The Dreams of a Muse

Moving Day...

noreply@blogger.com (Nyssa) — Wed, 23 Apr 2014 15:48:00 +0000

Trying to get everything SO put together for the new place, because it's going to finally be the space that's just exactly made for me. And now I am really, really hoping to win this giveaway. I can already see everyone gathered around the fire, chatting on a summer night. *fingers crossed!!*

The Great Outdoor Giveaway

Cruise musings

noreply@blogger.com (Nyssa) — Sat, 04 Jun 2011 18:40:00 +0000

So, I had intended to blog about my vacation en route, but unfortunately Carnival charges an arm and a leg for wi-fi so it didn't really work out that way. Instead, please enjoy all my random vacation thoughts jumbled up in a single post!

I have to say, my very very very favorite part of a vacation is the anticipation. I love sitting at the airport (in my quickest-slip-off shoes, overpriced latte and pre-printed boarding pass in hand) and waiting for them to call my row. That's the peak of the vacation roller coaster, when you've waited your turn, buckled yourself in, and chugged slowly up that first long rise, and all that's left is the ride stretched out before you. I actually find myself swinging my feet and bouncing in my chair like a little kid, watching planes take off out the windows.
Of course, it helps when the ride you're looking forward to is a sun-drenched week with your besties in another country...

This was the first time I've ever been on a cruise. I was a little nervous that it would be small and cramped, crowded with tourists in every corner. But even with thousands of people on board, those ships are HUGE! Once or twice we had to camp out, waiting for the really good deck chairs, but that was the worst of it. Even the dining rooms (which we visited OFTEN) always had plenty of space.
I also really liked that Carnival has an adults only space on board called Serenity Deck, where we could sit and relax with no little ones running about. There were comfy chairs, two hot tubs, and guys who would bring coconuts filled with fruity liqueur right to you. Not gonna lie, we spent more time there than anywhere else on the ship... LOL

This is me WITH a tan...

We did this whole 'Michael Scott in Jamaica' theme that week.

One of my favorite shots from the entire trip.

The first full day, we were at sea all day. We checked out the buffet, I checked out the coffee bar, and then we hit the waterslides and Serenity. That night, the ship had an 'elegant dress' night, which of course suited our aristocratic casual bunch just fine. Angie and I had been planning outfits for this trip for months, so we were pretty excited to get all dolled up for dinner.
We also went dancing at the on-ship club that night, which was probably the only room on board that didn't look vaguely like a casino. Sooo fun to shake it to loud music with my besties! Angie is a great dancer, and Will is a lucky guy. ;) Also, I have to mention that I had a moment of hometown pride at the club. A song came on that I wasn't familiar with, and everyone started doing the same dance, all at once, and all I could think was, 'Yeah, we don't line-dance in SLC.' LOL

When we weren't lounging or partying, rockstar-style, we were enjoying our touristy-but-fun shore excursions in Mexico. We had two days in port; the first in a small city called Progreso (Where we docked at an SSA port, and I was so excited I had to take a picture. Carrix Group representin', yo.), and the second in Cozumel. In Progreso, we decided to check out a Mayan ruin site called Dzibilchaltun. Probably the only thing I disliked about the cruise was how little time we had off-boat, because I would have LOVED to spend more time at Dzibilchaltun. History has always been fascinating to me, the older the story the better. Listening to our guide, Jose, brought back all these memories of the Maya units we did in school, learning about trade routes and exotic animal deities.The most famous structure at the site is a building named The Temple of the Seven Dolls.The archeologist who unearthed it found seven small statues inside, each with an intentional malformation;

a hunched back, or a missing arm for example. The archeologist, thinking these effigies represented illness and were placed there as a sort of physical prayer for health, named the building Seven Dolls. Turns out, though, that the building is an astronomical one; on the equinoxes the sun rises exactly through the windows, and the summer solstice through the door, illuminating the white road before it. The dolls, rather than symbols of weakness requiring correction, where simply representatives of the royal court. People born with what the archeologist saw as deformities, the Mayan people saw as gifts from the gods. They were special, given important roles, seen as prophets and soothsayers. Jose told us to imagine what it must have looked like to see someone whose body was shaped differently, covered in bright paints and robes of fur or feathers, ornate headdress spilling all the way to the ground, striding purposefully down the huge rock stairs of a temple to address the people on a holy day. I know I'm a big ol' nerd for being so fascinated by it, but the thought gave me goosebumps, standing there in the heat hundreds of years later.

