Dead stars

At the parking lot in front of the bowling alley, O and I decided to play around with his 50mm. With all the lights on the streets, who would've thought we'd catch all these stars staring down at us.

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Washing

Sorrow seeps through cupped hands
like water taken against it's will.
It cannot be contained.
Tears
brim over the edges,
like bleeding watercolor on white paper.
The world is a gasp of shapes,
lacking in dimension.
I blink to give way to gravity's course.

It's best not to fight it,
in exchange for clarity.

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Why does the world birth brokenness?

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Once: Falling Slowly.

Gravity is cruel.



I don't know you
But I want you
All the more for that
Words fall through me
And always fool me
And I can't react
And games that never amount
To more than they're meant
Will play themselves out

Take this sinking boat and point it home
We've still got time
Raise your hopeful voice you have a choice
You'll make it now

Falling slowly, eyes that know me
And I can't go back
Moods that take me and erase me
And I'm painted black
You have suffered enough
And warred with yourself
It's time that you won

Take this sinking boat and point it home
We've still got time
Raise your hopeful voice you had a choice
You've made it now
Falling slowly sing your melody
I'll sing along

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Photoshoots in the white room, almost bedroom

Shooting on a Sunday after helping out in school. You know you love what you're doing when you can't help but do it 24/7. FOR FUN.

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A void

I think I lost a friend today.
My condolences.
No, not to death. But similar to it, I suppose.
To what then?

To silence.
To space.
To a void. (Avoid.)

Lost words float on a wave with no sound.
Memories dip, falter, and are taken in, in an instant swell of emotion.
Wave after wave after wave,
I send a flying kiss to find you in the depths.
I promise not to wait on the shore
or to bother with prayers.
It is enough,
somehow enough,
to survive such tragedies.



You told me you wanted to eat up my sadness
Well jump on, enjoy, you can gorge away
You told me you wanted to eat up my sadness
Jump right
Baby, you've got to be more discerning
I've never known what's good for me
Baby, you've got to be more demanding
Jump left

This modern love breaks me
This modern love wastes me

Do you wanna come over and kill some time?
Tell me facts, tell me facts, tell me facts
Tell me facts
Throw your arms around me.

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5AM sadness. blah-ness.

I'm up so early today. I don't know if it's because I'm used to it or if sleep is depriving me of its escape. The day has begun. More time to think. More time for torture.

Right now, everything is so hazy. I woke up in fog when I broke away. This path, it's leading me elsewhere, to so many other options which would never have sprung up if I remained. I'm afraid of where it will lead.

Why do I always need to 'wait and see.' What is with waiting, with time, with timing. We are swallowed up by minutes and we think we 'manage' time.

What is there to see. To be honest? So much. Maybe we can see together. Maybe we see different things now. Or have we always seen apart? Maybe we see things that aren't there. So, are we holding on for a future? Holding on for the glories of the past? Or for a future like the past? Both don't exist anymore though, what now?

What is a 'relationship'? People relating. People re-lating. A back-and-forth gesture. Like a lonesome wave. Hello, goodbye. See you later.

And feelings are relative.
What are you feeling?
I am relative-ly alone. Apart from you. A part of you.

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K, such a talented person.

So there are many, many ways to leave forever;

» So we take a stroll down a park we’ve known all our lives while we lived here (there are many lives to leave), every step away from the train station also a step towards an approaching departure.

» Behind us, streetlamps blink to life one by one, illuminating all we’ve passed through. Before us, the park teems with strangers, and it is only by the sound of your steps that I know, I know you.

» So sound never really disappears after it has been cast, because that is the nature of a wave; it continues, threads itself onto the next crest, becomes new. He sits in the middle of the bridge that spans across the lake, weaves a song on strained strings. Above the unmoving water, he floats between.

» This city has taught us how to be alone. Unfurls what we keep close and fisted, spreads distances deep where light is faint. Where we are ‘touched’, sightless, fleeting. So that even as we walk together, “you” are also thousands of years away.

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-Kae Batiquin

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If only we could collapse inward--
crushing this loneliness
under a debris
of bones.
Maybe we can forget
such a structure existed
and discover ourselves whole
once more--
contained in a heartbeat.

