CHANGE OF ART

“I don’t trust words. I trust pictures.”

— Gilles Peress

Time Tells All, Created during Citizen EcoDrive Watches documentary ad.

Don’t explain, rather experience.

Want to increase readership? Reduce the written word, dial up the visuals. 

Intangible Impact. The human brain can process images up to 60,000 times faster than words.

Say more with less. Pictures have the ability to convey abstract and complex concepts. It may take a 1000 words to explain 1 picture’s narrative contents.

Immerse do not imbibe. Pictures can instantly change your mood and leave impressions much faster and much more accurately than words can. Pictures can invoke feelings of happiness, sadness and others. Images are sensorially all consuming. 

Pictures Are Universal. They can be understood intuitively, they are self-explanatory. Pictures have a way of resonating with us – a way of allowing us to read in between the lines. Images forge connections through pattern recognition.

Self sought. Self Taught. Images exert gravity. People are drawn to what they recognize, and to what is unfamiliar but they feel called to figure out. Images can be puzzles, they can form the question and frame the answer as an epiphany that occurs organically in the viewer’s mind. Since images are not instructional rather insightful, images inform without inundating the viewer. It feels second nature, not spoon fed. 

Mind over Matter, digitally finished image, created for WHCC.

From children’s books to the concept of mind maps and the use of infographics, it is evident that visualizing ideas, especially in brainstorming sessions, can help us overcome obstacles that are difficult to convey in paragraph form. Need proof? Take a pen and paper out, and try to describe the shape of Brazil using nothing but words in paragraph form. Need another example? Infographics prove how much easier it may be to tell a story or otherwise convey your information. You can take infographics and turn them into articles. The simplest of infographics can quickly turn into 2000 words or more when you simply try to explain the messages that the infographic is trying to convey. The more effective method of communication then? IMAGES.

“The whole point of (taking/making) pictures is so that you don’t have to explain things with words.”

— Elliott Erwitt”

Art of Story (Part 3)

Big Cats Initiative, Eye To Eye with Lion, By Asher Jay

On a brisk Serengeti evening I pitched a tent for the first time in front of the Barafu Kopjes , rock outcrops that predators and lizards enjoy sunning themselves on. After proving to everyone I was an amateur nest builder, I joined my group, who were all chugging sundowners below a lilac sunset.

Beneath our very own Pride Rock, under a blanket of stars we ate baked squash and grilled meats, and shortly after, it was time to cocoon up in our sleeping bags. With a tent to myself, I was a little unsettled about closing my eyes on the wild around me but I found myself drifting off soon enough.

A few hours go by when I wake up with a start, assailed by anxiety, my pulse racing, my breathing rapid, my core temperature steadily rising. I immediately reach for my cell phone. Time check? 1: 34 a.m. I feel my skin burn up, as my pores begin to sweat, profusely. Fever from a tick bite? Scorpion sting? Puff Adder? What was happening to me?

All my cells, alert and uncomfortable, as I hear what sounds like footsteps, muffled yet close. My whole body now throbbing with fear. My first thought. . . maybe my team was pranking me, so I called out. Rob? Tom? No answer. Then a low rumble inhales me in through the tent fabric, nuzzling into the top of my head. My entire being immediately froze over. There was no point screaming for help. My heart pumping hard, as I see the shadow of a long whip like tail move across the ceiling of my tent. It grew increasingly stark that a curious large cat was investigating me.

My racing pulse rate was quickly selling me short, as prey. I had to find a way to slow down my heart rate, for it’s now clear there is more than one lion circling my space. I reckon, should the worst go down that I would not die riddled with fear, but pass in a state of oneness, with utter awareness of my death. I figured with a pride after me, it would be a swift end, and since there was no way to outrun or out think these fierce hunters that I might as well surrender to the inevitable.

Once I accepted the very real possibility of death, I could bring my focus back to my life, I was still breathing, and if i could try breathing at the same rate as the lions outside, then maybe, just maybe that would bring my heart rate down, help reduce the stress on my system and throw the pride off my scent. So as I heard the lion inhale, I inhaled, when she exhaled, I exhaled. A breath in, a breath out, breath for breath, we were one.

“Perched on the knife’s edge between knowing and not knowing.”

See, animals have this incredible ability to stay present, so I took a page out of their book and chose to be animal. I chose not to skip ahead to an end that had not happened yet. I chose to be present, I chose to stay with my breath. In a moment I had transformed from prey to predator, I too was a lion, and there was no fear. I saw the lion in me and myself in the lion. We were one. There was no other. To feel no boundary to my being, my life, to feel united with what I considered external to me, was profoundly and wildly intoxicating. I have never been more alive than when I was that close to death.

Moments like that have come to define me, because they bring my entire being to the present tense, to the moment at hand. As humans we oscillate a lot on a linear timeline, past to future, with brief pauses on the present, but we seldom remain with what is unfolding before our very eyes on a given breath.

Bestrewn by Asher Jay

When I narrate such an anecdote I am trying to bring the experience alive for you, the audience. Did you find yourself there in that tent as well? Reading a story about someone versus hearing that person narrate it to you, results in very different uptake. Had you heard me in person, you would have been hanging on to every word, feeling everything I felt when I was in that tent. Some of that might have carried through while passively reading it, but a story always has more impact in live delivery. Why is that? Because we have grown up to the sound of oral narratives thanks to our grandmothers.

But more importantly why and how do stories affect us?

Impact of Effective Narratives

There are four distinct stages you endure as a captivating story is being unveiled one juicy sound byte at a time to you.

Neural coupling is a term assigned to the audience’s ability to mirror the storyteller’s brain.

A good story keeps pace with your internal workings, it unveils insights when you think it should, it hides information when you need it to, and throughout its length you are able to discern its underlying pattern, predict its outcome and identify with its characters.

Mirroring occurs when all the members of the audience are transported by the story into the same shared experience, the same moment in time. Isn’t that incredible? That as a storyteller you can not only get every viewer or listener into the same space in time but also in the same emotional and cognitive landscape. This encourages kinship and a sense of belonging, which is why human communities have been gathering around fires in circles to tell tall tales since we accidentally sparked off a flint.

You experience a rush of Dopamine, when you find a story so pleasurable or fascinating that you grow briefly addicted to the high of listening to it. Once your brain lights up with this feel good neurotransmitter, you can’t help but go back for seconds. Your blood and brain also light up with Oxycontin and Cortisol the prior is the empathy hormone, which makes you care and connect, the latter elevates your stress and puts you in a flight or fight mode which prepares you for threats and tensions. This is why your palms sweat when you are watching a girl being stalked by a serial killer… I mean seriously has she never seen a horror movie before? Don’t turn that dark corner you pied ninny, that’s how you die! This is why I always put scary, or sad movies on pause. I honestly believe the characters need such a time out to reconsider their words and re-evaluate their decisions. Not like this has ever changed a film’s plot from the director’s final cut, but a small part of me is truly optimistic that somewhere in the multiverse a different iteration of me has managed to have a break through and changed the course of a film midway...simply by pausing it. Miracles happen, don’t be a tool.

Did you know stimulating stories with a pronounced experiential quality leave people feeling like it actually happened to them? They will recall and retell it like they genuinely endured it. Stories can come to change people on a deeply personal level.

“Where statistics fail, stories prevail.”

The digital age is like constantly hanging out around a campfire, there is always a large tribe of eager individuals ready to absorb a significant yet synoptic story. So when I design a narrative for transmedia, (multiple media platforms) I always ensure it translates well on each forum. I bear the limitations and strengths of each platform in mind, before blasting content out through any or all of them.

Fit more meaning into less time.

To play on the strengths of each media conduit you need to use them strategically by contrasting what you reveal against what you withhold. In this way you build sustained interest in the topic.