The Temple of the Seven Dolls

The other great thing about Dzibilchaltun is the cenote. Until about a year ago, I'd never even heard of a cenote, but they are the COOLEST. It's like a grotto that goes deep into the ground, winding through tunnels in the limestone until it reaches back to the sea. Ever since seeing one, I've desperately wanted to go scuba/spelunking in one trip. The cenote we went to was kind of small, but sooo beautiful, especially in contrast to the bare, rocky surroundings. Angie and I, nerds that we are, mermaid-ed up, and took some pictures there. Still doing edit work on those, but I will share pictures later!

The next day we debarked in Cozumel. Our excursion was at a national park called Chankanaab. I say 'national park' but this place seemed more like a resort. They had scuba, snorkeling, kayaking, shows where you can swim with dolphins... It was epic. The sand was so white and soft, it was like a dream. We snorkeled, lied out on the beach, and (of course) took a few more mermaid pictures. Some of the other cruise-ers asked where we got our seashell tops, they thought we'd bought them in Mexico. :) We all agreed spending a whole week right there would make for a pretty great vacation!

Little fish swimming right over my feet.

This will EVENTUALLY be two mermaids on the beach, thanks to the wonders of Photoshop.

Our last day on the ship, we found out there wasn't a second dress-up day planned (which we had been expecting). So, other than our usual feasting and hot-tub hopping, we decided to dress up in our nice clothes and play mini-golf, just for kicks.We got a few weird looks, and a lot of catcalls, so naturally we had a blast. It also went along quite nicely with Angie's and my plan to do a second Aristocratic Casual shoot while I was visiting. I still have a bit of edit work to do on those, but I'll upload them later as well.

We are such rockstars.

We had soo much fun, some of it's blurred together in memory and I don't even remember quite when it happened. We went to a comedy club, sang karaoke (Angie did the best Cheap Trick evah!), saw a couple game shows, went to the spa (Hot stone massage, also the best ever), went shopping, and took literally a thousand pictures. Such a great vacation!! I vote we do it again next year. ;)

Happy vacation!

This is why I'm awesome

noreply@blogger.com (Nyssa) — Fri, 13 May 2011 18:26:00 +0000

Things that did not make me cry:

The Notebook (never saw it)
anything Twilight (never read/saw it)
jewelry commercials
Hallmark commericals
Taylor Swift songs

Things that did make me cry:

DC Comics Superman #75 "The Death of Superman"
EVERY time I've watched Lord of the Rings, including several at the theater
The final cut-scene from Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2
Steve Carell's last episode of "The Office"

Joyous day!

noreply@blogger.com (Nyssa) — Wed, 16 Feb 2011 03:17:00 +0000

Today, when I left work, it was still light out. It was a good day. That is all.

Happy NLASSM!

noreply@blogger.com (Nyssa) — Sat, 15 Jan 2011 05:56:00 +0000

In case you're not savvy on the lingo, it's National Learn-A-Snow-Sport Month! Since snow sports are about the best thing Utah has to offer, all sorts of local places are bribing newbies with deals too sweet to skip. I've been dying to really learn to snowboard since probably junior high. To that end, I'll be setting out to Snowbird tomorrow afternoon for an introduction to the slopes. I've actually taken a snowboarding class once before, last winter... But I have a feeling tomorrow's instructor will believe I've never been without a question. :)
Still, I'm looking forward to being good enough to actually use my own snowboard someday...

If anyone else is looking to hop on the NLASSM band-wagon, check out learnasnowsport.org for all the info.

Christmas Pterodactyl!

noreply@blogger.com (Nyssa) — Fri, 24 Dec 2010 04:16:00 +0000

To begin, if you don't watch Community, my title will make no sense whatsoever. Also, shame on you, it's the best thing on t.v. Watch it. Seriously. Right now.

Anyway, my point is not actually Christmas Pterodactyl!. I've been thinking about ritual a lot lately. For as much as I've always been a bit of a non-conformist, I have to admit there's a deep-seated yearning in me for all the nerdy traditional stuff... Singing carols, going sledding, spending all day baking cookies with family, that sort of thing. But it doesn't come easy to me. As a non-christian, non-pagan, there's no spiritual history. I don't have a thick cultural influence with a wealth of time-honored tradition to pull from. And without kids of my own yet, I feel a little silly trying to make a big deal out of kitschy holiday things. So how do I decide what's important without getting burned out until I just quit the whole thing all together?

