Outsmarting cattle and other worthwhile pursuits

Yesterday, I photographed cows. Yes, in all seriousness. And they were hell-bent on thwarting me.

Why did I choose to shoot cows (on film, and not in the "slow elk" kind of way), you ask? They looked so lovely and pastoral, I thought it would be a charming composition to work with reminiscent of 19th century painters who did similar pastorals, maybe I could even do a soft digital composition in a painterly w--oh hell, I just felt like it. But apparently, my bovine friends did not feel like posing. They looked perfect before I stopped the car. Like a chapter from my art history textbook. They were farther from the road than I thought, though, and I had to get closer to get the shot. Who would have thought you'd need a 400mm sports lens to shoot cattle? They're frigging cows, not racehorses. As soon as I popped the gate and walked into the field, I became the most interesting thing to happen all season. Dammit, lay down. F*ckers all stood up and walked to me. No, go back. No, I do not have treats. No, you all nosing me and blowing lawnmower boogers on me is not painterly, damn you. Go the hell over there where you were. No, do not --- no, no jesus! Now I see why farmers do not wear Manolo Blahniks. Shit. Euw. Christ, have a breath mint. Yeah, have the whole roll. Eat the wrapper, too, see if I care. No, NO, NOT the camera! Ok, screw this. They all followed me like ducklings to the fence, and I beat them back with the gate. Kang! Kang! Kang! They didn't seem to take it personally...

Nowhere in these lovely FANTASY pastoral paintings of the 19th century is it recorded that the cows followed the artist, knocked over his stool, paints, and easel, blew snot all over him and his materials, and ate the paint -- because I'm certain he had lead poisoning and was woozy high on turpentine fumes.

Got some nice pictures of rusty barbed wire and cow patties. I'm going to make it into "outsider art" and charge a fortune from my mental facility cell.