Sidebar: Have you been noticing my word slides? They all employ the primary color scheme, yet another ploy to get you hooked. Who does not like their daily fix of primaries? Sesame Street wouldn’t captivate us if Elmo, Big Bird and the Cookie Monster were rendered in any other hues. Red, Yellow and Blue are where it’s at, from the building blocks we had fun with as toddlers, to the first crayon or paint sets we ever owned. They immediately make your learning seem like fun! It works for Coca Cola and Pepsi, it works for countries, and it certainly works for children’s books. So don’t be surprised that some of your favorite brands fall within this limited palette.

I am going to end this post with the most important assertion of all: Stories absolutely need to be anchored in true emotion. Feelings nothing but feelings, it’s the fuel that all content needs to ignite and illuminate. Why? Because…

Art of Story (Part 2)

I sometimes refer to myself as the bloopers explorer, because my blooper reel is always longer than my actual footage. Two years ago, on my first morning in the Serengeti bush, I was awakened by a lot of rustling and grunts. Upon realizing it was wild activity that needed to be documented on my Canon 1DX, I ran out in a rush, still in my pajamas, to capture life in the now. It was near 5:30 a.m., and I wasn’t caffeinated. I simply picked up my equipment and bolted out with the enthusiasm of a toddler chasing an ice cream truck. I turned the corner around the bushes in haste only to stop four feet short of a tall and regal adult giraffe. As I gathered my wits to photograph him in all his glory, I couldn’t help but think to myself, “Gosh, this is like Walking With Dinosaurs meets Out of Africa.”

Cautious giant by Asher Jay, He walks to connect the heavens to the ground I fumble on.

When I lifted the camera to my eye, all I could see was black. I had taken the lens cap off already, so it wasn’t that this time. Then it dawned on me: I had on a telephoto 100-400 millimeter lens, and it was pitch dark because I was peering into his flared nostrils. I yelped and reprimanded myself for not planning for the morning shots better. But I was determined to make the most of this gear fail.

The only thing I could do at this juncture was to step backward, one baby step at a time, without startling the subject. I had to manually override the snafu. As I started stepping back, left, pause, right, pause, left, pause, right, pause, left ...and during the entire length of this stealth backwards amble I was utterly focused on the giraffe in front me through my viewfinder. It wasn’t until the placement of my right foot landed me in a warm, plush and unfamiliar space that I began to question my peripheral vision. I felt my head sink into something. I quickly realized that I had walked into the crotch of another giraffe. I look up. Lo and behold, it was a well endowed male giraffe. He wasn’t too happy about this encounter. He had been munching away trouble free, off an acacia tree, until this bizarre incident transpired. Startled by the intimate nature of our first meeting, he tensed his legs up. This only got my head further stuck between his hindquarters. I stood there thinking, ‘Heck, of all the ways to die as a new National Geographic explorer, this was probably the dumbest. Seriously. Walking into the butt of a giraffe and getting kicked in the face for it? Believe we’ve hit a new low Holmes.’

In the meantime, this tall drink of water had begun processing his next move, after all his personal space and freedom were both at stake. He unexpectedly unclenched his nether regions, which returned the blood to my brain, then he stepped over me, walked a few feet forward, spun around, and gave me the most judgmental look any giraffe has ever shot a human. The rest of the morning he kept two very wary eyes on me while pretending to eat leaves.

Lesson Learned: Never back up into a giraffe’s rear end. It isn’t safe. I did not prevail because of survival guide training; it was dumb luck. I am grateful to that poor, perplexed giraffe who simply did not have the psychological bandwidth to process my brand of stupid that early in the day, because he could have done a whole lot worse to me.

The reason I narrate this story is because as a storyteller if you aren’t careful, you can be cast in stories you don’t plan for. But I also say it to underscore this truth: it takes going into a giraffe crotch every now and then to uncover a story worth telling. Had I not invaded his personal space and had I not left the wrong lens on my 1DX body that day, I would have never acquired these images.

How Close is Too Close by Asher Jay

A story is like a main course, it is meant for consumption, it aims to satiate and like every entree it should have a recipe with the right proportion of specifically curated ingredients, mixed together in a sequence that best expresses an authentic and lasting sensory experience. Each of the spices in it need to find expression individually and cumulatively, and it should not be overworked such that the textures fail to come alive. The key is to balance the composition while ensuring the piece’s true character and essence don’t get obfuscated. So I began analyzing how I rationally stitch a visual or written narrative together, and how I make it fun, entertaining, emotionally evocative or compelling, and I came up with a queue of motions I go through to get to the desired end result:

Stories Broken Down

Keep your story simple, the more complex your narrative arc becomes the less effortless it is to lure your audience into the reality you are building. A story is about sensory immersion, for which it needs to be articulated in an accessible vocabulary and relate content that is meaningful to the receiving parties.

People always tell you to write what you know, because that is the only way you can retain integrity, and authenticity. Humans are social creatures, and they can detect when something feels false or incongruous. It’s why the little hairs on the back of our neck prick up in the company of a sociopath or psychopath, they do not smile with their eyes and whole face just with their lips. Do not tell a story whose smile stops at it’s mouth, people will know you are full of $#!^ and a farce.

To generate a story that is engaging, is to transport your rapt audience into the very cockles of the reality you are creating. You need to seduce your audience into the world you have fabricated and make the imaginary realm or alternate moment of space and time more real to their senses than the one they are physically occupying. To make your anecdote interactive is to involve your audience, and appeal to them to be your collaborators, to give feedback, participate in real time and take ownership of the sharing exercise. This can happen either the old school way, through theater, art collectives and pantomime or the new age way, through social media and virtual reality. In order to make what you are selling believable the story needs to become an extension of the receiver’s identity, which will persuade them to internalize it. This will ensure that they will recall it forever, making the entire journey or process memorable.

Stories involving passing information on from one generation to another.

For any of this to happen, the story must contain the following five ingredients — an easily discernible protagonist, a clear and bold vision, a distinct and intelligible message, a cohesive and comprehensible chronological sequence of events and it must leave a mark. The protagonist can be a product, a person or even an idea, and the mark is more likely to stand the test of time if it is of an emotional nature. Whether the mark and message registers in the hearts and minds of the audience is invariably determined by the medium and method of its delivery. All of these ingredients is what a story needs to envelope a mind, heart and soul in the make believe, in the magical, in the fantastical and extraordinary. This is what it takes to move someone on a physical and emotional level.

The next and final part of this series will delve into how stories affect people, and why stories change us.

Try Try Try Again

A Castle and cave nestled in the Perigord region

January 3 2019

I have made many efforts to begin a book. Over the coming days I am going to share my top ten most impressive failed attempts. I have usually abandoned the effort a page into the endeavor, exactly like Alexander the Great and other highly accomplished, enterprising souls. This was penned in May 2015.

Attempt 10

It is raining outside, and the Chateau’s windows have misted over with droplets of sweet, fresh water from neighboring streams, lakes and rivers in the Dordognian Valley, carefully collected by a thirsty blue sky and deposited by disenchanted clouds. I observed the sky during my drive back from Sarlat to Forge Neuve, and the heavens grew grayer with every terrestrial sip it took to quench its translucent orbicular craving. The ambiance set the tone for a day of writing with the aid of a glass of effervescent champagne. I decided to rise to the occasion, and begin my book, one honest line at a time, yet again. One cannot fail if one does not try after all. So here I am eager as ever to embrace yet another enthusiastic attempt.

Yes it sounds contrived and pretentious to be starting your first book in a commodious Chateau situated on 187 acres of pruned landscape in the Perigord region, on an overcast day, under the influence of bubbly but that is my truth now, and it would be duplicitous to dispute it.

