Fall ColorsAlways Be Creating. Always Be Focused. They say it takes 10,000 hours to become an expert. It’s a falsehood, based on a hole-filled theory (theory != fact) disproved many times through both scientific and practical methods. If you spend 10,000 hours performing a task ad nauseam you’ll have developed muscle memory, and if you’re unlucky, carpal tunnel syndrome—nothing more. You don’t become an expert by going through the motions until they become an easy habit, that’s not enough: you have to pay attention, and learn.   There’s no insta-filter that can take the place of doing the fucking work.   Becoming an expert is not a destination, to reluctantly use the cliché, but a journey. When it becomes easy, great: that’s progress. Now increase the difficulty and keep growing, because the moment you stop learning and put your mind on autopilot is the moment you’ve settled for “good enough.” Good enough isn’t creating. Good enough isn’t expert. Good enough is stagnation of worst form. I’m reminded of this as I sit here doing lat-pulldowns—not just mindlessly repeating—focusing on my precision and fluid motion. And trying not to let my mind wander to the enticingly obvious progress Dani has made with her own fitness routines, as she stretches out in one of her impossibly graceful, borderline-erotic stances across the gym…… NSFW · Explicit
Sex & TravelKeeping vices in check...with social The Audience This rant all started with a question: “You know this is killing your growth. Why are you flip-flopping between adventure and erotic posts instead of focusing on one audience?” The answer should be obvious: I don’t care if I have either audience, and I am not my fucking follower count. I have zero interest in maintaining my good standing within holier-than-thou “overland lifestyle” cliques, and I have even less interest in providing pervert hordes with material for their spank tanks. None of that has anything to do with my “growth” anyhow. I do, however, care deeply about the art itself and the individual connections that the art inspires. I also love the adventure of exploring and the solitude of the wilderness, whether or not the means I use are “worthy” as a status symbol. Sure, I appreciate likes and follows as much as the next guy, but I enjoy the conversations more—especially those private interactions that occur when people are moved to compliment or question my efforts backchannel. (I’m very socially awkward, so I understand exactly how much effort that can take.) I want more of that. I want to reach souls who are in search of that deeper connection. I want to inspire my fellow artists, and break down the hypocritical boundaries of censorship imposed by the false modesty of society. At the very least I want to make you feel something, and if I’m lucky, make you think. I do what I do as much to rock the boat as to share my passions (yes, rocking the boat is one of my passions). Switching it up every other post has proven a subtly effective way to shake loose from those two groups mentioned in the first paragraph while reaching for my real target audience: you. Accountability & Growth I’m at a place in life where it’s easy to be dragged down into the routine, which for a creative is the most dangerous place one can be: chaos is life, routine is death. Instagram is my accountability partner. It follows me around, that nagging little icon always on the lock screen reminding me to create something today. You see, I judge my content not by likes and comments, but against my profile as a whole. It’s a living documentary of the work I’ve done, and I’m competing with only myself. I’m there to consume what inspires, and in turn… NSFW · Explicit
MisplacedFrom the archives of Lost Arizona Have you ever shot an entire set, then completely forgot you have it? These have been gathering dust in Lightroom since April. It was a scout-and-shoot trip, and we were loaded for bear: lenses, strobes, stands, umbrellas, sandbags, and three duffel full of wardrobe…not counting the shoes. Gotta have the shoes.   We’d use none of it.   A frustratingly boring blue sky gave way to one of the warmest slow-motion sunsets we’ve ever experienced. It lingered for what seemed like hours, burning everything in sight with an ever-deepening and otherworldly golden glow. No strobes, no wardrobe, no makeup. Just the Nifty Fifty (50mm lens) locked in at f2.0. Just a coat and the flip-flops she’d worn for the drive up. Oh, and a pair of aviators for good measure.  … NSFW · Explicit