Which brings me back to Community. I love Abed's Christmas revelation: 'The meaning of Christmas is the idea that Christmas has meaning. And it can mean whatever we want.' Simple enough statement, but it sums it right up for me.

So, back to this year. I bought a new Christmas tree, one so effort-free that even my lazy ass can't procrastinate putting it up. I hung garland and stockings and decorated over the t.v. That's the extent of my domestic effort. And it's perfect.

I also got to test drive some new family events (snacking on Christmas cookies made with Chris and her family as I type) which has me looking forward to the things I might make important 'someday'. Things from my childhood, like home-made pajamas to open on Christmas Eve, and things that just seem worth it in my mind, like a fresh-cut fir filling the house with pine scent.

And as for right now, tomorrow I'm going to get a delicious coffee house latte, make waffles, open Christmas presents with Kitsu (Yes, I bought presents for my dog. It's ironic. Don't judge me.), and then I'm going to pop open a bottle of Martinelli's and play Xbox until it's time to leave for my mom's. That last part is weird, I know... Non-conformist and all. But I like it.

Ghost Hunting 101

noreply@blogger.com (Nyssa) — Fri, 20 Aug 2010 03:10:00 +0000

A few months ago, I enrolled in a ghost hunting class through the local education district.

The first class I attended was an introduction to the subject. The instructor was a member of a local paranormal research team, who shared a whole slew of deliciously creepy photographs and EVP recordings from his previous excursions. My super-skeptic brain had no trouble explaining each one logically, but I enjoyed the goosebumps they raised on my arms nonetheless.

After that, we took our cameras and recorders to explore Capitol Theatre. After a bit of a history lesson, we were set loose to record whatever paranormal activity we could find.

For the next hour or so, I meandered contentedly along the darkened hallways of the theatre, camera in hand, snapping pictures of any spot that seemed like it might be ghost-prone. To be honest, my artistic tendencies probably took over any paranormal sense I might possess; I took a lot of ill-lit shots from dramatic angles, pictures that would undoubtedly look just right with a ghostly figure in the frame...

...and at the end of the day, not a ghost to be found.
Although I had expected exactly the results I got (super-skeptic and all) , I was disappointed. So much so, that I didn't even attend the last investigation. I felt like a little black raincloud, fogging up all the paranormal energy with my disbeliever-ism.
I have to say, though, it's not that I believe ghosts DON'T exist. I just don't necessarily believe that they do. I'm one of those types who wants proof, proof that unfortunately didn't coalesce at Capitol Theatre.
But maybe next time...

The Birthday Dinner

noreply@blogger.com (Nyssa) — Mon, 26 Apr 2010 06:33:00 +0000

So tonight, family dinner was my birthday dinner. I was really excited because my step-mom was making delicious fish tacos for dinner, and then we were going to have cake and ice cream, plus s'mores toasted over the fire-pit in the backyard. (I <3 s'mores. I <3 them so much.)
As we were sitting in the kitchen before dinner, Chris suggested I open my birthday present, which was weirdly heavy and sounded like sand when I shook it. (My dad is notorious for doing wacky things with presents, so I figured he'd filled a box with sand and put a present inside.) Anyway, I opened it up, and drumroll please...! It was a box of dishwasher detergent. Now if you happen to be up on my current events, you know this is a REALLY weird present, as my dishwasher broke some time ago, and fixing it is on the very bottom of my to-do list. I gave my dad a bit of a quizzical look, but before I could ask what the deal was, he said it was for my new dishwasher.
I must have still looked confused, and at this point my brother Tony jumped in. Apparently, he and my dad got into my house on Friday while I was at work and replaced my old dishwasher with a MUCH nicer edition, only a couple years old with twice as many features as the one I'd had. They did this on Friday. FRIDAY.
I hadn't even noticed.

At this point, everyone could tell that I had no idea what my dad and Tony were talking about, and I got deservedly teased quite a bit. But honestly, I didn't feel so bad about not noticing the new dishwasher. (After all, why would I pay any attention to a broken appliance? It's not like I randomly load it every few days just to see if it magically works again.) I couldn't help feeling guilty, though, about how epically AWESOME my dad is. I have been a little bummed out this weekend, like my birthday wasn't important (Which normally doesn't bother me at all... I don't know why this year was different.). And then I find out I have been walking past this amazing gesture all weekend, and didn't even notice. Not to mention the sushi dinner on Wednesday and s'mores over an open fire... I really, really <3 s'mores.

