I am convinced that modern life has boxed us in more so than we’d like. It’s part of the contemporary territory which includes both our professional and personal lives. There’s a surfeit of information, misinformation as well as disinformation. We have data that’s important, partially accurate or altogether inaccurate, the latter done purposely in order to deceive and create confusion.
The spaces outside and within our mind are under siege. This coronavirus pandemic has produced a variety of empty spaces in the form of closed businesses, a void born from a lost loved one, an even larger, emptiness created by becoming unemployed and losing our face-to-face social connections with friends and family. In addition we see meadows, forests and even arable acres, reshaped with new developments, new businesses, and right-of-way passages for utilities. These spaces, like others, will never resemble their former selves.
The modern mind is challenged with the illusory nature of augmented realities, misinterpreted online interactions, the CGI creations readily seen on the big and small screen and so on. I would wager that ruminating is a regular mental exercise for many, in ways that even the thinker didn’t think possible in the here and now. It’s not that such spaces are wanting for content. Some of the content in our heads is twisted and distorted, an unattractive morass of schadenfreude and unforgiving defenestrations toward those with authority, power and privilege.
A lot of good space has been replaced with some nasty creations, tangible and intangible, palpable and even unreasonable. We’re better than a lot of this, each of us capable of individual betterment. I remind myself in my own spaces of thinking and feeling that, at times it’s okay to be embarrassed in one’s journey to be genuine. I think it aids my ability to acknowledge what occupies my internal and external spaces other than what’s so obvious not only to myself, but to others. As in marketing, perception is reality: it’s not what you’re getting, but what you think you’re getting.
Autumn is my favorite season for a variety of reasons: the cooler, drier air is both invigorating and refreshing, the quality of light is remarkable, at times appearing clearer on even overcast days. Even time feels slower with a more gentle cadence though by mid-November, I wonder how it went by so quickly. Certainly it goes without saying that the foliage change can be magical, even personally restorative.
Many years ago, I attended a photojournalism workshop at what was then called The Maine Photographic Workshops in Camden, now known as Maine Media Workshop located in Rockport, a mere stone’s throw from Camden. Located half-way up the coast of Maine, the town of Camden sits next to Penobscot Bay. I haven’t been back since, so I hope it hasn’t lost its New England charm. It was quaint, quiet and photogenic to be sure. You can glean techniques and technical knowledge from more places today than back then [now a surfeit of info sits on the web]. Convenience is nice, but for me, being engaged with a like-minded person is all the more rewarding. Levels of inspiration come to me when I visit an exhibition, a gallery or listen to or converse with a speaker whose work clearly validates that person’s passion for his/her choices.
I was fortunate to have heard and seen in person Jay Maisel, Ernst Haas and Dick Durrance. Titans of their craft, I learned more than just technique, but a whole lot more about this passion to see things in a new way, to transcend the connections of light, color, subject, interpretation and meaning. My brain needed to do some real lifting and learning, and was thus able to do so when my soul became the catalyst to assist with that lifting and learning.
I like to think of seasonal transitions as a form of recalibration. It’s more than a reset, because to reset anything is effectively returning to its default state. Recalibration is a nuance in alignment. If I’m not sure of what I’m feeling when I look through a viewfinder, I move a few or more steps to one side or another, as well as toward or away from my subject. Recalibrating.
There are similarities in writing, but they’re a bigger challenge for me to describe. I suppose the very title of this post lends itself to recalibrating: adjust the “color” of your words such as tone, passive versus active voice, even a tweak in aliteration to keep your narrative—and your thinking—interesting.
Autumn just doesn’t land here in the northeast; when it does arrive it’s akin to that sense of belonging, of knowing that your journey—in spite of personal hills and valleys—continues with the expected and as well as the unexpected. I like all the seasons, but fall is the one which captures the zeitgeist of the rest of the calendar. It’s a short period of time, that in its most fundamental form, feels like the comfort food that’s been sorely missing for more than half the year.
If there’s one thing obvious about marketing and advertising is that they attempt to shape your perception, to one of acceptance or revulsion. In this politically charged environment, I’d say most political advertising encompasses the latter. But we’re not going there today.
