This is a commercial I directed, did some script changes, shot and edited for a business. Let me know what you think!
http://vimeo.com/37319075

Newberry Rodeo, Fla.

Covered the Newberry Rodeo for the Gainesville Sun. Enjoy! Click here!> Newberry Rodeo

Filmed a comedy skit with comedian friends!

Check out this skit I filmed and co-directed. It made front page Reddit!

http://youtu.be/JOVBA3QI_rY

Vanguard High vs Trinity Catholic football in Ocala, Fla. 9-22-11.

Zach Pinneo (75), of the Trinity Catholic High School Celtics football team, grips the ball before hiking it to quarterback Chris Armstrong (14) during a game against Vanguard High School Knights, at Booster Stadium in Ocala, Fla., Sept. 22, 2011. The game was stopped due to lightning as the Knights lead with a score of 38-0 in the third quarter.

Todd Swearingen, center, the Vanguard High School Knights freshman team defensive coordinator, leads the team through a warm-up during half-time at a game against the Trinity Catholic High School Celtics junior varsity football team at Booster Stadium in Ocala, Fla., Sept. 22, 2011. The game was stopped due to lightning as the Knights lead with a score of 38-0 in the third quarter.

Trinity Catholic High School Celtics Kevin Moore (8) of the junior varsity football team, is blocked during a game against the Vanguard High School Knights freshman team at Booster Stadium in Ocala, Fla., Sept. 22, 2011. The game was stopped due to lightning as the Knights lead with a score of 38-0 in the third quarter.

Trinity Catholic High School Celtics quarterback Chris Armstrong (14) of the junior varsity football team, scans the field during a game against the Vanguard High School Knights freshman team at Booster Stadium in Ocala, Fla., Sept. 22, 2011. The game was stopped due to lightning as the Knights lead with a score of 38-0 in the third quarter.
Trinity Catholic High School Celtics Kameron Butler (21), of the junior varsity football team, blocks off Vanguard High School Knights center back Kj Dowdy (20), of the freshman team, during a game at Booster Stadium in Ocala, Fla., Sept. 22, 2011. The game was stopped due to lightning as the Knights lead with a score of 38-0 in the third quarter.

Buchholz vs Tallahassee Lincoln volleyball. BHS won with a score of 25-21, 22-25, 27-25, 25-14.! Sept. 21, 2011.

UF Rugby Club practices at Hume field on campus.

Eres tu cuando estas.

Si no estas, cuando respiro el aire pesa.. Cuando te miro el aire soy.

El calor me recuerda tu mirada y el frio de la noche me acompaña despierto.

El silencio me platica de ti.

Escucho indeleble frizado en el tiempo, cada susurro de aire que roza mi oido sonando tu nombre.

Iluminado tu recuerdo por la luna, arrugadas mis cejas como un tierno en llanto por su amor.

Injusto, que no estas conmigo, peor, que yo estoy sin ti..

Pensamiento de no tenerte me hace debil.

Que no me veas esta bien, antes de ti invisible yo era.

Que no te vea yo, muero adentro cada vez un poco, ya que la vision de ti por dentro me llena.

Cada segundo que pasa es una nota en la cancion de la vida.

Cada sonrisa tuya es la melodia en el ritmo de la vida mia.

Pasan las horas por el vacio de mi paciencia, espero.

En tu cama dormi vajo tu aliento.

En la mia paso el tiempo despertar a tu lado mil veces queriendo.

Al fin me encuentro. La sustancia que no sabia en donde se escondia.

El quien soy mirando mas alla del espejo y aun encontrando reflejo.

El color mas bello en un mundo blanco y negro.

La dulce maravilla que le da savor al tiempo.

Eres tu cuando estas.

August morning in Gainesville, Fla. LIGHTNING shot!

Hawthorne, Fla.

