Much like the netherworld and varicolored crews that have called the Oceanside pier home over the last half century, this image has weathered generations of iterations all its own.

In the seventies the pier bowl was a scary place to visit after dark. It’s no doubt a lot safer now, but lugging camera gear and a skull full of memories across those dark and misty stretches still gives me pause. The ocean can be unforgiving, and this is no place to drop your guard on her account either. Especially in the dark, the fog and under siege of surging storm surf. It doesn’t take long to settle into the rad vibe of the place though, although you’re never entirely off your guard, if you’ve any wits about you.

One trick you learn through experience is that there exists a fine line, a slim margin of error measured in minutes, between the retreating darkness and the rising sun. It must be dark enough for the pier lights to stay on, but light enough to capture detail under the pier itself and into the deep shadows of the rocks protecting the lifeguard headquarters on the left. And, on the rare occasion, an early-rising lifeguard may even have the office lights on emitting a dull glow from the otherwise cloak-and-dagger structure.

There are a number of interesting micro-cultures that have taken shape around surfing. And pier rats are some of the most fascinating. Surfing etiquette dictates that the challenger closest to the most critical part of the breaking peak, the most committed, has the right-of-way. On the South side of the pier going right, or the North side going left, that part of the peak is often tucked up tight and even a bit inside as it crashes its way through the razor-sharp muscle-covered pilings. On big days, those that bring every surfer scrambling for his or her share, the slightest misstep attempting a late drop anywhere near this Bermuda of triangles can spell disaster for even the most aggressive charger and almost certainly the up-and-coming interloper.

If the waves are breaking outside the pier and peeling toward it, you surf toward the pilings kicking out at the last possible second, throwing all caution to the wind in an attempt to forever bolster your standing in the lineup pecking order …if you make it. Or, and you won’t see this on the biggest days, you can always just “shoot” the pier. Yeah, that’s smart.

And the spectators. Normally, most spectators have no idea who you are as you lame-out attempting the impossible, because you are way out at sea. You are just a dot on the horizon, indistinguishable from all the other dots. But spectators up overhead on the pier have a ring-side seat and shame on you if you lame out for all to see. It won’t be soon forgotten. 

Now let’s get to the deeper “why” of this image. 

Although this image was captured some ten years past, I was already deep into Wide & Tights, time, perspective and exposure blends, focal length shifts and Landscape Diorama, per the conditions and challenges that typically presented themselves as listed above. Which raises the question; when is too much of a good thing, really too much?

I have been wrestling for years with the notion of art vs. photography. Of course, photography is art. But there exists inherent within modern photography a lingering association with a more primal style of editorial photography. 

I started believing myself to be an artist midway through my high school years in the ’60s.  I had picked up a camera as just another add to my growing quiver of artist’s tools and experiences. Watercolors, contour line drawings, etchings and ceramics; all the merrier toward creating art. For years when friends would see me with a camera and comment, “Oh, you’re a photographer.” I’d cringe inside knowing I was nothing of the sort. Photography back then was primarily associated with editorial, with reality.  That was never my aim, but over the years, for the sake of saving us all a long-winded explanation that nobody cared about, I acquiesced.

Digital imaging offered promise but languished for years as technology took its sweet time evolving. We’ve all observed others sharing their innovative approaches to onslaughts of “photo-chopper” name calling and worse. So, I kept my designs to myself. Even after I had developed Wilde Style systems for myself and decided to share them, I resigned myself to displaying only “pretend” images that wouldn’t offend. 

From within this cauldron of indecision “DAEMON” was calved, and somehow initiated within me a turning. A coming out of the closet. I grew up an artist in the ‘60s amidst the good and bad behavior of the times. And those times are deeply, and irrevocably ingrained within me. They are the rose-colored lenses I experience my world through.

Many artists have embraced Deviant art as an alternative but that won’t work for me having been “raised by wolves,” so to speak. Mom and Pops raised us wild and instilled in us a deep reverence for Nature. So wildlife, nature and landscapes are as central to my art as fantasy.  I’ll probably dial back my esthetic in time, but at least for now, I’ve come to realize and embrace, as declared so well in the unapologetic incantations of the philosopher Popeye: “I am what I am. And that’s what I am.” 

Should you want to learn how to do any, or all of the above; give me a jingle. And thanks again for reading all the way until the end and giving me a chance to rant. You’re welcome at my fire anytime.

Cheer’s wildings! 

thelarry