robert when he was out of town.

Robert was her caretaker. He was almost always the one who made sure she had food and water, cleaned up after her prior to mowing the lawn, and that she was taking her meds. He also was adept at spotting changes in her as she aged.

She developed hip dysplasia as she got older which we treated with meds, special food, and special treats. And while she loved her bones when she was younger, it was all about Greenies for the last year or so. We think that was because her teeth and gums were beginning to hurt. For the last three years she was on and off meds for a variety of things and had developed a problem with having blood in her urine. Even with all of that, she was still a high-spirited, low-maintenance dog.

While her separation anxiety diminished as she got older, it never went completely away. Every time one of us would leave with luggage, she’d mope around the house, not eat and would barely drink until we got home. Whenever we had to kennel her to go away for the weekend, she’d barely eat or drink. She’d lose weight and be listless again. Out of all the things I wish she’d been able to do, it would have been to shake the fear that we were never coming back.

The worst was when we got home from Paris several years ago. We picked her up from our regular vet and it was clear she’d lost weight, but she seemed in good spirits. We got home, unpacked, spent some quality time together then went to bed. I woke up in the middle of that night; waking in the middle of night is SO not my usual routine. I looked over at her bed and she wasn’t there. I got up, went to the office, then to the guest room, then to the living room and didn’t see her. I went into the kitchen and turned on the light to see a huge pool of blood and feces. Needless to say, I panicked. I looked in the rest of the rooms of the house and couldn’t find her. I got back into the bedroom and found her lying right next to Robert’s side of the bed, not moving and barely breathing. Robert woke up when he heard me trying to rouse her. Finally she woke, but she was sluggish and not all there. We took her to the emergency vet and they immediately diagnosed her, injected her with an antibiotic and gave us medication for her later. Apparently, she had not eaten or drank hardly at all during the 10 days we had kenneled her at our regular vet while in Paris.

That episode should have prepared us for the inevitable, but it didn’t.

April 4, 2009: It had been a great Saturday. I had done some framing and printing earlier in the day while Robert was at work. Once he got home, we went to a show opening at a gallery in Whittier and then we treated ourselves to dinner, which we rarely do anymore. After some errands at Cost Plus and Target, we headed home.

I had bought some new CD’s earlier in the day so I headed to the music room to get them into iTunes while Robert checked his email. Once he was done, he joined us with a glass of wine and a Greenie for Mel. She was camped out on the floor between us and was being incredibly impatient while waiting for her Greenie but was very happy once Robert gave it to her.

While iTunes was busy importing, I watched as our pup started working her way through her treat. She had barely started when she leaned up on both front legs, slightly arched her back, then collapsed onto her side. We thought at first that she was choking so Robert checked her mouth and found a small piece of the Greenie. She had stopped breathing so we tried CPR. After a couple minutes it was obvious that wasn’t working. She let out a sound she had never made before, which in retrospect we acknowledged was the end, but we kept trying to revive her anyway.

I wish I could say it was as calm and collected as it sounds. It was not. It was chaotic and emotional and heart-breaking. I will never forget the sound of my husband as he tried to save her life, through the impending tears and realization that we were losing her.

Once we acknowledged she was gone, I called the 24-hr vet we had taken her to when we got back from our trip. I explained what had happened and they told us we could bring her body in. We bundled her up in her blanket, gingerly protecting her, and got in the car. When we got there, the staff was very understanding. We laid her on an exam table and filled out the paperwork. We petted her and said goodbye, then thanked the staff and walked out the door.

We had gotten into the car when Robert said we should just sit for a while and collect ourselves. As we were talking, there was a tap on the window. One of the staff had come out to get us and said, “Your dog’s not dead.” We ran back inside to where the Vet had come in to examine her, thinking beyond all hope and possibility that she’d been revived. It had been over a half-hour; how was this possible?

The vet said that it was probably just an electrical impulse, but that he detected a very faint, very erratic heartbeat and could, just barely, feel a pulse. He said that her brain was long gone, given that irreparable tissue damage starts after 2 minutes with no oxygen. She had suffered from a massive heart-attack. Since she was, technically, still alive he needed our permission to put her down. And with both of our hands resting on her, we looked at each other and started to speak, when the Vet told us he had lost her pulse and that she was gone.

They left us alone and we said our goodbyes to her again.

We got home and sat in the living room, shell-shocked. After a half-hour or so, we went to bed. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her dying all over again – the shoulders lifting up, the collapse onto her side, the pain in Robert’s voice. I turned on the light and read for a while.

