Just a few days ago, my cellphone display turned to snow, making it impossible to see anyone’s number (or text them). I was forced to dig up an old phone, one that has a camera of such low quality that the images look more like paintings than photographs. Which means they respond quite well to treatment with Photoshop filters. The filters cover up the extreme pixellation with a bit of this and that and some of them even turn out to be pretty. You can see some examples below.

I’ve been posting cellphone pics over at Red Bat Photography for a while, and I’ve been thinking about moving the whole cellphone pics concept over here to my personal site. That seems like an especially good idea now that I’m using this resurrected phone. The cellphone pics aren’t really indicative of anything about my work with Red Bat. They’re more of a personal hobby/addiction.

As Red Bat takes on a life of its own, I’m becoming more aware of the fact that I am not synonymous with my photography business. Red Bat is way more professional and sane than I am, uses better equipment, wears the right clothes for the occasion. Red Bat wants to make that photo of you come out perfectly exposed and in focus, whereas I personally might have other priorities.

Two years of hard labor have gone into getting Red Bat Photography up and running. This moment, the one happening right now, seems like a perfect time to detach from all of that frantic laboring and remember who I am outside the boundaries of commerce. I’ve been aided in this recollection by some recent highly productive journaling sessions (and by the way, in case you’re wondering, the Earl Grey iced tea at Caffe Pergolesi will kick your diary-scribbling into high gear). It stuns me to realize that ever since Red Bat started, up until these last few weeks, I’ve spent most of my journal-writing time making notes for Red Bat, planning slideshows, thinking up shoots. It was an obsession. Meanwhile, my poor journal has cried out for me to bring back the confessional drivel that makes writing so satisfying.

Actually, it’s only about 50 percent confessional drivel. The other 50 percent is bizarro philosophizing. I’ve got a huge stack of these notebooks. My sister is supposed to burn them all if I get kidnapped by aliens.