I guess the moral of my crazy story is just that my dad is pretty much the best. I don't feel like I even deserve all the help he gives me. But if I try to tell him that, he always tells me he's proud of me anyway... And I know he means it. That's actually better than a dishwasher any day.

I love snowboarding

noreply@blogger.com (Nyssa) — Tue, 16 Mar 2010 01:08:00 +0000

On a related note, I SUCK at snowboarding. :)

It's funny, though... I didn't intentionally make any New Year's Resolutions this January 1st, but I did take stock of things at the end of last year and I was disturbed by how little I experienced in twelve whole months of living. And so I recently have been trying to take every opportunity that comes along, no excuses. I am half-way through SCUBA certification. I took a snowboarding lesson yesterday (and my whole body is still aching as I type this...). I am doing a Ghosthunters class, for which I am nerdily, gleefully excited. My requisite flashlight has already been double-checked for battery power and put in my purse. It's only half-way through March, and I am exhausted. I feel better already.

Alice in Wonderland Review

noreply@blogger.com (Nyssa) — Sun, 07 Mar 2010 07:09:00 +0000

Costumes- Want. Want want want want.

'Sets'- Perfectly Carrol-ian. Want want want.

Helena Bonham Carter- quirktastic, laugh-out-loud expressive

Anne Hathaway- dainty and darling, a perfect caricature

Johnny Depp- He's Johnny f***ing Depp. I want him, even with the orange wig on. Endearing, heroic, and quite, quite mad.

Mia Wakikowska (Grown-up Alice)- Dewy and lovely, a bit wooden but she blooms towards the end

Mairi Ella Challen (Young Alice)- Darling!! Want want want a darling little Burton-esque daughter someday.

Alice in Wonderland, almost perfect overall. They wove a few pieces of Carrol's work seamlessly together, displayed it in the most GORGEOUS computer rendered settings possible, added Burton's go-to cast of faces (and voices), and left with a simple, sweet moral for the someday-daughter who will someday watch this movie with me: You are enough all on your own, as long as you choose to be so; live your life unfettered by other's expectations; believe in your imagination, but don't cling to delusions that hold you in the past; and, of course, try to dream six impossible things before breakfast each day.

Shutter Island Review

noreply@blogger.com (Nyssa) — Mon, 22 Feb 2010 06:09:00 +0000

I love going to the movies. There's just nothing like settling into a cushy movie theater seat with a giant over-priced coke as the lights go down, and being absorbed by whatever story is being presented on the giant screen. Part of the fun though is all the litte asides you share, the discussion with friends; and I unfortunately have reached the point where I have zero contacts in my phone I can call late on a saturday and say 'hey, wanna go catch a movie?' So when I saw Shutter Island tonight, I felt a little bit gypped, muted even, though I liked the movie quite a bit. Therefore, I am un-muting myself via this bloggy movie experience review. Enjoy!

Previews- Green Zone looks good. Wall Street looks good. The Sorcerer's Apprentice looks so tragic that I giggle every time I see the preview. Dear Nicolas Cage, you look like a hobo.

People who bring children into a movie should be immediately removed. (Sorry to any of you who do that, but SERIOUSLY. Rent it when it comes out, it's rude to make the rest of us pay eight bucks to listen to your kid cry so you could have date night without springing for a sitter.) People who bring children in to a violent, graphic, disturbing R RATED movie should be drawn and freaking quartered.

I have serial wanderlust. As the movie is starting, the screen is filled completely with a forboding, cliff bordered island which houses the mental institution, and my first thought is, 'Ooh, I wonder where that is... I'd love to go there.'

Leonardo DiCaprio can't pronounce the word 'escape'. Dear Leo, there's no x in that word. Other than that, you are AWESOME.

Dear music director: Are you, by any chance, related to the music director for The Lovely Bones? Because you both have a very similar style, I believe it's called 'heinous overkill'. DUN DUN DUNNNNN! Seriously, you suck.

Being institutionalized would be pretty much the worst thing ever. I would rather get thrown off a bridge than be in the situation of any of the people in that film.

Mark Ruffalo is darling.

I love old cemetaries. Directors use them to be creepy, but I love them and it gives the scene the wrong vibe.

Shutter Island is quite well done and I would highly recommend it, UNLESS you are easily disturbed. It's a little violent and a LOT weird. Artistic and mind-twisty (although it's predictable) and WEIRD.

