040725. Monday. NYC. Rain.

Notes from Monday.

The weather has been beyond demoralizing to me. It’s made me — very insignificantly — feel like the 365 Days of Photography project could become a burden. I don’t think I ever fully realized how much pressure the weather can place on my creativity.

I know of seasonal depression, and since our first get-together, I’ve always dared to call her my biggest enemy. During the winter-spring gray area of 2021, my first battle against desaturated days, infinite puddles, and endless raindrops took place in a horrid and very lonely dorm room. The outcome: I lost an unhealthy amount of weight, a fair bit of hair, and my interest in architecture took a hit. Creativity, however, was the thing that kept me standing — and since then, I took for granted that it would be my shield and protector forever.

Today was the first time in a while — or perhaps in my life — where creativity started to feel absent. I take a lot of pictures, write a lot of things, draw a lot of subjects, and sing a lot of songs; I like to make things. I’ve always been grateful that the things I dedicate my creativity to are so different from each other — it gives me a range of doors to knock on when I need to reconnect.

But this time, when I went looking for a door, I found a ghost town.

I stood there for a while, wondering if maybe this is part of the process too — the silence, the waiting, the doubt.
Maybe tomorrow, one of the doors will swing open again. For now I sleep with a deep concern.

040825. Tuesday. Brooklyn. Rain.

Notes from Tuesday.

After a horrid night, I decided that perhaps I needed to respect Creativity’s boundaries — for a day, at least. So i told myself to take one picture, not because it was ingenious, interesting or artistical, but solely because I, ZAMIR, felt like it.

I jokingly asked The Mighty Council of Enlighted Creativity for a sign, but expected no real response.

While I was on my way to a job-related meeting, the man from today’s photo stepped onto the train — and, as you can see, he was quite literally carrying a sign.

“This is hilarious,” I thought. A literal man with a sign was what I was drawn to. “I have to take the picture.”

The moment got a smile out of me and I really did not think much of the picture. Shortly after, I slipped back into my usual vicious circle.

I noticed the man was mumbling some kind of prayer or internal monologue, and in an effort to quiet my mind, I eavesdropped. At first, his words made no real sense to me, but the longer I listened, the more I started to feel like maybe this was a man with a sign.

In between his fragmented phrases, I caught something along the lines of:
“Create when needed, not seeked.”

It took me by surprise. But somehow, it lifted a weight off my shoulders — it gave me permission to seek out moments to share with creativity, instead of desperately trying to get creativity to open its doors.

Later that day, I stumbled into one of the most fulfilling conversations about being a creative that I’ve had in the past year or two. And just like I had hoped, it was a moment shared with a creative and with creativity — one that came not because I forced it, but because I subconsciously stopped knocking.

040925. Wednesday. Home. Experiments.

Notes from Wednesday.

Another day of horrible weather. Felt awful stepping outside.

Used my afternoon to play a little with the camera, it’s settings, orientation and even tried to make laundry day an artistic studio set.

I had fun taking these. I however hate getting my portrait taken.

I feel hopeful. No further notes.

041025. Thursday. NYC. Matt Black on his books.

Notes from Thursday.

Life really made sure I didn’t stray far from encountering creativity this week.

I was signed up by a third party to attend a talk with photographer Matt Black. Because of the time I arrived — and the fact that I was solo — I was seated right in front of him. I know he was there to speak to a collective, but the proximity, the eye contact with both him and the interviewer, made it feel like it was just the three of us. (Super selfish, I know.)

Matt’s words moved me. His approach to artistic creation — so chill, so humane — made me feel better, more reassured about who I am as an artist. When he began speaking about the things that had moved him to work on his projects (American Geography and American Artifacts), chills ran down my spine. I couldn’t believe how much I could relate.

I asked him a question which, I’m sure, sounded confusing to most of the audience — I don’t blame them. I word things awkwardly sometimes. But Matt’s grin and the way he looked me directly in the eyes told me he understood what I meant. That small exchange became the creative push I’d been looking for all month.

After the talk, Matt took time to answer more of our questions. Out of interest — I hope — he asked if I liked photography. I fearfully shared a little bit about this project, and to my surprise, he responded with genuine support and a very kind smile. He signed my book, we shook hands, and I left.

041125. Friday. NYC. Rain.

Notes from Friday.

Once again, an awfully rainy day. I don’t feel like writing much however, here is my entry of the day.

Ground Central Station came in clutch by looking so scenic, textural and filled with secrets.

I saw a piece of stone in the north entrance to the station and it moved me so much I started what felt like a treasure hunt for very sensory and unique to GCS.

Right before I decided It was time to go home, I stumbled across some human-centric moments I felt happy photographing.

041225. Saturday. NYC. Passover at Julia & Yanai’s.

Notes from Saturday.

As always, I do not write of Weekends, however I want to take today’s entry to thank Yanai and Julia for having me be part of their beautiful and quite cheerful Passover celebration. Thank you!

041325. Sunday. White Plains. Reptile Expo.

Notes from Sunday.

No writing on Sunday but i did however start drafting out some lyrics.