tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-168132502024-10-24T16:34:32.771-07:00Creative Interpretations of LifeAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10135860543493983236noreply@blogger.comBlogger57125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16813250.post-36961219300818292642012-11-02T18:29:00.000-07:002012-11-03T08:52:19.307-07:00

As a creative writing major at the University of Montana I discovered an important part of my voice. Writing allowed me to sit with my thoughts and articulate a type of truth only uncovered by a slow and thorough reflection and exploration. I started this blog in college. It is filled with my earlier photography, essay, poetry and lyrical prose Some of it good, some of it not so good. It is

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10135860543493983236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16813250.post-71135363782432780442011-06-13T12:15:00.000-07:002011-06-13T12:15:49.777-07:00

A long time ago...                 I moved him from my bedroom closet         to his current home                 He likes it there better                 There’s more room to thrash

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10135860543493983236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16813250.post-32747338753913877062010-08-04T12:43:00.000-07:002010-08-04T16:25:09.675-07:00

The Hawthorn Bridge turns 100 this year and, as a part of the Portland Bridge Festival, I thought I'd share my experience of the bridge. The span lifts! (photo copyright 2010 Aaron Schultz) Part 2 (Part 1 is on my photography blog and is more photo, less lyrical essay) Stepping onto the Hawthorn Bridge a subtle new reality slowly takes over my awareness. I smell a sentient mix of metal and

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10135860543493983236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16813250.post-13706229329318067422009-12-01T11:57:00.000-08:002009-12-01T12:04:12.549-08:00

Does a dog know the difference between awake and dream? My lady and I crawl into bed, turn on reading lamps and open our reading. Once Winter, my dog, is sure we have settled in for the night, she comes up stairs. The floor creaks loudly as she walks down the hall and into our bedroom. The loud creaking makes Winter sound ten times her size, like a giant guardian coming in to protect our

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10135860543493983236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16813250.post-24525248490878206632009-11-22T14:33:00.004-08:002009-11-22T14:44:30.059-08:00

(This photo and accompanying poem were published by the Bozeman Tributary in October '08) Holes in Buckets and Barrels By Aaron Schultz Traditionalists say Barrels are more important than buckets Post industrial versions of fig leaves Hiding nakedness Like graffiti on a wall or train Modern version of pictographs Telling the story of our culture Non-traditionalists say A bucket or a

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10135860543493983236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16813250.post-80999571331539887232009-10-30T16:51:00.000-07:002009-10-30T16:52:10.047-07:00

My coffee cup sits on a napkin on a table.A coat of dried coffee,Shaped like the United States,Hangs on the side of the cup.Earlier in the day,I had knocked my cup,As it rocked back and fourth,It sloshed coffee over the rim and onto the table.“Can I have towel, please. I spilled my coffee.”Then I ate a cream-filled,Chocolate-covered donutAnd checked my email.

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10135860543493983236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16813250.post-9195620410441127582009-10-22T15:08:00.013-07:002009-10-23T11:15:14.556-07:00

Same Trip - Different Worlds (Part 1 of 3)Being new to the area we enjoy exploring. Last week we drove towards the coast to hike an old inactive volcano and see the ocean. Jen usually drives because she gets car sick as a passenger (I swear it has nothing to do with my driving). I navigate and play I-pod DJ. Winter, my dog, sticks her head out the window and reads her own version of a map (I'll

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10135860543493983236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16813250.post-8625246894752828132009-10-17T16:17:00.004-07:002009-10-18T09:16:58.227-07:00

It seems… not quit real yet.Everyday we consciously navigate our way through unfamiliar terrain. The effort needed to move effectively burns extra calories. For a place to feel like home I guess it takes routine and comfort generated by familiarity. It takes an ability to move through ones surroundings half aware of them.There also needs to be some type of connection with an area’s theme or

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10135860543493983236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16813250.post-1248415136352997982009-08-07T19:30:00.003-07:002009-08-07T19:50:27.484-07:00

Here's a few shots from a recent photo shoot I did with Kate Howe for her sponsors.To see the whole shoot go here.

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10135860543493983236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16813250.post-8762734486413192492009-07-14T14:31:00.002-07:002009-07-14T17:51:45.094-07:00

Here's a link to an essay I wrote for Outside Bozeman's Blog.Thanks for checking it out!

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10135860543493983236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16813250.post-21153808903631475392009-07-11T09:56:00.009-07:002009-07-11T12:09:28.177-07:00

(This post is a reply to a Facebook comment by my friend Marc - about my previous post, "Giving Work Away for Free" (see comments on previous post). Marc is an exceptional artist who is always pushing all of art's boundaries - creation, exhibition, distribution and philosophy.He also understands that there is a paradigm shift happening in the art world and that discussion is invaluable if we are

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10135860543493983236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16813250.post-72029103161731773072009-06-29T15:27:00.004-07:002009-06-29T15:41:01.014-07:00

We’ve all heard the snotty guy comment about art saying, “that’s art!? I could do that.” Same goes for writing. A lot of people think it’s easy to crank out a novel, article, short story or even a haiku.So, why don’t you? Why don’t you spend the time and creative energy in the evenings after your full time job? No, got something better to do? How about Saturdays or Sundays then?Why doesn't

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10135860543493983236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16813250.post-85459440002071785182009-04-14T09:26:00.006-07:002009-04-14T10:17:07.255-07:00

"It starts as an itch where the spine meets the skull, seeping into Freudian slips and throwing a stick into the spinning spokes of the endless internal monologue. This itch can be overrun by fear of survival, by armies of breeders forever marching forward, afraid of the battles ahead and too dumb to question the Caesar looking over their backs from the clock tower.But, if allowed to squirts

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10135860543493983236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16813250.post-41924246823401561352008-06-22T18:37:00.003-07:002008-07-17T14:01:49.183-07:00