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Winter is coming.

It will take some getting used to, the cold. Especially this kind that seeps into bones. Stealthily it creeps and surrounds the deepest of marrows like a tongue sucking out the life in me.

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Flakes. Snowflakes. Flak.

There are just some things that don't seem to work out. It's sad, I know. It feels like I completely missed the point. The turning point. What did I miss? The truth, maybe. Rewind. Let's just pretend we've dissolved into nothing. Or into air. I need lightness. It's easier than this, for sure.

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Northampton

Rode with J and them to Northampton. The assignment was to use different graphic elements to emphasize a subject.

Interrupting Lines





Contrast of Color



Using Depth of Field

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A Tree

Over the weekend, between roadtrips, C and I chased after light. For our class with Greg, we had to pick an environment and take photos of it at different times of the day. We raced with the sun to catch the dawn and attempted to see in the dark when the moon rose. This tree was interesting because it's leaves were half-fallen. The ones left behind were a brilliant color..almost like a pseudo-resistance. And I thought the graveyard behind it was cool. :)

7AM

12NN

7PM

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Portraiture with Greg Heisler

I talked to Greg about this because I was bothered about the idea of taking someone's portrait. When he showed us a couple of photos done by professional photographers in the industry and his comments about style, gesture, and purpose, it raised several questions in my mind:

1. What makes a good portrait?
2. Does it have to be real? What about surreal portraits?
3. Does it have to tell a story? But what if a person's face is interesting on it's own?
4. How does one take a candid portrait without trespassing on someone's privacy?
5. What is good portrait lighting? Does a portrait have to look 'unpolished'?

It was an interesting conversation to say the least. I told him about my struggle with seeing and watching. I told him that I found it embarrassing to be 'photo-journalistic,' to take a stranger's portrait on the street without asking for their permission. The candidness of the moment would be ruined by awareness but at the same time, how can I just steal a picture of someone's life? It's a weird feeling: watching, loving what I see, and interrupting it with a click.

He brought up the idea of watching vs. seeing what we want to see/ imposing our vision on a scene.

"I want to stop taking pictures of pictures." 
It's a challenge to distance ourselves further from the reality that we are composing to the reality that's actually there. I remember Barbara Bordick mentioning that "Every portrait is a self-portrait"--on the one hand, the photographer has a say. He/she has stake on what the photograph is meant to say. On the other hand, because of this, it brings up the question of who the photograph is really about. Is it about the subject or the artist?
Richard Avedon then talks about surfaces and how the face or a specific surface was enough to make a photograph. It's true that it seems like that's all photography is, a one-dimensional art. Flat. I still don't know how I feel about this. Is portraiture merely a means to record a surface? It seems too easy... to forget the 'why.'

"Personally, I wouldn't take a picture of someone that I wouldn't want of me." This is one of Greg's greatest advice to us, for sure. It implies the gravity of the work we create--how our pictures affect the world's way of seeing itself.

"Sometimes I wish I could just do this: (blink) CLICK."
I also told Greg about this couple that J and I saw in New York. We were walking towards the subway and there was a couple in their sixties wearing black and white. The woman was white, with snow white hair, wearing a black dress, and white shoes. The man was black, with a black beret, a white suit, and black shoes. They looked like they stepped out of a movie set. It was too perfect..how opposite they were. Coincidentally, they sat in front of me and J. AND endearingly, they were so in-love. I told Greg how I'll never forget that couple and it was during those times that I really felt the burden of ethics. It would be perfect to have a built-in shutter inside our brains when something like this falls on your lap. But, then again "if you think about it, that moment will never be lost because you'll always remember that couple on the subway. And because of that, it'll resurrect itself in your future work."

"Sometimes it's my dream to hire an artist's model. And just look. Have the pleasure of looking. Not in a creepy way. But to really see someone. I took a drawing class and it was illuminating because you really need to pay attention to the details instead of just going 'click.'"


"Ultimately, portraits should be about the subject. But that's just me."
As long as we are aware of the person in front of our lens and in control of the person behind it, then we'll be okay. It's a matter of struggling with ourselves, finding a balance between what we want to say and the story that's already there. 

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