A few days ago, my truth was far less glamorous and far more relatable. I was on a time sensitive hunt for furniture in New York prior to my late night departure to Charles De Gaulle. The urgency for the home shopping was entirely attributed to the expiration of discounts on most of the design items I felt called to, post Memorial Day weekend. It would be criminal to spend three thousand on just a bed frame, yet that is where my elevated tastes had taken me. I wouldn’t ever consider Ikea again, and I tried to settle for West Elm and Pottery Barn. It took me eight hours of running around Chelsea boutique stores and chain retailers to conclude on the potential purchase of two footstools, a coffee table, a bookshelf, a bed and a rug. Due to unforseeable circumstances, such as delivery timelines, availability of inventory and my not being in a position to receive merchandise till the 10th of June (the date my lease on my new place was to take effect) I was only able to purchase a bed frame, and a rug.  Out of these two items, the rug was out of stock and could not find expression as a decorative accent in my abode until mid October. So in eight hours of running around like a headless chicken all I had managed to acquire for June 10th was a bed frame, which wasn’t even the whole bed. Vacillating between prudence and pecuniary pragmatism, has starkly paralyzed my purchasing productivity. Say that sentence ten times faster. That’s right, this is an interactive book.

I came to the wise conclusion that, ‘A bed in one’s studio was indeed worth two in store displays’ and A bed frame makes not for a complete bed without the additional acquisition of a headboard and a mattress.’ I knew at this rate I was going to be sleeping on the plywood floor upon moving in.

 While it is important to be particular, it is more significant to be present, and present I shall be in limbo with no crib for a bed. For some reason things have refused to align on my first big step in life. Doesn’t life know I am venturing out on my own laying claim to material belongings and leasing a place under my name for the first time ever. Throwing on shackles willingly to prove that I am an autonomous adult? It only took ten years for the system to break me in. I have handed in my freedom, and bohemian ways to be mature, responsible and grounded. However, I did postpone adulthood by impulsively saying yes to this Chateau retreat with complete strangers, a private chef and a whole lot of champagne. I absconded from my trials and tribulations in NYC in style! I often do Peter Pan away to exotic destinations, but to my dismay my insipid problems not only endure my absence well but manage to compound in their nefarious impact to commemorate my return. Oh well, let future Asher deal with that mess, present Asher has been challenged to Champagne pong on a pink float in the heated pool by the cloister and she has compelling plans to drive south to explore some intact sites for prehistoric cave paintings. Present Asher is living the life, good for her. Future Asher is buggered.

Chocolate Cured My Cough

Mossy (or what my throat looked like on the inside, today) by Asher Jay

January 2 2019

Three days ago a fleshy flu incubating petri dish, also known as a toddler, seated beside me on the Metro North managed to completely dismantle my immune system and result in a force quit of all my internal programs within an hour of contact. The next day I was rendered as unproductive as the Oval Office and as discombobulated as Theresa May’s handling of Brexit.

Swaddled in blankets, sipping on piping hot homemade elixirs (each serving an unpredictable proportion of honey, lemon and ginger) I noticed my inner square footage slowly getting usurped by mucus, at that moment I realized it was only a matter of time before an army of microbial miscreants colonized my blood stream, raped my antibodies and pillaged my white blood cells. Ofcourse, this knowledge as well as the last of my motor function was quickly relinquished to NyQuil’s ability to tumble one’s grasp on reality down the rabbit hole. Morpheus was right, be careful when you take the blue pill, side effects include the mirror turning into a sink hole that you Alice into.

Before I knew it, the calendar read Thursday and the clock, two in the afternoon, and my sole contribution toward a working week day had been a drool stain on my Egyptian Cotton pillowcase that vaguely resembled an avocado. My diligent intern was by such time hard at work on my project, a project I had not been awake to give her updates of a direction shift on, consequently she was doing a task that was entirely moot. Meanwhile I was drifting in and out of consciousness, failing her work ethic, missing calls, and to my chagrin an important lunch meeting that had taken many attempts to schedule, a lunch that began a half hour ago that the other party had turned up for and emailed me from. I was mortified as I replied weakly, “I am mortified to note you are there and I am not. I am horribly ill. Albeit this is a weak response please let me know when you can reschedule and how I can make this right, I simply hate that I took your time for granted, I know we are only separated by eight blocks but that seems to be restraining order needed to contain my ailment. Sent from the sick bed, I nearly signed it off with “Yours truly, a slimy secreting supine slug” but determined it would be a visual picture I could never walk away from, one that might further compel a sense of character onto my brand.

My brand had already contracted a bug and a sense of humor, the prior was now showing up as a 404 error across Manhattan, my domain and the world, the latter was rippling into my professional sick day correspondences. I was doomed. There was little to be done. I turned to the ceiling, but NyQuil prevented me from being Aristotle and I fell asleep again. Friday went by in a bout of soul eviscerating coughs that left me sounding like an old Italian mob boss by Saturday morning. Saturday was spent searching for the soul that I had expectorated the previous day, given literature, I felt I might discover it in an uninteresting bowl of Chicken Noodle soup. I didn’t. It was too bland, or I had lost my taste buds to the cold, along with my will to live. It wasn’t until Sunday that I stumbled upon a curious new cure. A friend helpfully sent me an article that validated my profuse chocolate consumption, the only thing my tongue seemed to pick up on since I had been smote down in my prime. I had been shoveling chocolate in all manner of form into my system over the course of my illness to feel better, figured if it was going to work for Potter in Prisoner of Azkarban it could do the trick for me too, and rid me of my own harem of dementors. The piece alleged it was not a snake oil hypothetical, but a legitimate way to suppress one’s predisposition to spew a lung. All I had to do was pop in and intently savor on some Ghiradelli dark chocolate and wait for it melt over my tongue and slowly drip back my throat. Doctors’ research findings show that it works better than Codeine at coating one’s tickled trachea. Personally, I believe chocolate suppresses coughs by coating ravaged nerves in my throat with the sacrificed carcasses of miniature Oompa Loompas but that could just be the NyQuil talking.

Logo Development

The Key Solutions Logo for the World Parks Congress agency 10+10, shows the key solutions to preserving marine diversity lies in knowing the system for it's own sake. It's about looking at every depth and dimension of the big blue, and using it's intelligence to unlock it's whole story. In doing so, we can ensure the continuity of it's complete narrative. There were two iterations of this logo. I had to first move away from the concept of using infrastructure as the solution or the tines of the key, because artifice cannot conserve the organic world. I had to use nature's expression, i.e. coral as the prongs of the key because only comprehending wild in it's intrinsic, immutable, intricate articulation can help us unlock the necessary measures needed to conserve it. I had to make the concept self sustaining like the biosphere. 

Simpler, cleaner iteration of the same concept. This was the final logo. 

Each logo was coined with the core mission in mind, so it conceptually and literally conveys the premise. 

Three Masai shields that form the bodies of the Masai tribe/community hold within their expression three iconic Kenyan megafauna species. The logo signifies the power the community harbors when it joins hand to preserve wildlife.

Quotation Marks composite to create a speech bubble that also visually represents a blue marble.

Tusks in the color of fire composite the abstract form of an elephant, to underscore the mission of the organization, to burn the ivory caches currently in possession by governments worldwide.

Two quotation marks representing the voices of elephants create the elephants' heads. This was created for the organization Elephant Voices, but did not get used by the NGO.

Wild Lives Foundation, based on the pulse line of life, expressed in the colors that exemplify life on earth. I created this to have a gif version, so it can portray the dynamic energy of life. The F is portrayed as piercing a target, and reaching a bullet point. 

