Framing the Sound

Blog

  • Some days creativity moves in straight lines. Other days it skips like a record finding its groove

    Presently, I have Photoshop open, DaVinci Resolve, YouTube, Facebook, WhatsApp — and the turntable is spinning “Is” by My Morning Jacket.

    I’m not really multitasking. I’m multi-skipping from one task to another. And I’m in no hurry to complete any of these “fun” tasks.

    I started in Photoshop on an image I made last September in Badlands National Park. Oh — and I forgot to mention — I also have a Blake Rudis course open. I’m following along with his instruction on Photoshop Channels using my Badlands image as the test subject.

    Resting my eyes from editing, I turn my attention to the video I’m working on for YouTube. What? You didn’t know I had two YouTube channels? Indeed I do: Framing The Sound and Back To The Turntable: Groove & Guitar. The video in progress is for the latter.

    Blake’s course, Channels: Beyond Luminosity Masking, is hard to describe. I think I’ll simply call it magically abstract — and you can define that however best suits your imagination.

    I don’t let any of these tasks interrupt the joy of listening to good music. Sometimes I spin a record and sit contemplatively, listening closely, feeling the music — hearing the lead guitar solo and picturing myself playing it.

    When editing photos from the four National Parks we visited last September, I’m immediately transported back to the very spot where I pressed the shutter. Feeling the scene. Watching. Waiting for that bull elk to stand.

    It eventually did.

    Multi-tasking like this may not fit your workflow. Or maybe it does. Perhaps we all multi-skip — enjoying each task and in no real hurry to complete them.


    Maybe that’s the real art — not finishing the task, but living fully inside it while the record spins.

  • By Hand or By Computer?

    I need your opinion on if I should continue listing my records the old fashioned way as pictured below, or start documenting them on my computer? And if you have a suggestion for a record I should get, please let me know!

  • When Music Finds the Memory

    Why do memories flood my mind when I listen to a particular piece of music?

    I had never owned — or even heard — anything by Cigarettes After Sex until recently. For reasons still unbeknownst to me, I picked up their album Cry. Soon after the needle touched the wax, something unexpected happened.

    Memories of a seventeen-year-old kid — a boy who knew nothing about anything — began an invasion so powerful that before I even realized what was happening, I was in tears.

    Perhaps I’m more emo than I realize.

    I suppose 69¾ trips around the sun doesn’t necessarily mean we understand our emotions any better than we did after the first seventeen. Time adds years, not always clarity.

    As I continue restocking my vinyl library, I find myself drawn to new music by bands I know nothing about. Something nudges me toward a record I’ve never heard before. I bring it home, lower the needle… and suddenly flashbacks from as far back as the ’60s begin playing in my mind.

    Genre doesn’t seem to matter.

    About an hour ago I listened to Cold Blood by Lydia Pense. Within seconds, I was back in high school in Louisville and Greensburg, Kentucky — moving to funk and blues I had never actually heard before. I still have no idea where that record came from. It’s odd how music sometimes finds me without an invitation.

    The same thing happens with present-day artists.

    The first time I heard Alyssa Hankey sing and play County Seat, I was transported to around 1973 — the year I quit school and eloped. I had promised my girlfriend I would quit and get a job if she would marry me. Neither of us had the slightest idea what we were doing.

    But we did it anyway.

    We drove across the Kentucky–Tennessee border with two of our best friends as witnesses to see a justice of the peace. I did have a license.

    It was the love that wasn’t licensed.

    Music has a way of unlocking rooms in the house of memory we didn’t even know were still there. A chord, a voice, a rhythm — and suddenly the past is not past at all. It is present, breathing, and sometimes weeping.

    Maybe that’s why I’m drawn to both sound and image.

    A photograph can freeze a moment.

    A song can resurrect one.

    And somewhere between the needle and the shutter, I keep discovering that the heart remembers more than the mind ever could.

  • Return to…

    A time long ago, when we played records so loud they shook the tiny little room my brother and I shared.

    I’d guess the year was 1979 or ’80—somewhere around there. The exact year doesn’t really matter. What matters are the memories returning to me now as I continue to restock the record library I once had back then.

    My brother has most of the records I owned, and he also has the vintage stereo receiver and turntable that used to be mine. I sold it to him shortly after I got out of the Navy. Due to some financial difficulties I’d rather not mention, my brother offered to buy my stereo system to help me out. That meant more to me than he probably knows.

    It’s been over 40 years since I last spun an album. But thankfully, I’ve returned to vinyl.

    As I search for and rediscover classic rock albums from my past, I also stumble across bands I’d never heard before and discover new music along the way. I’ll mention just one here for now: Cigarettes After Sex. That alone is an intriguing name for a band. Click the link and buy one of their records.

    If you’ve been away from records as long as I have, I urge you to begin that journey back to the turntable.

    You won’t regret it. I promise.

    The Listening Corner

  • On Waiting, Warm Weather, and the Passing of Time

    I’ve heard it practically all my life that time passes faster as you get older. January is already history, and I could swear it was only January 1 yesterday.

    In my youth, I remember having to wait for a certain time, day, or month to arrive before this or that event. Back then, it felt like years before that day finally came. Waiting for something good to happen meant everything to me and my siblings. Anticipation had weight. It stretched time.

    I mentioned in my last blog post that this year marks my 70th trip around the sun. Reaching the downhill side of life’s mountain arrived far faster than I ever imagined it would.