Sitting SamuraiOriginally uploaded by A Schultz.(This poem is the rough draft - please check back for edits)(7/17/08 - here's the second edit) “Come here and listen my sonThe samurai sits,asleep in his thoughtsbut awake in his movements through the clouds his reflections an open window to a world where his brother is aliveThe brother waits,floating in his own world of clouds and blue skyBut

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10135860543493983236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16813250.post-82290998066425385622008-05-25T11:40:00.003-07:002008-05-25T14:46:25.498-07:00

"Mornin’"one drop, a cousinatomized by window paneclock says five a.m.beans spin into dustscent steams from pressed hot waterwet dog waits at doorfoundation of breadsometimes ham, sometimes jellylunchbox sits by doorpaved capillariesmove us towards the heart of the daya path through the rain“Mornin’ George.” “Mornin’.”dropping “good” builds less concerntool belts

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10135860543493983236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16813250.post-84362720825014195932008-04-27T18:12:00.008-07:002008-05-06T20:26:03.380-07:00

You hold my face with your handsYour dark chocolate eyes steam in perfect temperatureBut swirl slowly in a worryI had stirred up by seeing you againA worrythat I’d kiss you before you were readyYour face moves closerYour dark curls slidepast your cheeks towards minecurtains shutting out the worldYour hands guide my lips towards yoursThe moment before we kissyour eyes shift from soft worryto

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10135860543493983236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16813250.post-87600235560432271722008-04-06T12:04:00.001-07:002008-04-06T12:13:26.997-07:00

I hear a flushing sound. Louder and longer than the sound a toilet makes. A breeze kisses my face for an instant, then I’m falling, sliding, the rib-like welds of a giant tube rush past me faster and faster. I want to panic but I knew this moment was coming. I still exhale short squeal, like a little girl who just spotted a spider.The giant tube chucks me out, into a giant field where I do three

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10135860543493983236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16813250.post-69035136321834203782008-03-04T14:31:00.008-08:002008-03-04T22:03:04.448-08:00

Ingredients1 ended relationship1 chest with sad heart1 broken Bronco clutch2 parts unemployment1 pouch Bali Shaq107 tears9 variations of same swearword24 pack PBR15 restless nights11 uncomfortable phone calls15 gallons of debt2 aching knees1 country song on 8-track59 shades of angst1 upset stomach with a side of heart burn101 ways of self-examination345 college memories2 good friends1 snowboard1

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10135860543493983236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16813250.post-2299315362255020392007-12-27T20:06:00.000-08:002007-12-27T20:27:46.645-08:00

(written for College and Beyond blog on 11/8/07)One morning during the first week of the semester I woke up. We all do it. It’s morning and that’s what most productive members of society do. But, it was 5 am. I stared at my alarm clock and willed it to be 7:30. The clock flipped to 5:01. I rolled over a few times and looked again. 5:02. I began to not only count sheep but also give them names - “

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10135860543493983236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16813250.post-11857186968931518432007-03-10T13:37:00.001-08:002007-03-10T13:37:33.031-08:00

Keep Your Southside Originally uploaded by A Schultz.I've seen fights, drug deals, drinking parties, Native American chants, little kids on training wheels, bums enjoying the sights, business men and women on bikes, dogs walking themselves, sunsets, storms... all on or from this bridge. (Copyright 2006 Aaron Schultz)

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10135860543493983236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16813250.post-17049114163342997042007-02-27T20:02:00.001-08:002008-03-15T08:54:58.440-07:00

Thoughts and impressions siton my lips;a white painful blister that’ll never pop,giving satisfaction like a zit,but only turn into a gothic sore.A disappointment.I roll my tongue over theextravagant epiphanythat has manifested as a scabby, deformedversion of the golden eternal inspiration.This isn't the garden of Eden I walkedbarefoot through in my imagination…Instead, I duck my head and wear

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10135860543493983236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16813250.post-51734312218078715022007-02-10T23:16:00.001-08:002007-02-10T23:15:49.592-08:00

A Foreshadow? Originally uploaded by A Schultz.A friend and I got to Snowbowl at 9:30 last Monday. The sun was out and there wasn't any wind. Blue bird, warm - it smelled like march 25th. By the time we left at noon my waxless base resisted every turn and something flaked a chunk off my top sheet b/c of the odd coverage.I have never noticed the Maclay project from Snowbowl until I looked at this

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10135860543493983236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16813250.post-46195657727970201032006-12-20T00:49:00.001-08:002006-12-20T00:49:47.126-08:00

Ghost Train Originally uploaded by A Schultz.slides out of Glacier and onto the Front,stopping occasionally, dropping college kids with new styles in old townsmom smiles and hugs, saving a comment for laterwhile little brother drops a spot in the pecking order…

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10135860543493983236noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16813250.post-54330268173128751042006-12-19T23:24:00.001-08:002006-12-19T23:26:24.407-08:00

One Season Stretches Into Another(Originally uploaded by A Schultz.) as one year blends into the next. Every year I ask, “If I could freeze my aging what age would it be?” And, I always answer, “well... maybe this age. It was so full of enlightenment.”My dog is 4 and her hips are already bothering her. I'm 31 - my joints ache with passing low pressure and the crows feet and bald spot

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10135860543493983236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16813250.post-1161200238973378222006-10-18T12:27:00.000-07:002006-10-18T12:37:18.996-07:00

First DayI close the door to my truck and walk towards the office. Dogs bark and yelp, some jumping up and putting their front paws on the chain link fence dividing the kennels from the walkway. In the last kennel two puppies wrestle around, biting each other mercilessly on the ears and neck. The three of us pause for a moment and look at each other. They have identical brindle coats, except one

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10135860543493983236noreply@blogger.com1