Coining my logo took me a month of staring at my name scribbled in every serif and sans serif font that appealed to me. I initially played with the letters A and J, but realized most designers did that, and many existing brands in the competitive space bore the same initials. So I decided to break the H in my name. I figured it was gender neutral, could stand for "His" and "Her." H is both vertically and horizontally symmetrical. As such when things align too perfectly they saturate your eye and fail to keep your attention. So I broke the axis on both accounts. I took the middle bar away and replaced it with two trefoil knots, the mathematical symbol for infinity, to create the most stable organic structure assumed by carbon, the diamond, and I shaped it directionally between the two vertical bars to suggest the ascension from the smaller egoic "I" to the supreme, universal "I." This suggests the spiritual growth from self to source, making you feel unity instead of individuality. The symbol has come to mean my process in life, and I actually branded my body with the H, like a cow is on a cattle ranch, because I am a product of existence, and existence channels me to create. I consider myself more the brush than the creator, because my ideas come to me resolved, and when they don't, I am not half as impressed with my own creativity. I produce better content when I am a vessel. 

Bird Bath and Beyond

Birders exhibiting their expertise.

Does your new friend sleep with binoculars by his/her bedside table. Does this person have a telescope at every other window in his/her house? This is not because they are perverts or peepers, they are just passionate birders. They perceive a world, you fail to, they also forget that you perceive a world, they fail to.

Have you ever found yourself confiding in a friend on a Sunday morning in Central Park, only to be interrupted mid-sentence by her screaming "Cinnamon Teals in formation at 10 o' clock!"  Perplexed you ask, "what?" because you were just telling her about having your heart broken the previous day, but she is still preoccupied, "there's a few Blue-winged teals in the flock...*" Or recall that time you were wandering around the Metropolitan Museum of Art with this charming guy, and he was busy distinguishing the species of vultures on the Egyptian urns instead of comparing you to a work of art? If you answered yes to any of these scenarios, then the person you have unwittingly befriended is a birder.

*That was a trick mention, Blue-Winged Teals don't fly over NYC. #BirderFail, now you know what I felt like throughout this trip. I was oblivious.

Birders can bird even in their sleep. Somnambulistic birding. This was the case with George Armistead, from American Birding Association, who once woke up in the middle of the night at his girlfriend's apartment, opened a window, pulled apart the curtains, and screamed "Sulphur-bellied Flycatcher," while he was still asleep. His girlfriend told him, "You're being creepy, come back to bed. 

Birders in this season's birder essential raiment: Bluebird earrings, khaki multi-pocket utilitarian vests, sun shielding hats and shirts, insect repellent scarves, and durable hiking boots. Accessories include but are not limited to top of the line cameras, heavy duty tripods, binoculars, and digiscopes.

Birders are sadly a misunderstood bunch. They have heightened senses, their eyes never miss a sighting, their ears never miss a call, well, maybe yours but certainly not a bird's. And as a side bar, to those who are dating birders, I strongly believe it will help to program your number into his/her cell with his/her favorite birdcall. The chances of them answering your calls are likely to increase ten-fold with this change.

The Puff-rumped Charlie. Fee, fi, fo, fum, I spy BIRDS.

Birders say the darnedest things.

For instance, we were talking about our top five favorite films, and George, began shaking his head despondently before he stated, "One of the most disturbing moments in Shawshank Redemption for a birder is when Red lifts up that large piece of obsidian rock that "had no earthly business being in a Maine hayfield" to find the box Andy left for him, because just as Freeman pulls out the box, this Cactus Wren that truly has no earthly business being there, in New England, sounds off. Cactus Wrens need cactuses to thrive...  when films just plug in whatever birdcall they think sounds good in any location they please, it feels like water torture. And don't even get me started on South Park. "

Me: Why?

George: Because they constantly play the Hermit Thrush and the Warbling Vireo in the background as a score...like constantly. After a few episodes it begins to feel like an endless loop of nails on a chalkboard and caterwauling cats.

Dorian: So George are you saying that of all the things on South Park the only thing that offends you is the bird calls?

George: Absolutely (chuckling).

Alvaro Jaramillo pointing out the bird species we just saw in the Birds of Colombia guide book to Juan-Pablo (works on Colombia's tourism outreach) and me (the girl who spots leaves and lasers as birds.)

George isn't alone in feeling this anguish.

Alvaro adds, "Unlike with visuals, with sound, you can figure out exactly where in the world you are. Birds have very distinct calls, and it differs from region to region. You can experience a place just through the soundscape as a birder, you know exactly what types of trees, vegetation, flowers, fruits exist in a place when you hear the calls. Hollywood does not get this, they constantly allow for the wrong bird to sound off in the wrong place, and it ruins the integrity of the entire story. It's as if a guy in a gorilla suit walked through a critical moment in the film..."

If you can't beat 'em, bird with 'em. It quickly becomes a bonding exercise. This was a shot of me with local Colombian guides and volunteers from Pro Aves Foundation, atop the Santa Marta Sierra Nevada National Park, on the Eldorado Reserve side of the range, on the morning after forest fires ravaged 50 hectares of this biodiversity hotspot that contains over 15 endemic species of birds.

I made the choice to tumble further down this rabbit hole. For a girl who had only seen birds in her grandmother's backyard birdbath and feeders, this was like walking through the wardrobe and discovering Narnia.

Me: "Is the mix of calls in a geographical area distinct despite the numerous migratory species that fly over the landscape?"

Alvaro: "The mix of calls you hear in a sound byte can help you narrow down the specific geographical location. It can be as local as a certain corner of a state. You have got to know your birds from your bugs and frogs and you've got to know what flocks come together in each place."

Me: Flock me.

I could not help but wonder if any of these guys had considered a career as a movie critic, or a position with a crime investigative unit.

"Maybe the killer stashed the body last summer?" The cops would ponder. "No absolutely not." The birder would intervene. "The fabric has dirt in the pockets that contain traces of a fungus that occurs only in spring, and the presence of Woodcock droppings only further emphasizes the time of year. You see, the very smell of that fungus in the forest denotes the migratory season for Woodcock, and by extension the dawn of spring." Another case solved by the "Birder Boys".  "Birder Boys" by Asher Jay, a book and/or TV series about crimes solved by boys who bird. It will be an overlap between The Hardy Boys, boy scouts and a birding club. I plan on writing this as soon as I finish all my outstanding projects to conserve actual birds in the wild.

Rufous-collared Sparrow. Something known, now for something new, something burrowed, and something blue.

Having spent a week in the company of some renowned birders on the Northern Colombia Birding Trail, on a trip organized by Audubon Society and USAID, I have been able to discern some of the unique characteristics that define this subculture of individuals.

They love khaki cargos that can zip off into shorts. They really love their optics, and if you show up at 3 a.m. in a white van and play birdcalls outside their hotel, you can kidnap the whole group of them. Daily exposure and proximal association with the bird-watching tribe meant that I too began showing signs of such eccentric behaviors.

I began bolting up in bed whenever I heard chirps outside my window.

I started seeing birds in my sleep. They were all in focus and nothing but close-ups of bright colored plumes. I was pretty excited in my dream state.

I now have a wish list of birds I want to see.

Last but not least, I just signed up for eBird. If I was not an endorsed nerd before, I sure am now. My username is Empress Brilliante, mostly because the boys bestowed that upon me, as my field birder name, during my visit to the dry forests in Colombia, and it has stuck with me ever since. In fact I have recommended that eBird start a dating site so birds of a feather can get together. Since a moment of inspired dialogue urged me to coin this, I strongly maintain the app should be called Flock Me.  

What's a banana between birds in love? A male and female Acorn Woodpecker. If they can flock together so can you.

Golden-naped Tanager at Kilometer 18, Cali, Colombia. One truly is the loneliest number.

I can no longer deem myself an outsider to this community, in fact I am seriously considering starting a Birder's Anonymous chapter in Manhattan, because like so many, I too am hooked to these beings that soar effortlessly across the heavens.

