(I don't particulary like the contrast in the jpg image though.)
Tuesday, April 18
Dead Rose
Many people come to my blog to look for photos of dead flowers. Here's a rose. Feel free to use it in non-commercial work, as long as credit is given to me. Drop me a mail to boost my ego if you're using. =)
(I don't particulary like the contrast in the jpg image though.)
(I don't particulary like the contrast in the jpg image though.)
Thoughts on Being Ordinary
Today, was supposed to meet a client at 2 but got rescheduled at the last moment to 6. So I went down to the Traveler's Health Clinic to have my second dosage of the Hep A vaccination. Surprisingly, I met a Spanish friend there, who's getting his immunisation with his wife. They're planning a cross-Asia-Russia trip by train back to Spain. It sounds really cool - a six-month trip. It also further reinforced my wanderlust. Ha. I also met my aunt who's working as a nurse at TTSH. What a small world.
In between waiting and travelling, I was reading Murakami's Norwegian Wood. His stories are typically about ordinary people caught up in unbelievably ordinary situations and mental states. In Norwegian Wood, the protagonist has a talk with his love and was told that "the only normal people are the ones who know that they are not normal at all". Existentialistic and thought provoking. What does it really mean to be normal? Having a normal job, living life like everyone else but deep down inside being all twisted and abnormal? The irony of it all and many of us traipse through life exactly in this manner.
Many a times, I have this yearning to be different, to be weird or to be just plain crazy. Does that make me different, weird or plain crazy? Or does that just make me ordinary, wishing to be somebody that is not me? Does everyone else have this innate need to be someone else, wishing that he was not like the rest?
Years ago, I would have been more easily influenced by what I read; I would imagine myself to be just like the guy in the book - giving succinct answers and talking all funny, I would recognize traits and assimilate them for a while. Does that make me different? Why is there even a need for me to be different anyway?
Couldn't I just be happy the way I am?
I have yet to come closer to the answer, and may never will.
I was feeling all down when the client rescheduled me: I was thinking that if I was born in a rich family, I wouldn't have to be doing this. I could just be shopping with my old man's money, reading (would I even love reading if I was rich?) books that I can't afford now, buying all the photographic equipment that I needed (would I still love photography?), having a string of girlfriends (and be blind to what I have now?), drinking and making merry every week (aimless existence without concern beyond the moment)? Life might seem to be more interesting if I had the means to buy everything I wanted to but I have an inkling that I might not be satisfied nonetheless.
In life, you win some and you lose some.
In between waiting and travelling, I was reading Murakami's Norwegian Wood. His stories are typically about ordinary people caught up in unbelievably ordinary situations and mental states. In Norwegian Wood, the protagonist has a talk with his love and was told that "the only normal people are the ones who know that they are not normal at all". Existentialistic and thought provoking. What does it really mean to be normal? Having a normal job, living life like everyone else but deep down inside being all twisted and abnormal? The irony of it all and many of us traipse through life exactly in this manner.
Many a times, I have this yearning to be different, to be weird or to be just plain crazy. Does that make me different, weird or plain crazy? Or does that just make me ordinary, wishing to be somebody that is not me? Does everyone else have this innate need to be someone else, wishing that he was not like the rest?
Years ago, I would have been more easily influenced by what I read; I would imagine myself to be just like the guy in the book - giving succinct answers and talking all funny, I would recognize traits and assimilate them for a while. Does that make me different? Why is there even a need for me to be different anyway?
Couldn't I just be happy the way I am?
I have yet to come closer to the answer, and may never will.
I was feeling all down when the client rescheduled me: I was thinking that if I was born in a rich family, I wouldn't have to be doing this. I could just be shopping with my old man's money, reading (would I even love reading if I was rich?) books that I can't afford now, buying all the photographic equipment that I needed (would I still love photography?), having a string of girlfriends (and be blind to what I have now?), drinking and making merry every week (aimless existence without concern beyond the moment)? Life might seem to be more interesting if I had the means to buy everything I wanted to but I have an inkling that I might not be satisfied nonetheless.
In life, you win some and you lose some.
Monday, April 17
Inherent Geekiness
Was playing around with OSX's Unix and trying to get Apache server running on my Mac. Will be getting MySQL installed too. It's easier than setting it up in a Windows environment. Lol.
Now that the holidays are here, I have got so many things to do. Meeting an old client this week, going up to KL to visit my mentor next and I hope to do some database jobs for money. There is also an unconfirmed product shoot. I even have plans to visit India with the Progress Package money, haha. I would be giving up some money making schemes if I pursue that but I think it is better for my soul. Ah. Gotta see how things go.