We both cried ourselves to sleep that night and awoke early Sunday morning, still crying. After we made coffee, we decided to collect her stuff from around the house, since seeing a little bit of her in every room was really hard. We agreed to throw away her beds since, as she’d gotten older, she hadn’t always been able to control herself and they had served their purpose. We washed her bowls and put them away. We contacted our friend Ruth who has a Dalmatian (Maddie) and let her know what had happened. Having spent a lot of time with Mel, she got very emotional. We let her know that we had bags of treats and bones that Maddie was welcome to have. We also contacted the rest of our family to let them know, since Mel had spent time with all of them.

Sunday would have been a perfect day. An oddly clear Southern Calfornia spring day, Robert would have worked in the garden and I would have continued my printing/framing project. Mel would have roamed back and forth from open door to open window, checking on Robert then coming to give me status reports. Robert would have come in later, showered and changed clothes. We would have put dinner on the stove, poured a glass of something (probably Champagne – it was Sunday, after all), and then all three of us would have walked out into the garden, since Mel would have needed to check out what Robert had been doing. After dinner we would’ve popped in whatever had come recently from Netflix and Mel would’ve settled on her bed. She wouldn’t have slept at all earlier in the day, what with all the open windows and activity; so after she had gotten her Greenie, she would have slipped into a deep sleep, curled up in a ball and snoring.

Robert would have looked at me and, in Mel’s adopted voice, said, “Seriously, this was the best day ever. I love you guys…”

Rose Cross - Black and White Print by KC Wilkerson at www.kcwgallery.com

I have a new photography exhibit that just opened Saturday, February 7th at Night Gallery in Santa Ana, California. This is my second show with them and, despite the rain, a good number of people turned out! This show features images from a collection I have named Cruciform. Each image contains some form of a cross. I get a lot of questions about my prints at these shows, so I thought it’d be interesting to discuss a few of them in greater detail, starting with one that everyone commented on last night – “Rose Cross”.

This image was created at Cimetiere de Montparnasse in December 2006 on a trip to Paris. We had been in the city several days and had already visited two other cemeteries (St. Vincente and Montmartre).  We spent about five hours in this particular cemetery, starting at about 10am (after a quick stop for Cafe du Creme and a croissant). Even though the sun was out it was freezing cold; the flower urns all contained ice that had frozen overnight.

Hundreds of notable people are buried in Montparnasse; Jean-Paul Sartre, Simone de Beauvoir, Charles Beaudelaire and the photographers Brassai and Man Ray, to name a few. They share the grounds with authors, painters, poets, actors, publishers, and captains of industry. Baudelaire’s grave is particularly beautiful. I took quite a few pictures of it, thinking he would find it ironic given his well-documented distaste for photography as an “art form”.

Now I realize five hours may seem like a long time to spend in a cemetery but Montparnasse is quite large, created from three farms in 1824. It is roughly pentagon shaped and fairly flat (unlike the beautiful to see but tiring to walk Cimetiere de Montmartre). We could have easily gone back a second day (and will, soon!).

Close to the end of our time there, I happened upon a large mausoleum. Set into the stone facade was a large iron, thick iron door. The door had holes drilled into it in the shape of a cross and someone had inserted the stems of these roses into the holes. I found the tableaux to be touching and inspiring. I immediately started to wonder if the door was originally designed to have holes in it. Were they added afterward? Were they intended to hold flowers? Seeing that the roses were made of some sort of paper, I wondered if someone came to check on them and replace them frequently.

Invariably this is what happens every time I’m in a cemetery; I leave with far more questions than answers…

Once we got home and I started going through my negatives, this one really stood out to me. I have always thought it had the potential to be an iconic image and am very pleased to have it included in the show.

To see more of my work, please visit www.kcwgallery.com, www.kcwgallery.etsy.com, and www.cafepress.com/kcwgallery.

I met quite a few new people at the opening reception. Not being much of a social animal (at least amongst total strangers), I was surprised to realize that I really enjoyed myself. I spoke with quite a few people that had questions about my work (i.e. where certain shots were taken, what my process is, etc). I spoke with a sculptor who’s interested in having me come shoot some of his work. I also spoke with a contact who is interested in re-interpreting some of my work to be put on apparel.

In addition to that, traffic on my Cafe Press retail site is starting to increase. That, in combination with the possibility of putting my work on apparel, has led me to think a lot about the intersection of art and commerce. I’m aware this is probably a well-worn path and that the vast majority of people who have created anything and put it out into the world eventually deal with the idea of ACTUALLY selling it.