Birders all suffer from ADD (Attention Deficit Disorder) in the field, and fraternizing with their ilk encourages you to emulate this seemingly distracted mind state. In trying to transcribe an interview with Christopher Calonje, avid birder and organizer of the Colombian Bird Fair in Cali, I realized how often we broke our thread of conversation because of a bird. Mostly because I was finally getting good at spotting these winged wanderers, and I could not stop myself from naming or photographing them, even though I was the one conducting the interview.

Me: "Sorry, I sent us off track again."

CC: "No this happens all the time, birds come first. There are times when I am on the phone, and... look Green Honeycreeper!!"

Me: Oh I wanted to get her..."(and I hand my recorder to Chris, and proceed to photograph the bird).

CC: "Go go go!!!"

A few seconds and a symphony of clacking Canons later...

CC: "Should I stop this recorder?"

Me: "No, you should continue talking about... how you are dealing with bird trafficking?"

CC: (He laughs but cooperates with my request). "There's a lot of educational awareness going on to combat the trafficking of birds, and promoting birding has helped us mobilize local communities..."

I got my picture of the fabulous Green Honeycreeper, even if it happened at the cost of my interview. If this were a birder initiation test, I am certain I passed it in flying colors.

The Colombia Bird Fair, takes place in Cali, and is on its second year now. It gathers an incredible array of individuals from various countries and walks of life with one shared passion: BIRDS. From installing murals across the city depicting endemic bird species, to empowering local guides and offering transport services, Christopher enables the birding culture to take root in Colombia.

Female Flame-rumped Tanager, not quite as orange as the male's rump, but she doesn't need to try, he does. His courtship determines her choice. When did the human dating scene lose this basic plot?

I asked some of the bird enthusiasts I crossed paths with, "why birds?" Here's a list of my favorite responses:

"...because staring at women is considered creepy." - Dorian Anderson, Los Angeles

"It gives you a great reason to get out of the easy chair." Ron Majors, Pennsylvania

"It's the most portable hobby. You can bird anywhere, at any time. At night, on a boat in Antarctica, you can golf and bird, wine taste and bird, boat and bird, because it's richly diverse, beautiful, and not geographically curtailed.

" - Chris Wood, eBird Project Leader, The Cornell lab of Ornithology

"...birding is the gateway drug to nature." - Alvaro Jaramillo, Alvaro's Adventure, San Francisco

"... because it keeps you alert engaged, living in the moment, observing something strange, weird, colorfulor beautiful." - George Armistead, ABA, Philadelphia

The brilliant, hard not to fall in love with, male Red-headed Barbet. I gasped the first I saw him.

So, why birds?

"There are plenty of them. You hear, see and find them easily. They are accessible. Birding trains your eye to search for life in all sizes." - Roger Rodriguez Ardila, Biologist, Bird Guide at the Eldorado Bird Reserve.

"There are birds in every habitat, and you can understand how they are all connected through evolution, and how we can use such convergence as a force for good. Use it to get people on board for the conservation of greater tracts of wilderness in relation to sustainable economic growth for local communities." - John Myers, Audubon Society, Washington DC

The beautiful female Red-headed Barbet. The name comes from the male's red head in this dimorphic species. Her palette although, subtle is stunning nevertheless, rather like a Cezane, or Monet, while the male is more like a bold and bright Hundterwasser.

For me it is a lot more personal than all that. When I was a toddler, my mom exposed me to the works of Dutch and French masters, but she had no way of preparing for how I was going to respond to their use of color. She just knew I was moved by a piece of art when she spotted me trying to lick it.

Now nearly three decades later, I was completely unprepared for the fact that on the Northern Colombia Birding Trail I was going to come face to face with birds that would put museum worthy masterpieces to shame. From the Crested Quetzals and Emerald Toucanets to Multicolored Tanagers and Long Tailed Sylphs, I wanted to lick the heck out of every bird I had the privilege to see in the wild. Their color combinations are not only intoxicatingly expressive but more harmoniously resolved than any painting by any well-known artist. Nature's brush is effortlessly innovative and it always results in unrivaled perfection.

In my pre-school days, I licked my fair share of globally celebrated paintings. I was young, free and less judged by people for this sensory peccadillo but licking birds as a grown woman....well, a girl's got to draw the line somewhere. So for now, photos of birds will just have to do.

The exquisite, irreplaceable Crested Quetzal. Good heavens that's a hot bird... look at all that green...so yummy! So...

...Any one have any good remedies for healing a paper cut on one's tongue...Not that I... Just asking...Oh never mind. You wouldn't understand. It's a birder thing.

Emerald Toucanet. I imagine a birder's compliment would go something like this, "your eyes are as green as an Emerald Toucanet's body, your summer dress the yellow of his bill, your lips the red of his rump...sighh...you are beautiful."

Birding 101: Unidentified Flying Organisms

A Multicolored Tanager, essentially an impressionist painting on the move.

A few weeks ago, if someone had asked me what I thought of Tanagers, my mind would have honed in on the obvious typo in a term that obviously describes the most obnoxious phase of any human's life cycle. Oh, how the past ten days in Colombia have changed me, for now I know Tanagers refers to the second largest family of birds. That's right my brain has now allocated prime real estate for such facts as: Tanagers constitute around 4 percent of all avian species, nearly the value we assign to our collective understanding of what constitutes the universe we inhabit.

12 percent of all Neotropical species are Tanagers, they largely sport an unapologetic, bright palette of plumes, opt to co-parent their young (some species go as far as securing nannies) and show their offspring the nest's ledge when they start mouthing off two weeks after hatching. They are the aquarium fish of the skies, and are seen outside of their natural context as often as you see reef fish incarcerated at dentist clinics. This is why I love birders and divers, people who value immersive moments with wild things, where the wild things are.

Blue-gray Tanager

Blue-mountain Tanager, eating fruit on a feeder in someone's private backyard. Many Colombians have begun to opt out of profiting myopically from the trade in live birds, instead they put up feeders and lure eager birders and ecotourists, who would rather take photographs than cage a wild bird.

Two weeks of waking up at 4 a.m., and hiking the high altitude Northern Colombia Birding Trail, with a press team of high aptitude birders put together by Audubon Society and USAID, had validated six truths for me:

1. I was insanely out of shape.

2. I was in dire need of an intravenous caffeine drip and a sugar high.

3. I didn't know my birds, so I did not know what to look or listen for when a name was called out. It could have been the size of a Peel P50 (smallest car in the world), but I wouldn't have known where to look for it.

4. Birds move. Constantly. If you are intently staring at a bird that hasn't moved in over three minutes, it is probably a leaf.

5. A bird in the bush is worth more to the local economy than two in a cage.

6. It is a hate crime to imprison wild birds.

Birds symbolize freedom every time they take wing. To deprive them of their right to flight is to strip them off their very reason for being. This is particularly true of migratory species with highly attuned instincts to travel vast distances each season. It broke our hearts to see Bobolinks and a Dickcissel caged at a restaurant in Santa Marta. It was also sad for me to see ill kept Macaws with clipped wings and my first Toucan in Colombia behind bars. Why would anyone want to see these fantastic wild wanderers in such an abject state? 

Female Green Honecreeper wild and free as a bird should be.

Before this expedition, I had seldom spent much time looking at birds; in fact I had suffered three decades of acute bird blindness. Apart from the occasional pigeon that wanted to share my New York bagel with me, and autotype trying to instill birding awareness in me every time I opted to express myself with a certain curse word, I didn't have much exposure to these dinosaur descendants. So as far as birding was concerned, I was, as my iPhone would put it, ducked. However, ignorance of your ignorance can be bliss, so my confidence never faltered in front of my flock.