On the way home, I nearly got side swiped by two separate suspiciously weave-y cars. One was a taxi... Ironic! The end. (Love, Tanya)

The Year in Between

noreply@blogger.com (Nyssa) — Fri, 29 Jan 2010 08:38:00 +0000

It's weird how the little things can make a difference. I have been having a CRAZY long week, very busy and very tiring and very stressful. It's left me in a blah mood recently. But today in the mail, I got the calendar I worked up of random shots from '09 (in lieu of an SMG calendar... RIP, awesome photo project).

After showing it around (because I am a narcissist), I hung it on the wall and got back to the billionty things I had to do. But every few minutes, I would find myself glancing at the New Year's Masquerade collage I picked for January. And those familiar faces, done up all pretty and aesthetically arranged, made me happy. No less stressed or tired, but it literally brightened my day every time I looked up.

This is point one.

A few days ago, my talented friend Angie started her own blog. I highly recommend you check it out, but in the meantime I want to quote a part of it-

A "belief window" is basically an invisible "window" hanging in front of a person's face and through which he or she perceives the world. Each person's window contains written statements of their own beliefs, and those statements are created by that person's own experiences. For example, if I had been bitten by a dog when I was small, the words "dogs are dangerous" would be written in my window, and I would view all dogs through it. Whether or not the statement is true doesn't matter...

When I read that, I had an actual flash of inspiration. I should mention that I always have a photo or three floating around in my head; but this idea was different. I felt compelled to photograph Angie through that 'window', and instantly knew just how I wanted it to look. Not only that, I instantly knew why I wanted to create that picture. It wouldn't be the first time I've photographed something intentionally emotional, honest, maybe even painful. The last such project was hard on me, and although I still get a pang of nerves every time someone sees them, I'm proud of the non-traditionally beautiful results. It was cathartic.

And that's point two.

Thus ends my official hiatus of my un-official obsession. Not only am I planning a way to get to Houston and photograph Angie and her window, I'm working on a personality-specific version for some of myself as well. Other ideas continue to pile up in my head of course, but I want to do this one project first. I think a little open expression is probably just what I've been craving. But after that, who knows? I'll need another whole years' worth of perfect shots, once 2011 rolls around... If only to liven up my desk when I have two mondays in a row.

P.S. Special thanks to my wonderfully eccentric friend who took the quirky New Year's shots used above. Love ya, Raighe!

Slightly unscheduled

noreply@blogger.com (Nyssa) — Tue, 12 Jan 2010 01:09:00 +0000

I remember when I was a kid, I could make things happen just by wishing. This isn't some weird half-memory of something that happened once when I was little, this is an actual fact. When I really wished for something at the very bottom of my heart, it would come to me. I remember eight inches of snow falling in one night, closing all the schools, when I had an unfinished book report due the next day. I remember envisioning choosing the 'queen' card when my eighth grade english class was doing a mock royal court for our Shakespeare unit; and then I walked into class and it happened just the way I'd wanted. (I probably should have imagined a bit longer on that one; it turned into a humiliation, but that's another story.) I remember dreaming a perfect day, and then waking up to it, piece after piece just as I'd expected. I thought I was a super-hero.
I still daydream. All the time, if I'm being completely honest. But I haven't had a dream, a thought, even an inkling, effervesce into existence in years. I don't like to think about why, but every once in a while something outside brings it all to the surface and I have to acknowledge the thought: I don't long for anything anymore. All my dreams, all my wants, all my hopes are half-way.

Sometimes I feel like I want a really normal life. Soccer mom/trophy wife with a white picket fence, two kids, a dog and all that. But I can't wish for it.  The idea of a life defined by permanence and dependance on someone else stirs up the knee-jerk desire to rebel that I lived on as a teenager. I rail against even the idea, in my own daydreams. No matter how much I would like to be loved and love simply, I can't really give my whole self up to it.
On the far other end of the spectrum, sometimes I want to sell my house and everything in it, quit my steady 9-to-5-with-benefits, and move to somewhere I've never been.  I don't know what I'd do there. It wouldn't really matter. (I'd like to say I would be a philanthropist, saving the world one child at a time like a rather inspring acquaintance of mine, but that isn't honestly me. I think I would be more selfish, and create, and maybe if I was lucky my creation would matter to someone.) But I can't wish for that either. I've tried this route.  Though I wouldn't trade my time living in China for anything in the world, I don't think I could do it again. It was wonderful, but torturous and trying. I remember it proudly, rather than fondly. And so I can't visualize the pieces falling in to place to try that route again.