My first sales were to people who either knew me or had some sort of connection to me. I am extremely grateful to friends of mine who have decided to show their support and like one of my prints enough to add it to their collection and display it in their home. That gives me such an incredible feeling of pride and gratification.

The sales I am starting to get now are from total strangers. People who buy my work, having no connection to me whatsoever, are clearly responding ONLY to the work and the feelings the work evokes in them. This gives me a somewhat different feeling. There is of course, pride and gratification, but now that’s accompanied by curiosity. Have they been to where I shot to image? Are they moved by a feeling the image evokes? Do they need something that matches the sofa? These are all reasons for people to buy art and I find that I am now just as curious about my buyers as they are about me.

I think about my Cafe Press merchandise and realize that someone is now sitting at their computer, running their mouse over a mousepad I designed with one of my images. Across the country, a woman is serving wine to her friends and their wine glasses are sitting on coasters I designed with one of my images. And in another part of the country, someone is writing in a journal that has one of my images on its cover.

I know that on the surface, the transaction might only consist of “oh, those look cool. I’ll buy them”. But once they’ve bought them and started using them, I believe that a connection has been made. And the result is that people are incorporating bits of my life and my experiences into their lives. That’s a trippy thought.

But it’s also at the core of why I enjoy photography and then selling my work. It’s about making that connection. In the Sondheim show “Sunday in the Park with George”, the painter Georges Seurat gets so lost in his work and his art that he has to keep reminding himself to connect. I feel the same way a lot of the time. I naturally connect to the work. The process of creating the image is ingrained enough that it doesn’t actually require cognitive thought to shoot the image. Connecting to people is different and has always been difficult for me – and I love that my art has enabled me to find a way to connect.

I wish I could pinpoint when it happened. I think it was when I was looking at all the pieces from my most recent trip to Paris. I do remember having the thought, “You know what, I like the stuff I shoot. Other people might, too. F**K it – I’m going to put the work out into the world and see what happens”. Now, I know that some of my stuff is not easily accessible – most people are turned off by cemeteries and darker material. That’s when I decided that I had to go out and find my audience. They weren’t necessarily going to find me.

So I set myself a timeline – 2 years to get up and running. During the first 2 years, I wanted to decide what my series of photographs were, launch a website, launch a blog,  post work on the web for sale, and land a gallery show. I started seriously planning in early February ’08, launched the website in early March ’08 and landed an offer for my first show about a week later. That first show opens tonight.

The process has been fascinating. I have learned so much from other artists who have shown their work. I’ve been surprised and pleased at how supportive other artists are. What I could not learn from other artists, I picked up on the web. There is SO much information out there – and quite a bit of it has actual value, which is also a bit surprising. From tips and tricks on designing flyers, to the hours spent searching and posting the show on event and art sites, it’s been a blast. I guess I didn’t expect for it to be fun. Having never really marketed anything, I wasn’t sure I’d enjoy it.

So, I’m as ready as I can be for tonight. We’ll see how it goes…

I am planning my first show. Before early March of this year, I knew absolutely nothing about marketing a gallery show. Now, I have club flyers going out all over southern California in 2 weeks, along with nearly 50 postings on art, event, and news sites. I am starting to cultivate an email list and newsletter subscribers. I’m targeting people who are most likely to be interested in my work. And my mindset has changed from the beginning, when I first started creating my work. I used to think that I didn’t want to share my work, then I though that no one would want to see or collect my work. Now, finally, I’ve gotten to a point where I’m proud of what I create and want to share it. That pride and willingness to put the work out there is what is driving me to exhibit; and by extension, research every opportunity to get my flyer/email/blog/ad in front of people who may want to support my art. What I’m finding is that I enjoy this part of the process as well. I have SO not been a people-person all my life and I’ve been especially withdrawn around strangers but that has started to change. My art has brought me out into the world and has actually altered how I feel about meeting and talking to new people.

That’s not exactly what I was expecting when I started the process.

Practically speaking, I have found that the easiest way to begin is to stop thinking about it and just do it. I know that sounds simple, but you’d be surprised how effective it is.

I was asked by the curator to select six photographs. Knowing that the Night Gallery features darker themed art, I chose six images that I believe stand on their own, but contribute to the series as a whole. I decided to title the series LAMENT, after one of the images, entitled “L’hiver Deplorent” (Winter Lament, in English). These are strong images; and while I don’t believe thousands of people will want them hanging in their home or office, I felt it was important to make a statement with my first show; to select pieces that inspire me and clarify why I love creating this type of art.

To see the series that will be featured in the exhibit, please visit www.kcwgallery.com, the online home of KC Wilkerson, Fine Art Black and White Photography.