The first field excursion began with much promise, just outside of Riohacha, at the Los Flamencos Sanctuary. Looking for shore birds, which were incredibly easy to spot, because they were all out in the open, as distinct shapes bestrewn across a scintillating flatland, bobbing for fish in fast drying shallows. This quick and comfortable access to birds big and small, in a plethora of hues, set my beginner birding expectations at an all time high for the days to come.

It only took 24 hours for that myth to unravel, for the very next day we visited the dry forests, where birds chirped cockily, hidden from view, tucked away behind irregular lattices of barren branches. "So many Great Egrets!" birder extraordinaire, Alvaro Jaramillo observed enthusiastically, "there's a flock of Ibis headed our way" Dorian Anderson, the biking birder, responded. "Scarlet-White Ibis hybrid in formation" Jose Luis Pushaina, a local guide qualified, only to be interrupted by George Armistead from American Birding Association. "Do you guys hear that Black-crested Antshrike?" he inquired redundantly, because naturally every one had heard it, most had seen it, some were even cheeping sweet nothings to it, all eyes and ears on point, except mine.

"Where?" I asked eagerly, and one of the three hawketeers, honed in on it with their digiscope and binoculars for me. "There!" they would all elatedly chime in. I was nowhere near perceptive enough to take pride in birding yet, if these fine lads wanted to hand a bird in the bush on a binocular to me, magnified and in focus, I was going to take it.

Black-crested Antshrike, because it's better to see it late than never.

Even my inability to focus my optics didn't stop a gorgeous vermillion Cardinal from showing himself to me. The Vermillion Cardinal, as his name suggests, was this unmistakable, Sin City red that I could not turn my back on. Jose quipped up, in Spanish and Alvaro efficiently translated him, "This bird is so very important to his people, it is part of their mythology and motifs, it's not protected in other places, and ends up being sold in cages, but in Los Flamencos it is protected. It's his favorite!"

Day two dawned in sharp contrast to the dry forests, for we had made our way into the humid, densely verdant rainforests flanking the Tayrona National Park.

A male Blue-billed Curassow, an elusive, critically endangered ground bound bird species, the size of a turkey, in full view at the Tayrona National Park. It has been hunted incessantly by the locals for food and is thus rarely observed in the wild. I sure am glad we got to see two males and three females that day.

Alvaro underscored, "birds are nearly impossible to find in a rainforest." This wasn't the case with me, I saw birds everywhere, but mostly because I was in a foliage rich environment, and I was content mistaking leaves for birds.   

Dorian broke it down for me, succinctly "You have to know the bird's shape and size, and the column or row it most frequently occupies in a habitat. If you know where to look for a known form, you will find it." So while the Birder Boys (as I've come to call them) were spotting Keel-billed Toucans, Rufous-tailed Hummingbirds, and Red-Crowned Woodpeckers, I was calling out sightings I was familiar with, like the "White-Crowned Cow" the "Black-Naped Goat" and the "Common Crested Chicken." Farm animals. They sound a lot more exotic when assigned Bird-like names.

Common Crested Chicken with chicks, doing her chicken thing in a chicken burrow.

A short while later the clouds descended on us, and before long we were walking through a creepy English Moor at altitude.

When a forest begins to fog up, all bets are off for amateur birders, it's when you ought to pack away your binoculars and pick up your bourbon. The chances of me even spotting livestock at this visibility seemed unlikely. It was like a painter had rendered a tonal wash over the entire landscape. Gray birds, against gray leaves, in a silhouette dance against an increasingly bleak, gray sky.

In such conditions, it was clear that even the Eye of Mordor would fail to distinguish the gold on the Golden-crowned Flycatcher, but somehow Alvaro, George and Dorian saw it. They kept trending colors in the jungle that I was certain did not exist, similar to what fashion forecasting inflicts on Seventh Avenue. This season Bice is in. Let's all make Bice happen people! Bice is the new black.

So, despite worsening conditions, the birder boys were going strong. "Purple-throated Woodstar at 2 'o' clock" Dorian would yell, "Amazing, Spectacled Parrotlet to his left, a few branches above him guys," George rallied. "Grayish Piculet on the stick protruding from the shrub in the shadows back here," Alvaro countered. A gray feature on a gray bird, perched on a gray stick, in a gray shrub in the dark gray shadows... perfect...this Fifty Shades of Gray spectacle was going to leave me searching for my sanity, not unlike the movie.

"Glistening-green Tanager on the top branches of the tree, above the U-shaped vine to my right." Jaruen Rodriguez pointed out with a startling green laser that I inadvertently mistook for the actual bird. "Omigosh it's such a virulent green" I gushed. "That's the laser Asher, the bird is above the virulent green dot you are looking at," a true birder quickly corrected me.

Sadly that was not the only time I mistook the laser for a bird that day.

Green Violet Ear, yes once you finally figure out where it is branched, it is one saucy little sighting.

Birding is incredibly challenging, it requires patience, the recall of common bird names at the very least, keen observational skills, an inherent appreciation of birds, and access to quality optics that should make a real birder's birdy-sense tingle. I discovered that if I persevered, took down names on my iPhone after each sighting, and paid attention to everything the birder boys proclaimed, I too could become a competent birder.

If all else failed, I could always resort to inventing my own names for these exquisitely unique, unidentified flying organisms, like the Hot-ass Bird (more eloquently known as the Flame-rumped Tanager). 

Flame-rumped Tanager male, with a conspicuous orange, visibly brilliant hot ass, perched on a banana laden feeder.

I made it my personal mission to get better at this outdoor activity. The thing about birding is that nothing can prepare you for it, but it profoundly changes the way you look at the world. You will never realize how much beauty, diversity and wonder you have been missing right before your eyes, daily, until you begin birding. It makes you pay attention and focus swiftly on minutiae, it anchors you in the present tense, amplifies all your senses, and it helps you perceive everything as important, particularly because every encounter is so fleeting.

You grow tolerant of changing externalities that you have no control over, and if you are anything like me, you finally learn to tweet outside the realm of Twitter. The best part of being a new birder is that every bird is an unidentified flying organism to you; it's a brave new world, inhabited by curious, alien, aerodynamic works of art that are well worth exploring! So what are you waiting for? Get birding!

Not as stunning as the male but still a brilliant palette of oranges.

Art of Story (Part 1)

Also published on Medium

I am a storyteller. Know how people say we are made of stardust, I say we are made of stories. I am not the first to think, much less write this, others have said it before, and perhaps more eloquently.

“The Universe is made of stories, not of atoms. — Muriel Rukeyser”

“We’re all made of stories. When they finally put us underground, the stories are what will go on. Not forever, perhaps, but for a time. It’s a kind of immortality, I suppose, bounded by limits, it’s true, but then so’s everything. — Charles De Lint”

I wake up to uncapped possibilities each day and my reality feels expansive and limitless, not because I am an NZT junkie but because I realize every thing is connected, interdependent and incredibly fascinating. I find good stories expand my consciousness, as they open up my mind and heart to new ways of thinking, being, feeling and doing.

My story has been a non linear narrative with massive jumps in logic. I studied science, only to pursue the arts in college. I pursued the arts only to find my way back into science and policy change. I haven’t done things as people would expect me to, and it has made life harder but also more fulfilling.

Making a transition from being a content creator to an observer who documents.

I was once told that it would be impossible to acknowledge me for an award category without a career designation. They needed to put me in a box so I could fit into a drop down menu. After considerable deliberation, I cautiously coined the term “Creative Conservationist.” It was the broadest title I could think of to describe my ever evolving vision and resilient passion for life. The term also eloquently summarizes what I do. I enable and empower the conservation of all life on earth, human and wild through the arts, in the form of stories. I design visually evocative campaigns that strategically align corporate entities with impact driven non-profit brands, to mobilize individual action towards communal welfare. I create experiential installations and provocative paintings that catalyze genuine epiphanies, about our wild heritage and future, within those who view it.