So many things to do in such a short time, suddenly 3 months + 1 month of summer seems to be too short for anything!
Now that the holidays are here, I have got so many things to do. Meeting an old client this week, going up to KL to visit my mentor next and I hope to do some database jobs for money. There is also an unconfirmed product shoot. I even have plans to visit India with the Progress Package money, haha. I would be giving up some money making schemes if I pursue that but I think it is better for my soul. Ah. Gotta see how things go.
So many things to do in such a short time, suddenly 3 months + 1 month of summer seems to be too short for anything!
Friday, April 14
Sleep and All Is Well
Woke up 13 hours later feeling like a new man.
Over the past two days, I bought $100 worth of books. Time to catch up on my reading!
Can't believe first year is over. Before I know it, we would all be thrusted into the working world. Shudders.
p.s. my friends and I can be found on FHM this month. lol. Was a snap of us at Balcony Bar a few weeks ago. Totally hilarious and embarrassing at the same time.
Over the past two days, I bought $100 worth of books. Time to catch up on my reading!
Can't believe first year is over. Before I know it, we would all be thrusted into the working world. Shudders.
p.s. my friends and I can be found on FHM this month. lol. Was a snap of us at Balcony Bar a few weeks ago. Totally hilarious and embarrassing at the same time.
Wednesday, April 12
Back Then
Had a chat with an old man at the void deck before returning home. To my surprise, he lived just right below my flat. It's funny how people in the city live so close yet so apart.
He talked about how he started smoking when he was only 8. Back then, Japan had just invaded Singapore and the adults passed him hand-rolled cigarettes to, perhaps, ease the pain of being alive.
He talked about how the Japanese soldiers beheaded people. Using a knife no longer than a parang, the Emperor's Sons (as he termed the killers), would tap the victim on the back and in a smooth motion, decapitate a man. It was funny, he said, that not a drop of blood would touch the killer.
He told me that the Japanese hung two human heads at a bridge in Jurong. One had its eyes close, while the other stared at you with regret. Blood had spilled from the head, down the pole and staining the earth. It was so horrible, he still dreamt of that scene forty years later.
When he was sleeping one night, a bomb fell upon his village. Many died that night. People cried for their sons, husbands, wives, mothers and lovers. Families that had 20-odd people sitting at the dinner table were reduced by more than three-quarters. He described, so vividly, how fragments and shards would fly upon the bomb's impact. He escaped death because a piece of metal had only grazed him while he was in bed. The mattress had prevented the metal from ricocheting and saved his life.
And the British were bad masters. In order to prevent the Japanese capture, the British had flown planes above Singapore, spraying oil and other flammable liquids. They had intended to set the city alight, better burnt to the ground than surrendered to the invaders. However, it rained non-stop for 24 hours and the British's plan was thwarted. How many more would have died innocently that night?
Years after the Japanese left, the old man still resented them. Japanese films were boycotted and he would refused to go.
"I didn't watch those shows because I hated them, I really did."
After the war, life was bad. His family was poor and he never did get an education. Food was hard to come by and he mostly ate rice and vegetables. That was one reason why he believed that he is still strong today.
He told me about the history behind the area I am staying at now. How several old houses around here used to belong to illustrious people like the assistant high commissioner and the head of the city council. He told me about the old Indian village that once stood where the coffee shop is now and the fish farms across the road.
He feels rather sad these days. He lamented the fact that cigarettes cost so much now and how they used to be so much better. Before the PAP came into power, cigarettes did not smell so bad, and when one smoked, people around would be tempted because of the fragrance. Everyone had to learn how to smoke and drink, for business and for pleasure. Most of his friends had past away and these days, he would have nothing much to do, except having a smoke and a beer at the void deck and singing with his wife.
I am thankful for this opportunity to steal a glimpse into the past, no matter how remote it is from the here and now. And like most old people, he would talk about something, go on and came back to the same topic again. Yet, I am amazed at what he had to say, no matter how convoluted by time, perceptions and other reasons.
I will visit him again soon; it's only down a single flight of stairs.
He talked about how he started smoking when he was only 8. Back then, Japan had just invaded Singapore and the adults passed him hand-rolled cigarettes to, perhaps, ease the pain of being alive.
He talked about how the Japanese soldiers beheaded people. Using a knife no longer than a parang, the Emperor's Sons (as he termed the killers), would tap the victim on the back and in a smooth motion, decapitate a man. It was funny, he said, that not a drop of blood would touch the killer.