Meeting Tony from New York and the homeless

The light from the street pole stabbed the dark and the cold breeze numbed my fingers. The paved streets were painted in colored layers of dry leaves. Like frozen tears from a tree they splashed the floor. It was a solitary night at the downtown plaza. The crunch below my feet was the only sound for blocks. When standing still the deep silence of the night hummed to the chill air.

Once all the sleeping spots are taken, on the cold nights, the homeless seek shelter at the St. Francis house, a temporary shelter for those in need. The facility makes an exception during nights with extreme weather by allowing more people it can normally house to spend the night. They place them on the main desk floor, the entrance hallway floor and the lunchroom floor. Blankets and floor mats ador n the fading black and white or nate tiles and people.

There is a curfew, and because the homeless have to be at the door by a certain time to enter, the streets get cleared out very early.

As I walked around the plaza I noticed a group of people mingling outside a church. There were two men and a woman. The entire block was dark, except for their corner.

His voice stood out. His tone had a dark timber. He was a man of short stature, always looking down, and because he wore a hoodie I couldn't see his face.

The cover of the book he held in his hand got my attention and I asked him why he had that book.

He said his name was Tony from New York and that the book was about The Harbor. He was very friendly and introduced the woman sitting across him as his partner.

The other man I did know, he was from the first couple that allowed me to hang out with them. He excused himself and went to prepare the spot for the night. He invited me to spend the night with them or at least to visit before I left. I told him I would definitely stop by and continued to talk with Tony.

I was curious why they were out in such a cold night. I was sure St. Francis had space for them, and a couple of blankets and mats too

Tony and his partner said they liked it better outside because they didn’t like dealing with the crowd that went to St. Francis. Apparently they had a bad experience with fleas and bed bugs the last time they were there, so they decided to stay outside.

Tony seemed like a straightforward kind of person and his partner did too. I was comfortable enough to ask them why they lived in the street.

Standing in a corner, watching people walk by, made me reminisce on my childhood in Nicaragua. Hanging out with the neighbors out on the block after a street baseball game.

I mentioned that to Tony and he said he also played in the street with his neighbors as a kid, something children rarely do now a days.

In my town, Granada, the uneven clay roofs of the neighborhood claimed up to twenty homemade balls a day. And when that last ball would get stuck, all the kids would gather around and offer their part to make more balls.

We had to make our own by wrapping a small rock or a marble no longer worthy of the bucket for the next marble tournament, with socks. That is how my grandfather's silk pairs would come back missing one of each after the laundry. He blamed the entire world except for us, and we were fine with that. No were in the commandments it said that using something that belongs to your family for another purpose was stealing, so we were sin free, for now.

Some kids used several cereal boxes stacked into each other as gloves, I was lucky to have a real glove, a hand-me-down from a cousin, but it was a nice glove, the only one we ever owned, me and my six brothers.

Tony laughed and began to tell me part of his story.

I did a short article on homeless people for the alligator newspaper. I'm not sure what they are going to use as far as the length of the first draft so I'm posting the whole thing here. I met so many people doing the homeless photo documentary, (listed below and on my website with captions --FARFANPHOTO.COM--), that I feel it's unfair to do it on just one person but that is how the paper did it. It was a last minute thing. So sorry for my sloppiness.

Draft on homelessness:

They describe themselves as more than a group or a community.

They are a family and a mixture of circumstances. They are friends, partners and lovers.

They are souls that if enough time spent with them, even the well off will feel jealousy. They don’t go home to an empty apartment or have coffee by themselves. They say they will never walk the roads alone, they will always have one another and they will always relate because in life anyone can have the same fate.

Each morning they hold hands and laugh. Again and forever they could see each other and react as if it was the first time in a while, because they are glad to see another day to keep each other company.

Wade Broestler:

Among the crowd that stands one man with a cane sits. They wait for food outside a church in downtown Gainesville. He waits for his family to forgive him and for his monthly disability check.