Here we have 2 wooden structures, one historical [circa 1800s], the other modern. Now, one may think that the modern structure offers more features: pressure treated wood, steel anchor collars, robust carriage bolts, nuts and washers [possibly even zinc treated to resist corrosion] etc. Well, it does have more features; it has to given its function. But it doesn’t mean it’s better than the simpler one, rather, the modern structure is built specifically for conditions and utility common to coastal areas. Both types share similar benefits albeit differentiated by design, materials and construction. Well, the purpose of the modern structure may be the same as our historical one, that is, to prevent something from entering or leaving a specified area, perhaps protecting one side more so than the other.
Before you clobber me with the apples-to-orange inequality of this comparison, the point I’m making is that consumers often equate features as benefits. If you’re anything but a design engineer, you may think that the metal anchors or collars wrapped around the angled stanchions may be unnecessary. However, if you live, perhaps even work along this shoreline, you would know that the tides and storm surges exert an astounding amount of pressure against barriers. The added strength of the collars is beneficial to the overall strength of the structure.
“This unit can do more than its closest competitor.”
courtesy: Whirlpool
On a recent trip to one of the box stores, I couldn’t help but overhear a salesperson singing the amazing features of a particular dual-door refrigerator. NOTE: the courtesy photo is for illustration and is not the product being referenced herein. “…..with the app on your computer, that model can sense when it’s time to restock, bread or cheeses or certain vegetables or frozen dinners…” The technology, the artificial intelligence that’s coming to market, can be impressive. But will it work on my iPhone 6S or will I need an Android system? You know, my home fridge has an ice-maker, though it doesn’t automatically dispense into my glass when held below a special port. Mine? Open the freezer door and grab ice from the container, a container purchased separately, BUT, looks like it came with my fridge. Typically I empty two ice trays into that container, refill the trays with water and return to the freezer. In less than 10 minutes, you’ll have ice that’s just as good as what the cyborg-fridge can automatically deliver to your glass.
My hand is the delivery and presentation vehicle. And it works. No downloads, no firmware, no software….basically, I’m somewhere with basic technology versus, being nowhere or confused with this hi-tech stuff. Now, if I was that customer learning about the smart appliance in question, perhaps the dialogue would go something like this:
Salesperson: It’s an amazing piece of technology. It can monitor your food and beverage consumption, conveniently at your fingertips. You use an app on your smartphone.It’s a big plus for busy families. Me: That’s impressive, but it’s a feature that I don’t need or really want. Salesperson:You can even check it from just about anywhere in your house. That’s real convenience. Me: Actually, I find it more convenient doing it my way. Salesperson: And how’s that? Me: I walk into the kitchen, open the door and make note of what’s still there and what needs to be added onto the grocery list. Salesperson:How is that more convenient? Me: Well, it’s not just convenience for me, but a benefit. Salesperson:Oh….? Me: It’s called walking. For me that’s a benefit. I already do too much sitting at work. Salesperson: That’s a valid point, but not really helpful. I mean we’re talking about making your life simpler, by doing less chores, to get more time to do things you’d rather do.. Me: I’d rather get up and move. Besides, I get a chance to scope what’s not in there, but whether the shelves need cleaning or if an expiration date goes back to the Nixon administration. Salesperson:Wait, who’s Nixon…?Anyway, think of it as an evolution towards the future of appliances. You, the homeowner, can control all your appliances such as your TV, your A/V installations, the lights and the thermostats and so forth. Me: ….and without even breaking a sweat. Salesperson: Exactly. Me: Will people really adapt to this technology? I imagine someday my health insurance being able to buy data regarding my food preferences, and since I love ice cream, well, a dietician or cardiologist may take issue with that…who knows? Salesperson: Hey, well, hopefully that won’t be the case. I mean there’s a ton of places where information can be bought for marketing or research…that kinda stuff. Me: Of course….you know and I know that your actual mileage may vary…capisce? Salesperson: Ah, yeah, sure….have you seen the new washers and dryers that are out now?
I love Cape Cod. The season doesn’t matter, but late summer is often a great time. There’s less traffic and a more laid back atmosphere. The beaches and wharfs hold less people, though there are those hearty souls who continue their routines swimming parallel to the shore. I watch the few on the beaches, most in their chairs, some sitting or lying across a large towel. Others are involved in conversation or quietly engrossed with a book in hand. You can always count on walkers tracing their steps first one way, then on their return trip to a starting point. The most jubilant are often a dog and its owner. They’ve waited for the moment when the beach was available to them and their joy is clearly displayed. This is the kind of connection that’s about as simple and straightforward as it can get: get out and spend time with good friends, family, your dog—even yourself.