He told me that the Japanese hung two human heads at a bridge in Jurong. One had its eyes close, while the other stared at you with regret. Blood had spilled from the head, down the pole and staining the earth. It was so horrible, he still dreamt of that scene forty years later.
When he was sleeping one night, a bomb fell upon his village. Many died that night. People cried for their sons, husbands, wives, mothers and lovers. Families that had 20-odd people sitting at the dinner table were reduced by more than three-quarters. He described, so vividly, how fragments and shards would fly upon the bomb's impact. He escaped death because a piece of metal had only grazed him while he was in bed. The mattress had prevented the metal from ricocheting and saved his life.
And the British were bad masters. In order to prevent the Japanese capture, the British had flown planes above Singapore, spraying oil and other flammable liquids. They had intended to set the city alight, better burnt to the ground than surrendered to the invaders. However, it rained non-stop for 24 hours and the British's plan was thwarted. How many more would have died innocently that night?
Years after the Japanese left, the old man still resented them. Japanese films were boycotted and he would refused to go.
"I didn't watch those shows because I hated them, I really did."
After the war, life was bad. His family was poor and he never did get an education. Food was hard to come by and he mostly ate rice and vegetables. That was one reason why he believed that he is still strong today.
He told me about the history behind the area I am staying at now. How several old houses around here used to belong to illustrious people like the assistant high commissioner and the head of the city council. He told me about the old Indian village that once stood where the coffee shop is now and the fish farms across the road.
He feels rather sad these days. He lamented the fact that cigarettes cost so much now and how they used to be so much better. Before the PAP came into power, cigarettes did not smell so bad, and when one smoked, people around would be tempted because of the fragrance. Everyone had to learn how to smoke and drink, for business and for pleasure. Most of his friends had past away and these days, he would have nothing much to do, except having a smoke and a beer at the void deck and singing with his wife.
I am thankful for this opportunity to steal a glimpse into the past, no matter how remote it is from the here and now. And like most old people, he would talk about something, go on and came back to the same topic again. Yet, I am amazed at what he had to say, no matter how convoluted by time, perceptions and other reasons.
I will visit him again soon; it's only down a single flight of stairs.
Monday, April 10
A Slight Discourse
Then it dawned on me.
The answer so deceptively hidden. To move one step forward, one must take one backwards.
A good book that causes you to remember the scenes from within just by seeing the title, a good photograph that makes you remember the emotions when you first saw it, a good song that makes you cry whenever you hear it, a good movie that makes you want to watch it over and over again...
All of these are tied with a single thread, an invisible string of human emotions, the artist's intentions, his/her expressions, take on life, perception, melody, etc etc!
And I am trying, trying very hard to reach that level. It is beyond words what just went through my head. And perhaps, it will lead to more doors opening.
Suddenly I am awashed with my very own feelings when I heard Damien Rice singing live. How he put in so much of himself into each song...and how there might not have been a specific intention when he wrote it, just that it had occurred to him.
I am trying to put a logical thought process on something as illogical as human creativity. And that is why I am stumped. However, my professor would say that he would disagree with me, that creativity is a logical process. Haha.
The answer so deceptively hidden. To move one step forward, one must take one backwards.
A good book that causes you to remember the scenes from within just by seeing the title, a good photograph that makes you remember the emotions when you first saw it, a good song that makes you cry whenever you hear it, a good movie that makes you want to watch it over and over again...
All of these are tied with a single thread, an invisible string of human emotions, the artist's intentions, his/her expressions, take on life, perception, melody, etc etc!
And I am trying, trying very hard to reach that level. It is beyond words what just went through my head. And perhaps, it will lead to more doors opening.
Suddenly I am awashed with my very own feelings when I heard Damien Rice singing live. How he put in so much of himself into each song...and how there might not have been a specific intention when he wrote it, just that it had occurred to him.
I am trying to put a logical thought process on something as illogical as human creativity. And that is why I am stumped. However, my professor would say that he would disagree with me, that creativity is a logical process. Haha.
Deeper
In between my textbooks, I have been reading The Photograph by Graham Clarke. Though the reviews on amazon ain't fantastic and the book is overtly wordy at times, it is still my first foray into understanding the art of photography beyond the aesthetics, through my own reading. I have only read 3 chapters (okay, skimmed through the one on landscapes) but I feel a certain sense of liberation and awe emerging from within, and with that, comes a long a feeling of unworthiness.
