For many, the cellphone is the primary point of access to the internet. It’s how people take photos and share them, how they communicate with their friends and family, how they get directions and access their bank, how they consume media and gather news. Every year, it seems we rely on smartphones to do more.

She folded her scarf into her coat, having only wrapped it loosely around her neck in a rush to get out of the office. Not that there was anything to rush for; she knew she didn’t want to spend any more time there than she’d already wasted. She pulled her brown hair from underneath the folds of fabric, and let it fall across her fake-fur lined hood and onto her shoulders. At least it was starting to get long again.

Is there a medium out there that doesn’t assert a viewpoint, some sense of control over an image? I think this is what we value about an artist most of all. Of course, there’s plenty of other things we value about art, from their aesthetics, to the message conveyed or feeling evoked. Beyond all that, it’s the ability to capture a viewpoint, the lens through which they view the world, and even more potent, to translate that into something that can be understood by others.

With or without a camera, I walk sporadically; something my girlfriend loves to give me grief about. My steps mirror those in my head, starting in one direction, before darting across the street to get a closer look at a passing bird or the dappled light on brick. It’s just part of who I am. It’s important to me to let my feet carry me. After all, in this age, how lost can you get?

Okay, so now you know what an exposure is, and how to make one. You’re all set to take some photographs, right? Kind of! As I’ve said more than a few times now, photography is about light. More than that, photography is about decisions. There are decisions being made by you, the photographer, decisions being made by the camera, decisions being made by whatever you’re using to edit your work after you’ve taken it, etc. So how can you put yourself in control of the most of those decisions? Should you even want to?

The story goes that Mr. Carmack has a stack of CDs in his office, which he listens to front to back on a stereo. Whenever he isn’t working, say if someone comes to ask a question or he has to go to the bathroom, he pauses the CD. That’s right, in his mind, going to the bathroom is taking a break.

As I said in my previous post on the subject, photography is about light. No matter how good a composition is, or how unique the moment you’re attempting to capture is, the most important aspect is the light in the scene, and how it reflects onto your imaging plane. Light should always be in the forefront of your mind when thinking about making an exposure.

Photography is about light. More specifically, it’s about focusing light onto a surface in order to capture it, so that it can be stored or shared beyond the moment depicted. This was first done nearly two hundred years ago, using silver nitrate, in exposures that lasted hours, or even days.

I bought a new camera. Over the years I’ve been interested in photography I’ve bought and sold tons of cameras, all trying something new, trying to change my photography, my eye, the way I look at the world. In all mediums of art, that’s what we hope to get from the artist: a glimpse into their perspective, and a look at how they view their surroundings. And in meditation, we practice looking more deeply at ourselves and what’s around us.

I think my attention span is shrinking. I know it is. Just before I started writing this I got distracted browsing the web about fighting games. I read an article today at work from an author who says he can't read anymore, not like he used to, and I agree with him. I know the way my brain works is starting to shift, and I need to stop it before it becomes too late.

The fog came in like the tide, slow and unassuming. At first he thought it was just a cloud, passing the office window. Of course, it never passed. It just stood there, foreboding, as if it was the norm. As if it would never leave. He had looked down the long corridor, and saw it wash across the windows at the end, his only source of daylight, gradually blotting out the sun, until they were fully submerged.

I have a habit of waiting. It is as if I am expecting some sort of decisive moment to come, where I am suddenly willing and able to accomplish whatever it is that I am hoping to do. Even though I consciously know this to not be the case, I find myself able to subconsciously put things off until I do something else, or until tomorrow, or worst of all, until next Monday.

It had come to her out of nowhere, a butterfly of a thought that drifts past you and lands on your nose, sprinkling some scales like pollen in its wake. Scales to seeds, taking root, under the current, slipping into your subconscious until it was so ubiquitous to be original.

I think my music taste is going stale. Not necessarily that the music I’m listening to is “worse”, but I’m listening to the same things over and over. I tend to get caught in a feedback loop of just listening to the same album or artist for weeks at a time, non-stop, before becoming burned out and moving on to the Next Thing™.

I love indie games. The idea that a small team, and sometimes even a single person, can tackle and create something so vast, so beautiful, is inspiring regardless of your field or disposition towards video games. Even more amazing is when the game itself turns out to be as charming and full of wonder as Celeste is. Truly, marvelous is the best word I’ve got for it; I haven’t felt this sense of wonder in a game since perhaps FEZ.

I’m in Chicago. It’s cold here. Real cold. The first two weeks of the year were so cold, it remained below 0F for most of it. To compare, last year was nearly 50F warmer. Only now is the temperature creeping back up to freezing. My skin is dry, and in the Winter it splits and cracks like the salt flats. I spend most Winters with hands that look like I narrowly escaped a bar fight.

My mind moves at a mile a minute. I sort of think I have some undiagnosed disorder, because of how quickly my brain jumps from topic to topic. Sometimes I jumble my words because my brain has already moved on to the next sentence before I’ve finished the one I’m on.

Never had I been struck me so forcefully that my way of doing things was so wrong. So inefficient. I was stumbling around with the default keyboard shortcuts, one hand on the mouse, like a drunk bear in the woods.

When it comes time to tie that all together, or flesh out my ideas into something more solid, I freeze. These ideas blossom, bumping into one another, loose stars in orbit, but haven’t nearly as often formed constellations. It’s simply because I haven’t put in the effort to.

It happened in the middle of the night. That’s how these things go; they always sneak up on you when you’re not prepared. By the time I woke up the next morning, it was already too late. Whether I had wanted to or not, I had turned 23.