    We’re planning another trip this year—one or two more National Parks. This time, we’ve decided to look closer to home. I’d head west again in a heartbeat, but my wife prefers less driving time, and that’s just fine with me.

    We’re waiting for the warm months to arrive and will choose our destination before then. But this waiting for warm weather feels like it’s taking forever—almost the way it did when I was a kid.

    And that? That’s a good thing.

    A sandstone butte just outside Badlands National Park.

  • 2026

    On May 12 of this year, I’ll have completed 70 trips around the sun.

    But it only seems like…?

    I don’t make New Year’s resolutions because I can’t keep them.

    I probably could if I took them seriously. But at my age, taking things seriously—like a New Year’s resolution—has gotten a lot harder to do, and I think I know why.

    As you age, your outlook on life changes. You begin to realize you’re not going to live forever, and you can’t take anything with you when you leave. Those two hard facts are the only things I take seriously.

    Seriously though…

    My family, friends, neighbors, acquaintances, and my photography—along with my recent return to vinyl records and tape listening—are things I place great value on. But I can’t take any of them with me either when I check out.

    When the credits play, remember that they were written by me.

  • The Unknown

    That is what frightens me about dying—not death itself, but not knowing what comes after. If uncertainty is the source of fear, then the question becomes: what can ease that fear without having to die to find out?

    We cannot peer into our own deaths. Some have crossed that threshold and returned, and they often describe a similar experience: a tunnel, a radiant light, the absence of pain, and an overwhelming sense of love. Whether literal or symbolic, those accounts are strikingly consistent.

    I’ve read the Bible, and I know I should read it again—and again. I didn’t expect it to give clear answers about what lies beyond death, but it does offer glimpses, hints of what may await us. Before that, though, Scripture is clear about one thing we must endure here: suffering.

    I don’t say this as a doomsayer. I believe that if—and that is a very big if—we have the strength and faith to endure earthly suffering, we can take comfort in trusting that God knows our pain and that our fear of the unknown is ultimately unfounded.

    Let us have faith that God sees our suffering and will reward perseverance. As Hebrews 11:1 reminds us:

    “Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.”

  • Tis The Season

    I guess….

    I used to get excited when Christmastime came around. But after my kids grew up and got out on their own, Christmas seemed to lose its meaning. Now don’t go thinking that I’ve forgotten what Christmas is really about, I haven’t. I know that it’s the day Christians celebrate the birth of Jesus. And being a Christian, I understand the significance of that.

    The joy I used to feel at Christmas when my kids were little has now been replaced by a feeling of “let’s get this over with.” Call me Scrooge if you want, I’ll not get angry because I can still smile through it all. And I most certainly will try hard not to be cynical (Lord knows I’ve been down that road before!).

    I’m pretty sure that hanging around for 69 years has probably caused some of my changing attitude towards Christmas. And as far as I know, there is no cure for aging.

    Tis the season? Bah….humbug! And please don’t be offended, I’ll wake up Christmas morning feeling a lot better, I promise!

  • The Shape of Vision

    How Many Art Forms Are There?

    Probably too many to count. Painting comes immediately to mind as one of the most celebrated art forms. In fact, when I think of an artist, I picture painters like Da Vinci, Degas, Dalí, and van Gogh, among others. I never truly considered photography an art form—at least not until recently.

    I joined f.64 Elite one year ago this past June, and doing so has completely changed how I make photographs. It’s also been a journey toward finding my inner artist—both in photography and in music.

    I still struggle to define exactly what my vision is when I create a photo or compose a song. Most of the time, I don’t fully recognize my artistic vision until days, weeks, or even years after the work is made.

    It’s during the editing process that the muse speaks—directing and guiding my eyes to see, and bending my ears to listen—for the artistic vision I know is hidden somewhere within my work.

    Once I find it, I shape it into what I want you to see and hear: a subtle tone shift while playing Dm on my acoustic guitar, or a shift in hues between orange and brown in an image from Badlands National Park.

    When all’s said and done, the viewer or listener may shape their own vision when gazing at my photo or hearing my composition—and that’s as it should be. Because one artistic vision can have many interpretations, but dare I say… only one creator?

  • Between Light and Sound

    Photography and music are the two most important pursuits in my life—though calling them “hobbies” doesn’t quite do them justice. They both demand focus, creativity, and time. And while I’d love to do them simultaneously, that’s not exactly possible (though it would be pretty great if it were). Finding enough time for each is always a challenge.

    It’s been a little over a month since returning home from our Epic Journey West, and I still haven’t been out with my camera. My Martin D-28 has stayed in its case, untouched. Most of my time has gone into culling (and editing a few) photos from the four National Parks we visited. I took more than 1,700 images—many duplicates (I shot nearly 100 frames of the iconic Moulton Barn in Jackson Hole), a few out of focus, and some that just didn’t work.

    This winter, I’m hoping to finally finish the culling process and carve out some time to pick up my guitar again—maybe even do a little recording with my two sons.

    I’ve also been dedicating time to take part in Blake Rudis’s Vision Session video series. My session is the final one in a set of six and will be available for f.64 Elite members to view in December. The Vision Session series will continue into 2026, featuring more members and their creative journeys.

    I plan to share a detailed post soon about The Vision Sessions and why they matter. Consider subscribing so you won’t miss it!

    View from inside the Chapel of the Transfiguration, Teton County, Wyoming