Photography takes on a deeper meaning, each image containing within itself a studium and punctum; drawing the viewer in, allowing him to read the photograph beyond what is shown. But I wonder, if was the artist who created the image with such "meanings" forming in his head at the point of capture, or was it post-imposed?
How then does one recouncile the truer meaning? I may go, "Wow, I sure didn't thought of that when I looked at the picture until you mentioned it."
Is it then equitable to say that the photographer had managed to evoke the certain emotion/non-emotion he had hoped to achieve from his viewers (assuming that said photographer had taken the picture for an intended audience)?
I was watching So You Think You Can Dance (yes, I should be studying) on the idiot-box and I saw how one dancer could dance with so much emotions that he caused himself and others around him to cry. Was it his intention to produce such emotions or was it just him expressing himself through his dance, and whatever the reader feels was entirely her own intepretation? I agree with the latter in this case.
So how do I bring this back to photography? Maybe there is a red herring fallacy here because I was talking about the intentions of injecting deeper meanings into photographs and ended up with the act of dancers causing emotions to stir. Haha. I am being self-contradictory then. Nevertheless, I am feeling kinda perplexed and finding it hard to put into words. Maybe I will go get myself a better book. =)
Photography takes on a deeper meaning, each image containing within itself a studium and punctum; drawing the viewer in, allowing him to read the photograph beyond what is shown. But I wonder, if was the artist who created the image with such "meanings" forming in his head at the point of capture, or was it post-imposed?
How then does one recouncile the truer meaning? I may go, "Wow, I sure didn't thought of that when I looked at the picture until you mentioned it."
Is it then equitable to say that the photographer had managed to evoke the certain emotion/non-emotion he had hoped to achieve from his viewers (assuming that said photographer had taken the picture for an intended audience)?
I was watching So You Think You Can Dance (yes, I should be studying) on the idiot-box and I saw how one dancer could dance with so much emotions that he caused himself and others around him to cry. Was it his intention to produce such emotions or was it just him expressing himself through his dance, and whatever the reader feels was entirely her own intepretation? I agree with the latter in this case.
So how do I bring this back to photography? Maybe there is a red herring fallacy here because I was talking about the intentions of injecting deeper meanings into photographs and ended up with the act of dancers causing emotions to stir. Haha. I am being self-contradictory then. Nevertheless, I am feeling kinda perplexed and finding it hard to put into words. Maybe I will go get myself a better book. =)
Sunday, April 9
Moving Shadows
Deadly silence pervaded my house for the past week. I'm too tired to carry on studying but I may have to continue fighting on for the next four days. Everything will be cheery at the end. I can sense the liberation of having no deadlines, no examinations and boundless time to do whatever I want. Except that I don't have money.
Two choices:
1. Work my ass off to get some cash.
2. Work sometimes, shoot often and reap benefits of a healthier psychology.
Opportunity costs and what not. I wish my family was rich. Haha.
Two choices:
1. Work my ass off to get some cash.
2. Work sometimes, shoot often and reap benefits of a healthier psychology.
Opportunity costs and what not. I wish my family was rich. Haha.
Saturday, April 8
Rumbling / Fictional Toilet Humor
//Disclaimer: May Offend!
I had the worst rumbling in my stomach for the past week. It's this queasy feeling you get whenever you feel that you need to shit. But everytime I sat on the toilet bowl, torrents of nothing just come ripping out of nowhere. And the pain never resided.
I just came out of the toilet, flipping through my magazine, hoping that the bowels would get inspired. Nothing much came out except this little brown poop. At first, I stared at it lying motionlessly at the bottom of the toilet bowl, wondering where the rest of its friends were. After a good five minute of staring, my thoughts flitted back to how, in the order of karmic retribution, did I end up suffering such needless pain?
Then something weird happened.
It began with the occasional bubble rising from the brown body, then it became more frequent; tiny little bubbles of life floating up to the surface. And it started to move! Slowly at first, then with a powerful sweep of its tail, the brown poop circled round its surroundings. It was incredulous that it had gained a life of its own, I couldn't believe my own eyes. How did this thing move all by its own? Incredibly curious yet hesistant to scoop it out of the water, I stood up, looked at it swim a few more laps and I flushed.
I had the worst rumbling in my stomach for the past week. It's this queasy feeling you get whenever you feel that you need to shit. But everytime I sat on the toilet bowl, torrents of nothing just come ripping out of nowhere. And the pain never resided.