Wild is what I care to wake up for, it is what I am intoxicated by, it is the inspiration behind everything I do, it defines my every cell, and it is the love of my life. Art is the medium through which I celebrate wild. Art is the platform through which I convey how irrevocably, and unconditionally I love wild. Story is how I make my art emotionally seduce others to fall in love with wild too.

I may be overthinking this but was that a kiss or did he just mistake my head for a coconut?

Stories are how we pass information on to the next generation. Story is why you buy one brand of toothpaste over another. Story is why you recycle, or choose to ride a bicycle. It is through story that we simplify complex concepts espoused in academic jargon and funnel such content into the every man’s lexicon. Story is how we perceive relationships, distill patterns amplify awareness and democratize information. A story is the skeleton, it gives what would otherwise be a flesh puddle of particles and process an intelligible form and appreciable function. Art without story is like a chocolate cake that has been made with carob, it cannot be ingested enjoyed or shared. Then again I am a chocolate purist.

Same, same but different, by Asher Jay

Connection is the unstoppable force we empower through storytelling. The internet exists because of our need to bridge physical distances, and connect through communication. The internet is one conduit through which I spread the relevant stories of our times to the masses.

Public participation in a Social Media Campaign I designed for WWF’s TX2 initiative entitled “Thumbs Up For Tigers.”

From art installations and shows to giving lectures and conducting workshops, I employ various methods of data dissemination to get the public in the know, but the uniting and underlying matrix for all my efforts is storytelling.

Giving a Blue Beyond Borders lecture

Let me draw your attention to a simple exercise with which I begin a lot of my workshops. I first tried this on a trip with Care Guatemala and Parsons School of Design IDC (Integrated Design Curriculum) on a group of female, Mayan artisans, to enhance their understanding of visual identity, or in industry speak, branding.

I start the exercise by handing out large sheets with identical stick figures printed on them. I pin one sheet up on the wall, onto which I inscribe adjectives that describe the silhouette both physically, and in terms of its personality. I replicate my outfit on it, add curly hair worn in a specific style, and sling a shoulder bag across her, and in that instant she comes alive. It becomes apparent to the class that the stick figure is me! I then encouraged each of the women to customize their stick figures. By illustrating their individuality, they had each created condensed, symbolic representations of the most important aspects of themselves.

Color Theory for Brand development

I followed up with a discussion about color, what each hue meant to their community, how the same color could mean different things in different cultures (e.g. white can symbolize peace, or death, red can portray anger or love) and how a color can be used to refine and define an identity.

Learning about signs, symbols, semiotics and how to create conceptual representations of the self.

Next we went over various signs and symbols, and how even though we spoke different languages that certain icons transcended language and cultural barriers.

Later, to get them to comprehend the importance of a singular visual identity for their products in foreign markets, I had to make them aware of the fact that we all see the world differently. So, I asked every woman in the group to draw the sun, something they all witnessed and relied on daily. To this day, in all the workshops I have initiated, I have yet to see two suns that are exactly alike.

No two suns are alike, various illustrations to exemplify the point.

It took two and a half hours to give them the skills they needed to create a logo, and by the end of the fourth hour they had developed their own logo for their product line. It portrayed a sun rising over the valley they lived in, which framed a loom being worked on by a woman. It was simple, clean and incorporated fuscia and green in its layout, the two hues that are most reflected in their regional textiles. To be able to empower these women to think creatively and conceptually, to the point where they could coin their own brand logo, made me feel like a million bucks. It dawned on me in that moment precisely how I could contribute to the world through design.

Recall that striped lace dress from hell that stumped us all on social media? Was it blue and black or white and gold? To this day I see all four colors at once, to me it’s gold and white toward the top and blue and black toward the hem, but I’m special, and I want world peace. Telling colors apart was actually my first job in the fashion industry. Just before I decided to become a spandex and cape free crusader for marginalized causes, I was working as a human spectrometer on Seventh Avenue. I was hired by a reputed fashion house to discern between identical lab dips/color swatches. I had honed this ability to the point where I could effortlessly tell apart five yellows the average eye would relinquish as being the same, on the basis of tone, tint and saturation. My task was to note down the color values, name each hue, and help curate a palette for the upcoming season’s textile development. So imagine my surprise when I learned this blasted dress wasn’t a four way color palette. It kept me awake at night.

Source Wired.com The Science of why no one agrees on the color of this dress. Worth the read.

What we see is subjective, which means no two eyes see alike. So the way you sense and experience this world is utterly unique to your body, your internal biology, chemistry, mechanics and emotional as well as psychological constitution. So the connections you draw, the manner in which you can contribute is also inimitable. You cannot be replaced because flaws and all, there’s only one of you.

Much of my creativity has been determined by a visual shortcoming. My body experiences transmission gaps when it comes to detecting depth of field. Certainly clarifies why I walk into every piece of furniture I own each morning. But more significantly, it explains why most of my art is two dimensional in composition, rich in color blocking with an emphasis on positive and negative space. There are rarely any foreground-background relationships voiced in the majority of my pieces because frankly I do not notice them in real life.

My life-drawing instructor, Kate, once looked at my charcoal still life and remarked, “Your bananas dance all over the page Asher, they are just magical.” What she meant to say was, “You have no concept of spatial relationships and your fruit lack orientation to any plane, real and imaginary.”

Over time I have not only found a way to work around my limitation through the use of light and shadow but the flatland aesthetic has now become my signature sensibility. I use my inability to sense depth to my advantage and I push the boundaries on the art that results from this handicap.

Hydrocarbon Hospice by Asher Jay

Figuring out how to equip my art’s audience with an informed perspective that is augmented by authentic insight, is my biggest challenge. The connections that help me forge a path between what is known by some and what remains unfamiliar to most, are the missing links I need to find and weave together to bring alive a story that can enlighten the benighted.

I examine content that is hard to grasp and break it down into its core elements. This is where I get my ya-yas. I subsequently sequence these building blocks in a more intuitive, emotionally tangible way, through narrative, such that the original material finds articulation in a more accessible vocabulary.

Reformatting the parts, re-frames the whole.

If something is hard to understand it is not because you are stupid, it is because the thing in question has been expressed without bearing you in mind. Content is always published with intent, unfortunately that intent is often to be elitist and exclusive, instead of egalitarian and inclusive. This implies that only those who are fluent in a given dialect will be in the position to access, acquire, and apply the encoded information. People treat information in a proprietary manner, like knowledge is a product or service that belongs to those who first uncover it. By holding onto information and circulating it to a predetermined target audience, those in the know withhold the overall development of the global village. It is a parochial power game that turns a blind eye to sustainable progress. In today’s world everyone needs to be informed, so their participation can be productive. Do not forget, the fate of those in the know is inextricably tethered to those who are ignorant, so a failure to educate actually dooms us all.

“Those Who Have The Privilege To Know Have The Duty To Act. — Albert Einstein”

What is Asher Jay? (Extended Version)

On expedition in Colombia with Audubon Society.

Common Name: Asher Jay

Scientific Name: Asherus Jayus

Description: Mammalian and well groomed like its close relatives, the Great Apes. The Asher has golden brown curly hair that it wears in a short, asymmetrical cut. Tall, tan, and attired in trendy ensembles, this untamable creature of athletic stature has signature dark circles around its eyes, proof that this being is nocturnal by choice and diurnal by coffee. The sleep deprivation can be attributed to its workaholic nature. Time is definitely relative to the Asher, and even though it sports a prominent watch at all times, it has yet to use the apparatus for its intended purpose, which suggests that the Asher uses the watch solely for peacocking. Its long fingers occasionally sport manicures but mostly they are covered in paint splatters, a symptom of its career choice.