The men enjoying their cocktails aboard a boat speaks of many types of connections: family, work colleague, college room mate, best friend, and so forth. Between the “remember when….did you hear….whatever happened to…” are those moments of hilarity, some brought on by something long past, others in more recent times. Nostalgia connects with the present.
I love the Cape, especially for the many connections its made for me.
We don’t inherit the earth from our ancestors. We borrow it from our children. Native American proverb.
It seems much of the news these days revolves around weather. Just 3 weeks ago, a powerful storm tore through the northeast delivering colossal amounts of rain and dangerous winds. Add to that the trees ripped apart or from out-of-the-ground and it’s easy to understand why some think the “end is near.”
As this is being written, yet another hurricane struck the southern shores of Texas, Louisiana and Florida. There are other storms gathering strength off the west coast of Africa. The most recent forecast now shows 4 tropical storms in the Atlantic, each with the potential of becoming a hurricane.
There’s plenty of talk about technology in particular advancements in biochemistry and mechanical engineering that are directed to saving our planet. There can never be a one-size-fits-most strategy created from a laboratory, but we cannot rule out the scientific efforts behind such pursuits. There’s good reason to continue work on such technologies. However, we can learn a thing or two about “natural climate solutions.”
There’s a disquieting quality that follows catastrophic events: the eerie calm. It grates against my appreciation for a calm that I’m expecting, a calm based on softness, a level of assurance, inner peace and that sense of all is right in the world, even for just this moment. We appear to be experiencing less of that these days.
I’m reminded of a Judao-Christian saying, “The sin is not in failing, but in not trying.” Framed another way, there’s a lot of us carrying this sin of not trying.
Without a doubt, I am finding greater comfort being outside. From the backyard to destinations within a 2-hour drive, being outdoors is just about mandatory to keep my sense of self from being weighed down by the harsh reality festered by “insensitivities” of society as a whole.
The omnipresence of intolerance, indifference, ignorance, impropriety, apathy, hate, gratuitous violence on person and property and even more, is disheartening. Of greater significance is the increase of schadenfreude.
Enough already. Enough.
The outdoors is not my only sanctuary. I also find some relief, some comfort, some reduction of stress and disillusion through family and a handful of friends. And it’s not unusual to have some of these individuals with me on those occasions when the world is en route to hell-in-a-handbasket. Though as you might’ve gathered, I reserve the right to keep these individuals to myself. Some things are sacrosanct and will remain so. There are sound reasons for not sharing them here, and you know some of the reasons I’m sure.
But most can understand the power of the outdoors. In particular Native Americans—indeed the indigenous people of this planet who now inhabit small parcels of land that are but a shadow of times past—embody an understanding, acceptance and empathy for all that is nature, whether seen or not.
No, we haven’t lost paradise. Yet. We tempt fate, but I hope we can collectively muster the virtues and attributes we know make a difference for our future.
I’m hoping that at a different time in the future, many of the places I treasure as sanctuaries will remain “the same.”
With September upon us, there’s that sense summer is nearing its end. You wouldn’t think that on such a day as this: it’s warm, bright, a slight breeze and plenty of green just about everywhere you look.
Yet the season’s already changing. My morning start is just a little darker than what it was a month ago. Some of the maple trees are starting to turn color. Shorter days means Autumn is at its threshold.
When I need to have some distance from this maddening world, the outdoors provide a good dose of calm and reassurance. It can be more challenging in urban areas, but parks are a viable alternative. Get outside and realize the natural world accepts you as you are.
This pandemic has modified if not altogether changed, the way we mark the change in seasons. Traditionally we associate baseball as the “start” of summer, football the beginning of autumn, basketball and hockey mark winter’s arrival. But many of these traditional markers have started later than usual. As a consequence, our seasonal clocks are skewed. This has been compounded further by schools having different protocols for their first day. Is that day for virtual online learning or in person at the actual building?