Broestler was handicapped after a construction accident that injured his left leg early in the year in 1989. In the summer of that same year he was assaulted and a blow to his head gave him right-side brain injury, limiting his control over the left side of his body.

“I have a habit and my family don’t like it,” Broestler said. “I smoke, they don’t like the smell and they made me choose.”

Leaving three sons and one daughter, Broestler only carries what he can only replace, a few things in a black bag, a yellow mat and his cigarettes. “There is not one day I don’t think about them,” Broestler said.

FIN

I want to elaborate on the section of the draft where it describes the homeless as never being alone and so happy. The descriptions I use are the reasons why I kept doing the project. I found the good in their lives and focused on that. I did feel sad to see people sleep in the street and argue, sometimes even threaten me, but I also saw them laugh, joke around and test each others patience, just like any family member would do.

With time they learn everything about each other and get as close as any sibling may be. I figured the only way for me to stick around was to stop worrying and to focus on the positive.

To be honest I was ready to quit in the first two weeks into the project because the stress was overwhelming and the aggressiveness toward the camera and me made me think I was never going to accomplish this. It was getting to me, their living conditions and some ask for money everyday and I couldn't help them with that. I didn't like the feeling but I knew I had to do it.

So after being turned down from taking pictures over and over, one person took me in. At first this one guy, whose name I can't mention, he didn’t want to be in the story but he showed me around and introduced me to others. Through him I met a couple; they were very nice and even offered me to stay with the group they camped out with. For once I felt welcomed after being rejected so much. One out of ten people I approached and spoke to would have a brief conversation with me and maybe would let me take stills. Every time that camera came out, it was like a magnet for trouble, if it was hanging off my shoulder it was o.k. but when that shutter blinked at the crowd, it wasn't seducing anyone.

It is very hard to get homeless people to let you hang out in their area even less take pictures of them, and that I understand. I tried all kinds of things, like growing my beard and wearing old clothes, but that doesn’t really work, turns out most homeless people that are sane enough to talk to you and understand what you are doing, are well dressed because of donations and well fed.

For the first three weeks all I did was mingle with the crowd in downtown. I told them who I was and what my project was about. I left my camera in my bag and just had conversations with people for hours. I would leave home from 4 p.m. after school and ride my bike to downtown and stay there until 8 p.m. sometimes 10 p.m. On a Friday night I once watched a movie in a parking lot on a portable DVD with the couple, he was nice, but his wife didn't like me so I left early around 11 p.m. It was a cold night and everyone smoked. Smoking cigarettes helped me blend in with the rest and make friends by trading, so I began to smoke.

I had a pack of cigs in my pocket almost every day just in case I stayed late, eventually I smoked even if I wasn't cold. I would sit in the benches of the downtown plaza, play dominoes with whoever was next and smoke. I felt bad eating the food handed out to the homeless and felt bad bringing my own, so lunch and dinner I skipped many times.

Once someone saw me smoking they knew I had cigs on me, so they would ask me for one and we would trade cigs. This was an easy way to get to know people. It was as if little by little I was no longer a stranger, but one of them.

Some would make fun of me and tell me I didn’t have friends, and ask me questions that tested my patience. That was o.k, after a while I realized one thing I never thought of, they may be homeless, but the spots where they hung around or slept in at night were their home, that was their private space, so I wouldn't go there unless invited. I also realized that was probably their way to let me know they liked me, by threatening me and saying things like "If I hear that click one time boy" I would calm them down by reassuring that I only took pictures with permission and that I would never disrespect. I knew I was in their territory and had to consider that, even though we were outside in the street in the open public. Some just said it as a joke, but some were really serious.

In my journalism classes I learned outside is free game, but outside for the homeless have rules, their rules.

Eventually, some got to know me and began to accept the fact that I was around and would possibly take pictures. I didn't have to say anything whenever a new guy would come by and threaten me. I was defended by someone else. I was protected by the people that at first were ready to kick me out.