I just came out of the toilet, flipping through my magazine, hoping that the bowels would get inspired. Nothing much came out except this little brown poop. At first, I stared at it lying motionlessly at the bottom of the toilet bowl, wondering where the rest of its friends were. After a good five minute of staring, my thoughts flitted back to how, in the order of karmic retribution, did I end up suffering such needless pain?
Then something weird happened.
It began with the occasional bubble rising from the brown body, then it became more frequent; tiny little bubbles of life floating up to the surface. And it started to move! Slowly at first, then with a powerful sweep of its tail, the brown poop circled round its surroundings. It was incredulous that it had gained a life of its own, I couldn't believe my own eyes. How did this thing move all by its own? Incredibly curious yet hesistant to scoop it out of the water, I stood up, looked at it swim a few more laps and I flushed.
Thursday, April 6
Escape
Hmm...Glad that Creative Thinking is finally over. My group's installation was such a refreshing change from all the videos that were shown. 7 out of 8 groups did videos and only 2 were commendable. Sometimes, I feel that I might be in a media school or something.
Posted the pictures I took for my CT class on my flickr site. Basically, the installation was about how decisions that you make in life will affect the outcome at the end. We tackled 3 very mundane issues: Wealth vs Happiness, Friends vs Loneliness and Dreams vs Reality. Using fishing lines, we tied 6 quotes (white paper on black mounts) to the ceiling, and alternated them with 10 cents light sticks, hanging the A1-sized pictures at the end of each path. Our dry ice didn't really work very well but I'm glad the team pulled it off.
Anyway, seems like my brain is on a perpetually inspired mood lately (despite the exams). I have came out with several themes for my next few body of works. Escape will be something that I can do when I am bored at home and a series of night photography for the post Shooting Home monthly theme.
The summer looks beautiful. On another note, if I were to get myself a domain, I will call it Staring At The Sun, a homage to my individual CT project. Now, another week and I'll be going on to sophomore year. Crap.
Posted the pictures I took for my CT class on my flickr site. Basically, the installation was about how decisions that you make in life will affect the outcome at the end. We tackled 3 very mundane issues: Wealth vs Happiness, Friends vs Loneliness and Dreams vs Reality. Using fishing lines, we tied 6 quotes (white paper on black mounts) to the ceiling, and alternated them with 10 cents light sticks, hanging the A1-sized pictures at the end of each path. Our dry ice didn't really work very well but I'm glad the team pulled it off.
Anyway, seems like my brain is on a perpetually inspired mood lately (despite the exams). I have came out with several themes for my next few body of works. Escape will be something that I can do when I am bored at home and a series of night photography for the post Shooting Home monthly theme.
The summer looks beautiful. On another note, if I were to get myself a domain, I will call it Staring At The Sun, a homage to my individual CT project. Now, another week and I'll be going on to sophomore year. Crap.
Monday, April 3
moody monday
i feel like having a beer and then start on my biz law text. tempting.
leading such a decadent-cant-give-a-fuck lifestyle once again. ah fuck it.
bought myself a magazine even though i am darn broke and it's rather eye-opening in terms of fashion photography.
and when i cant shoot, i write - lotsa bullshit and nonsense that a few people read. thanks. you're beautiful but you stink. nah, seriously.
dreams often feel so real that you could just reach out and touch them. only to realize that they leave behind a dollop of friggin' ectoplasm on your hands.
leading such a decadent-cant-give-a-fuck lifestyle once again. ah fuck it.
bought myself a magazine even though i am darn broke and it's rather eye-opening in terms of fashion photography.
and when i cant shoot, i write - lotsa bullshit and nonsense that a few people read. thanks. you're beautiful but you stink. nah, seriously.
dreams often feel so real that you could just reach out and touch them. only to realize that they leave behind a dollop of friggin' ectoplasm on your hands.
End of Short Break
Slept more in the past two days than I had in the past week. Feel totally rejuvenated and it's time to hit the books! Mugger mode on. DND.
Anyway, contemplating on what to do during the holidays. My wanderlust is kicking in big time but my wallet is empty. And I don't want to be tied down to a 9-6 job once again. And I some photo jobs to get on with.
The summer looks terrifically exciting. Oh man.
I can't hardly wait!
Anyway, contemplating on what to do during the holidays. My wanderlust is kicking in big time but my wallet is empty. And I don't want to be tied down to a 9-6 job once again. And I some photo jobs to get on with.
The summer looks terrifically exciting. Oh man.
I can't hardly wait!
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