The uncertainty of these times has made it very certain that the new choronovirus will be with us for a good while. Eventually—and hopefully—we will find the means to return as close to “normal” wherever possible, hopefully within next year. Figuratively, we’re running a marathon, an endurance race where—as many of you already know—demands stamina, pacing, patience and the willingness for self-sacrifice.
Our home these past 3.5 months has been a sanctuary for our daughter, two boys, a new born and our son-in-law. From quiet, predictable routines to a household filled with activities, remote schooling, and more, altogether this was a period of joyful noise and scattered stuff in, out and around the house.
The boys were constantly in motion. The desire to explore, imagine, to experiment and be inventive was nothing short of remarkable. And while the boys did their best to pick up after themselves, they were far better engaging their playfulness, their devil-may-care personas, as evidenced by the scattered clothes, toys, and more, left on the deck, out in the lawn, on the slip’n slide water game or in the breezeway. The breezeway of course is the equivalent of an “airlock” that space that serves as a buffer to the kitchen that lies beyond.
And yet, clothing, LEGO toys in various stages of disassembly, wet sneakers et al, found their way onto the runner that marks the outer circle of the kitchen.
As of this writing, the house is once again quiet, sometimes much too quiet. Just before the 4th of July holiday, they returned home, to their own spaces and routines. It is as it should be. As much as we enjoyed our time together, all good things must come to an end.
The organizing, cleaning and picking up of stuff continues. I refer to the many pieces scattered around as shrapnel. To walk barefoot across the lawn is an exercise in uncoolness. The edges of a LEGO block, a broken piece of plastic, a spoon forgotten, all became suitable reminders that wearing footware during the clean-up phase should be mandatory.
It’s true that having grandchildren can be a terrific life stage. You love them to pieces, you revisit your own escapades from the past, your marvel at how your own parents managed the rambunctiousness of our youth. Whether it’s an afternoon or 3.5 months, those kids need to return to their parents, routines, friends and all that is their life beyond ours.
In the past 2 weeks, I’ve been to the office 4-5 times. The building is eerily quiet. The predominant noise is nothing but white noise. It’s the kind of noise that can set your ears ringing because the sound is so subtle yet ever present—like that of a medical office waiting room with no one else but you sitting there. It’s a solitary existence encapsulated by sounds produced by the HVAC system.
This is all very different. The office tower and the parking garage are like ghost towns. Prior to this new reality, I’ll see people gathered around, waiting for the elevators, shuffling into one only to find that your stop is after 4 or 6 floors. It’s like the local train versus an express. Regardless of the time of day, there’s no avoiding at least one or two persons involved with an elevator: waiting, stepping in, stepping out and being closely woven in with others, some being inadvertently bumped by a briefcase, a backpack or a lunch bag.
Similarly, once inside the office, this ghostly motif persists in all the spaces. Now, there are signs reminding staff to heed the rules of social distancing and the wearing of masks. Individual office doors are closed. Open spaces have boundaries defined by 2-inch wide vinyl tape stretched across the floors as well as on the table in the common area.
The common area is perhaps the most ghostly of areas. Here on the first Friday of each month, our president would buy everyone lunch. Typically standing room once the seats were taken. It was a chance, albeit brief, to talk about life beyond business matters. It gave each of us a chance to kid around, make each other laugh, to feel, well, connected and relevant.
Like a dreamlike narrative in a Dickens or Bronte novel, what remains now is what you see. And what you hear, is the odd hum of the fluorescent lamps and the HVAC system.
Open your arms to change, but don’t let go of your values. -Dalai Lama
Modern life has been tossed into a blender of our own making. Whatever comes of that mix will be unrecognizable. It’s a blend never before seen or experienced, though to some degree, many of us hope that what pours forth is something that has meaning and value. It could be something we’ve longed for across time immemorial, and yet I’d like to think that most of us are hopeful of what’s been created.
At present, uncertainty unceasingly hovers over us, as if poised to pour change across social, educational, medical, cultural, environmental, financial and governmental policy mores. And like other things we’ve thought of and created, none of it will ever be perfect. No one can please everyone every time.
