Yes, yes there is more goodness within the depths of the briefly browsed. A trickle over ten one-hundreds’ worth of taxi-encapsulated Cubanese. Low single digit percentages of home runs within that great volume, but more than enough to delight my senses weeks after my departure. After finally getting up the energy to edit through but a fraction of the silent folder-ridden content.
This just happened to be the one I stopped on after deciding I could push no further. Long past the point of pleasure, into the throes of monotonous developry. Of highly objective measuring of aesthetic effectiveness. No no no no no yes… hmmmm, no no no no no. If it’s enough to make me pause, then it gets the gustav treatment.
A couple days in and I’m already halfway through Anthony Bourdain’s Kitchen Confidential. And the parallels between chefdom and camera work are striking. Subcultures of ultimate meritocracy, sprinkled with those lucky breaks open only to those ready to recognize them. Bourdain doesn’t want artists in his kitchen, he wants craftsmen. Resonates deeply with me. Something to think about.
To another swelterous sheet-drenched night.