“Status: Endangered, especially since it’s unwilling to procreate and add to population growth.”

Habit Range: Global citizen, amateur nest builder on field expeditions, often found worming its way through the Big Apple. Its primary residence is in Manhattan, New York City, where it specifically favors zipcodes with good coffee shops. Tends to hole up on most days at its desk or at its studio, because the Asher loves being alone and productive.

Sex: Heterosexual Female leaning toward mitosis. Has temporarily benched its self... until conditions improve.

Post note* As of 2017 the Asher has found her one true mate. Being the highly monogamous animal she is, the Asher has partnered with her mate as steadfastly as an Emperor Penguin. The Asher has even presented her mate choice with a perfect pebble from every country she visits. The Asher is now awaiting a return courtship token in the form of a rock. :P

Weight: 126lbs – 132 lbs depending on dessert intake.

Height: 5’10 without heels. 6’2 with heels, consequently without dates.

Key characteristics: Deep brown eyes, tan skin tone, loud voice with a mutt accent, excessive enthusiasm for life, consumes cake for breakfast, is happiest diving the ocean depths, loves walking her dog, gregarious, and seems to be possessed by the wild.

The introvert with extrovert tendencies.

Behavior: Thoughtful, witty, curious, authentic, nomadic, energetic, honest, compassionate, empathic, suffers from a sweet jaw, exhibits a proclivity for multitasking, highly active and should not be fed any sugar or coffee after 4 pm. From stand-up comedy to cave diving, this quirky bipedal entity embraces life to the fullest. The Asher is a hopeless romantic, but unlike Meatloaf who would do anything for love, the Asher would do anything for wild. All behavior subject to caffeine intake, without coffee this creature is a stagnant, flat, flesh puddle.

Diet: balanced and nutritious until it stumbles upon cake. It will try to convince you to take a meeting at a bakery.

“It has no self-restraint; it will not stop at one slice.”

Mating: success rate dramatically diminished by recent disclosure on its National Geographic talk “Art as a Weapon”, “When I am on a date with a stranger, I think of how an elephant dies every 15 minutes, so by the time we get to dessert, I cannot help but wonder, ‘is this guy worth 6 elephants.’ Invariably, not.”

Reproductive Capacity: Capable of giving rise to live young, but has decided against bringing another human black hole into this world.

“Hopes it can achieve Immaculate Conception of endangered species. Daily.”

Life Span: increasing with medical advances. Bittersweet, since increased human life span spells less resources for the wild.

Field Notes:  This unique animal spends most of its time working, even over the weekends. It seems to have an obvious love for its vocation. A lot of its emotional states seem to orbit the focus of its work, wildlife, unlike other members of its kind that express their feelings to bond with their own.  Frequently found foraging for and disseminating data online, this upright ape is from the Order ‘Digital Agera’, and Family ‘Social Media Addictae.”  It uses its Instagram and Facebook to share its entire existence to the world at large. It does this frequently. This live streaming monkey descendent with a massive browser footprint can thus be easily befriended and interacted with. It seems to be in the process of writing a book this year, of poems, prose and art as it pertains to its hysterically dysfunctional personal life…amongst other things!

"When life offers you the chance to do aerobatics in a biplane, say yes." - Asher Jay

Hope from the Brink

If we were to compress geological time in to 24 hours, human beings would have manifested only a second before midnight. We, as a species, have had all this impact within that second. We are, but a small blip on the giant radar of life, but our imprint on this planet is as pronounced as the meteor that caused the dinosaurs to go extinct.

“Perhaps in growing aware of our impact, we can consciously choose to make that impact, positive.”

Family Values by Asher Jay

Wild is where we come from, wild is who we are, and wild is how we will continue to thrive. We had no part in its conception but we play every part in preserving it for future generations! We need to feel a part of this intricate pulsating web, not apart from it. I certainly do, and all my creative expressions evoke this truth, that degrees of separation are actually degrees of connection.

When we poach, cull or slaughter wild for short sighted monetary gain, we interrupt and inhibit the osmotic dialogue between all living things that transcends our linear comprehension of time; we create breaks in what is otherwise a continuous, complex and cyclical biological narrative. This is particularly evident with the trade in blood ivory and rhino horn, which has crippled herds of these magnificent, irreplaceable animals across African nations. It is for this reason that Kenyans needed to light a fire to their stockpiles of death. When we monetize death, and fund life with it, we can only perpetuate more death in this world, because that’s what we have prioritized and assigned value to. We need to tilt this model on its head and monetize life. 

“This monumental burn not only underscores the need to put illicit wildlife products beyond economic use, but to stop depositing death in to bank accounts.”

Information is a catalyst for change. Knowing evolves your engagement. The more I know today, the less I want tomorrow. When you know that an elephant is worth 76 times more alive, it makes little sense to slaughter one for a commodity that has no legal market anyway.  Knowing reforms a person’s purchase perspective.

Time and again, we buy into choices at a price that does not account for the product’s real cost. We buy because we are desperately trying to assimilate the world external to us, to make our selves bigger. What we need to recognize is that we are already all encompassing, because the world external is already a part of our biological lineage and story. All we need to do to expand ourselves is to reconnect to our wild past. If our internal landscape was aware of its origin story, we would not continue to denude the external landscape, because we would understand the external as an extension of the internal.

So as a generation we need to change our priorities, our value system, economic paradigm and how we each impact the world with our daily choices. We each have impact on the world around us irrespective of our awareness of it. This is why every household and every individual in it need to be conscious consumers. 

The greatest change we can evoke is to move away from our antiquated obsession with ownership and the need to amass personal wealth at the cost of collective welfare. We operate from deficiency instead of contentment, we are insatiable in our wants, and avaricious in our take. In recognizing we have one finite planet, and we are one people inhabiting its various ecosystems, we might be encouraged to bring our fences and walls down and open up our borders to embrace those in need. We need to cultivate the humility to concede that the boundaries, and caps we impose on the natural world, stem from a limited understanding and the humanity to facilitate the necessary shift toward coexistence. The good news is that the current paradigm is not the only way to be. I encourage YOU: the young, the able, the determined, the brave, and the compassionate visionaries of the era of change, to redesign our flailing system, economically, politically, financially, spiritually, psychologically, culturally, socially and ecologically.

“We need to put the long haul welfare of the collective ahead of our own immediate gain.”

NJ Ivory Crush on August 12 2016

I am not going to preach formulas of success or advocate a single strategic way to embrace a wild, inclusive future. On most days I have not a clue as to how to channel my creativity toward impact, but I wake up and I spend hours hacking away at various issues that affect me on a personal level. If you do not take responsibility for the world around you, who will? If you do not decide to fix a failing framework who will? Only when you own a problem will you feel the need to resolve it. You cannot come up with necessary answers unless you take it upon yourself to ask the right questions.

Hope without understanding, seldom evokes action or enables a solution. We cannot simply hope for a better way forward, we cannot simply hope we will change. We need to apply ourselves, we need to assume responsibility, find a better way forward today, and enact change now. So here’s to now, and the possibilities it holds, here’s to the dark past that delivered us to this monumental burn, and here’s to the future that will see us evolve from the ashes of this action.

My wisdom to you is mud. Luscious, wet, viscous earth. Nairobi has an abundance of it, particularly at the burn site. Go dig your toes into it, let your feet wallow in the ground, be present and reconnect to the very source of life, the planet. This is one better than the best virtual reality in the world, it is the most you can indulge your senses, and as you step into the mud, consider the imprint your life is leaving upon this finite planet.  Irrespective of your awareness of your imprint, you still leave one behind, so choose to make it positive. Don’t just hope, act. Be unafraid. Make your mark now.

Yellow Stars Shine Bright