The work-in-process strategies and machinations will take some getting used to. In fact, everyone should tune-up their listening skills. As the saying goes, We have one mouth and two ears, and good listening is always important. We’ve been challenged with practices to keep the new coronavirus at bay and confronted with racism and ideological thinking and approaches that touch the far left, to the center, to the far right. A virus—whether new or old—is looking for a host regardless of your ancestry and your present location in this world. Like COVID-19, racism is a virus that must be eradicated, that and along with other –isms which undermine our empathy, our ability to tolerate, our desire to compromise and our willingness to see that, indeed, the glass is half full.
Eleven weeks has kept many of us quarantined regardless of age, fitness level and overall hierarchy, whether familial or professional. I’m still adjusting my return to work, as several safeguards are in place: my office door stays closed, open areas in the office space require a mask, wipes and hand sanitizer are located along travel routes.
All of this will take some getting used to. Like many, I miss the energy and engagement of being around people. It’s just part of being human. Though I enjoy journaling, writing letters, taking photos as such, nothing can replace a good conversation, the sight of an expression [good or bad, preferably the former] and the sounds of laughter, exclamations, even the cacophonies that make Life all the more interesting.
There are days that seem to fly by, while others feel like time has come almost to a standstill. I mention this because it doesn’t seem like 7-weeks have gone by since the new coronavirus forced us into a different way of working and living.
Manhattan Third Avenue 2007
Yet being removed almost two months from what was normal, there’s this juxtaposed sensation that it feels like forever and a day since we went about our usual routines. Time is relative, which simply means that when you’re waiting for something you want, it doesn’t come soon enough, whereas the opposite holds true for something you want nothing to do with.
I have read that the sense of smell is the strongest of our five senses in prompting a memory. It’s also—if memory serves me—the most accurate.
A quiet pause in NYC 2018. Photo credit: R.A. Centeno
Scientifically, that may hold true, but for me, sound and image are stronger drivers in resurfacing a memory. Music has a way of putting you back in a time and place with an immediacy that’s uncanny. “Wow. I remember when this song came out.” There may be some inaccuracies about say, the year or even the place, but whatever was important then, resurfaces as part of your remembering. Pieces may be foggy, but as other pieces emerge from that fog, the memory works to become a bit sharper.
Philadelphia 2018
There is a hint of nostalgia in all of this. I do wonder about the new normal and what it means not only for me, but for people I care about. I think retrospectively, of how moments in my past somehow provide a lift. The thoughts, the sensations, or whatever visceral vestige flows free from memory, are but markers of what has been, or what might’ve been.
Mimes, Hartford, CT 2015
Whether you sketch, photograph, perform, paint, sculpt, watercolor, write letters, fill a journal, fill a scrapbook, to be memory reliant means you need to be confident with your recollections. Doing any one of these activities, produces an invaluable form of connection. It’s why I love to write [journaling and letters] and to take photos [iPhone, various cameras] because these all help to anchor where I’ve been and to some degree, where I might be headed.
Family, Friends, Life-NYC 2019
Indeed, cherished memories are important for our overall wellness, but let’s remember to do things now, to remain connected yet in touch, so that such moments become screen clips thoughtfully stored in our memory albums.
Our Office: 3-weeks into the work-from-home mandate
For many of you seeing this post, the images are pretty droll. But for others, they are vignettes of time standing still. Those who work from home can identify with this temporal bookmark: a stasis of space rendered incomplete by the obvious absence of the worker that usually occupies that space.
We are a small firm, all told 29-strong. The majority of us have been working here for at least 10-years. Such employment longevity can be unusual in our current modern world, a world measured by thru-put, output, speed and running changes all in an effort to gain some competitive edge or level of differentiation in the marketplace.
I’m a department of one, whereas others have at least 2 workers in their department. My point being is that I’m only as good as the people around me. So I rely on their perspective, understanding and emotional ownership [if so prompted] of the marketing and advertising concepts, images, copy and other content that shape our brand. They are my soundboards, proofers, editors and contributors.
The spaces presented here have a functional importance, which individually and corporately, make the firm succeed. In the end though, it’s the people that define our culture, indeed all cultures. The latest technologies and operating systems are all well and good. Each of us—replete with idiosyncracies, quirks, things positive and negative—add immeasurably to our collective professional mission.
You won’t see anyone in the photos, but if you look closely enough, you may get a sense of their significance.
Carlo Centeno 