In one occasion a man got really close to my face. He was angry and shouting telling me to leave. He was just scared. The thought that my camera might tell the world where he was and how he was doing is the kind of record that wouldn't stay within the county he was booked. I was scared too, for my camera.

As small encounters like these happened where people looked out for me I knew I was growing close to the crowd. I was only able to spend so much time with them because I didn't have a job at the time. I knew when I got a job or two, eventually I would not have the time to do that again. So I went out there every free minute I had.

I would wait until someone in the homeless crowd would say something like “Hey boy why aren’t you writing something down” or “where is your camera, what kind of a journalist are you?” That was my signal, my -- it’s o.k. you can shoot. -- The guy I was with at first taught me all that and initially he would give me the signal, but he would go missing the first week or two of the month because he got his checks. I don’t know what from but that’s what people around there said. As soon as those checks came in, some would rent a hotel, buy food, drugs and go missing till they were broke again with nothing a haze of memories could't remember. I guess that's the point, not to remember. After a few weeks they would show up drunk, high or intoxicated of whatever it is they last had. So the third week of every month I knew what to expect. That's how I found the serious addicts.

Eventually I started approaching people on my own and I had my camera out all the time, I knew who cared about the camera and who didn’t, so I was very careful not to get near those who didn’t like pictures.

The man that helped me at first thought I was writing a story, because I was a journalist. Though I explained to him several times that I was doing a picture story and showed him my camera, he kept asking me when the written article would come out. In one of his intoxication fits he got angry and I left him alone. After that one incident, he kept approaching me asking me rhetorical questions. I figured so many times I explained to him what I was doing. Why would he remember this time? So I left him alone, didn't want to make him angry again. Later on I found out he was shooting.

For some reason, that day when I was drinking coffee alone at my apartment I understood how the homeless feel. It was the fifth week into the project and I wasn’t feeling good. The nice people were not around and I had a sad conversation with an old man from 4 p.m. to 6 p.m. I was hungry and tired, so I went home and called it a day. I made some coffee and sat in my table, alone.

As I thought of the people I had met I felt a little jealous of the company they always have. At first it was hard to understand why I was feeling that way, but it helped me realize how special they are to each other, whether couples or just friends, all they have is each other. As I thought about them and how they stared and sometimes approached me with questions and concern, I think at some point, it was almost as if they felt sorry for me. Some would offer me food and drinks as if to them I was homeless.

After the coffee I felt better and I returned at around 8:30 p.m., that same day. There I met Tony from New York, standing outside a church with his shopping cart reading a book titled “The Statue In The Harbor.”

High pass images on photoshop. For instructions follow this link: http://www.digitalphotopro.com/software/image-processing/the-high-pass-filter.html?start=1

Shooting around

Sorry I haven't been posting much lately. Summer is busy but I'll do my best to keep some fresh images on this blog. Here are some images of my recent work I been doing in Gainesville. The cartoon like ones are HDR images I been playing around with a new program at work. It is very easy. All you have to do is use a tripod, take the same image at 3 different exposures and wallah!! use photomatix to do the hdr image. And if I can do it, trust me, so can you.

The Homeless of Gainesville.

The homeless of Gainesville.

Ramon Angeles, Lake City, was laid off more than a year ago. He has a degree in agronomy and ran a chicken farm. Because of the declining economy the company he had a contract with let him go. Since then, farmer's markets and his religion have kept his family afloat. His three children moved out to larger cities and are striving to become professionals in other fields. Working the land is all that Angeles knows. After loosing the contract, his land was all he had left, so he began growing crops. With his wife recently falling ill, he sent her to Dominican Republic to recuperate while in the company of her family members. Every day he works the land not knowing when his wife will return and when he will be able to retire. Photos and captions by- Andres G. Farfan

Sevendust in Gainesville Dec. 3

Sevendust in Gainesville, Dec. 3

Sevendust Dec.3 in Gainesville.