So instead, I zig zag through my own existence, reaching for one goal and then another without any certainty I'll want them once attained. Time speeds by. And sometimes I just can't remember what the point of life is. And so, every so often, I have to boil it all down to bones and figure it out all over again.
(And I have to make a sidenote here. I don't mean to offend, but the answers I grew up with for this eternal human question simply don't work for me. I don't see my life as a test. And because no two people are the same, no two lives are the same, and therefore no two end-goals should really be the same. Simply to 'be good and have a family' is not the answer for everyone. Besides, I am good, and I will someday have a family. It's still not enough of an answer for me.)

So I remind myself: Experiences matter. The days that you remember because they were wonderful, when you were sublimely content and everything ahead was clear for a bit. The days you remember because they were awful, because life ground you into the dirt and expected you to give, and you didn't. The stories you can tell once you're through.
Passion matters. Anything that makes you happy or angry or inspired enough to scream it from the rooftops. Anything that makes you want to strive harder. Everything that makes you love.
Interaction matters. All the little things that pass from one person to another; a glance, a touch, a confidence. On a more basic level, the contact of two bodies.
Things that do not matter:
money (except where it can be used to surround yourself with the people who bring you happiness, or create the situations which will force growth and make memories)
  the judgement or expectations of others
fear (except when it drives you to overcome)

It's funny, but after I re-order these things in my head, I feel calm. It doesn't make my future any easier to discern. I won't wish for any certain thing with the single-mindedness I had as a kid. I know I will still scramble after a million different goals, trying to cram a dozen endings into my one simple life. And I know that there will be inevitable regret at the end, that I didn't have time for it all. But I suppose that is my ultimate goal: to live so that, when I die, my only regret is leaving so soon.

That is the question...

noreply@blogger.com (Nyssa) — Thu, 31 Dec 2009 05:19:00 +0000

I have a dilemna. (Maybe not the best way to start... But oh well, there it is.) There are a few things in life that are unexplainable, undeniable joys for me. I love to sit around a fire telling ghost stories. I love to plan elaborately detailed trips with friends. I love to surround myself in mind-blanking flashing lights and loud music. I love death-defying amusements and cotton candy. And I love love LOVE to take pictures. So far, that probably doesn't sound like a dilemna. But here's the catch: lately, photography is making me MISERABLE.
The last few projects I've put time into have bombed. Big time. I never got payment on the last family portraits I did, because the client said she wasn't happy with how they had turned out. (This happened three weeks after I had already turned the photos over to her...) Worse than that, though, the Ladies of the SMG Calendar, which put out two spectacular years, is officially and irreparably dead. That particular project was so large scale that it easily consumed all my extra creative energy, plus it gave me a reason to collaborate with some of my best friends on a regular basis. But now? Gone. *poof*
Now, not all of this bombing is my fault. In fact, I think it's kind of a small portion of blame on my shoulders. But I still feel every last failure breathing down my neck whenever I pick up a camera. The fact that they weren't my fault doesn't even console me much... After all, how do I fix something I didn't do in the first place? And so I am starting to feel very responsible for all this fail, but totally helpless to make it less of a fail.
There are some sensible, logical solutions to this and I know people will point them out to me here. Practice makes perfect! You have to spend money to make money! While this is sound advice and all, it doesn't really help. Yes, investing more time and money into this hobby and pseudo-profession would undoubtedly make things run more smoothly, over the long run. But how much time can you devote to something that is making you crazy? How much money do you spend to fuel it? At this point, I haven't lumped a ton of funds into this odd little passion. (Other than the chunk of change I spent on a darkroom... Which is more or less useless these days, even if I stick with photography. Who shoots film anymore? I prefer it, to be honest, and would glee-out to have a medium format camera of my very own, to shoot real negatives with... But it isn't practical.) But if I were to continue on, I would eventually have to upgrade a lot of equipment. I need new lights, a better camera, a real studioooooo... Not to mention the money and time I put into costumes, sets, props. (Although if I'm honest, that's probably happening either way. After all, putting together an outfit is another love of mine...)
I guess when you boil it down, all of this is just a lot of rambling which could probably be summed up in a fairly simple question. How long do you let something that makes you happy, make you unhappy before you have to let it go?