*** This photo was shot using my 1st Digital SLR camera the Nikon D50 nearly 4 years ago. I liked tricks back then and this was experimented by long exposure plus camera movements. I carved the flower from a light source by drawing the DSLR I was holding against a white wall. In 4 years, many changes took place and I like to talk about why I feel so inspired tonight.
On my way to drop off few rolls of film off Broadway in NOHO I aimed for Houston St to exit myself from SOHO. I saw sheer numbers of ambulances and firetrucks. A circle formed in the middle of the sidewalk. I can imagine there must be people break dance, no, all jokes aside, someone must be hurt. As expected or maybe a bit more intense, I find a man lying in a pool of blood. There were bloody tissues on the floor. About a dozen EMS workers were quickly yet somewhat nonchalantly pacing themselves to give the helping effort to a dying man. He was in a spasm, trying to grab hold of his rather calm girl friend or wife yet the EMS workers quickly push his hands in and secure them. No one in the crowd appear to be shooting photos or digitally video recording. I guess everyone has the same thought, should I a photo at a moment like this. As I walked by, I felt very intense. My heart was pumping and I asked myself the same question whether I should take a photo and perhaps gain a few remarks from someone unpleasant on the street or just forget it and walk away. 25 steps away from the scene I suddenly turned back and wind an empty film into the shooting slot. I will take a series of pictures using my film camera, the Nikon FM2. I thought from a photo journalism approach I should document this exclusive memory. I shouldn't have a hint of distrust in my own doings and I thought by doubting my own purpose is the biggest disrespect to myself. My lenses appeared in the crowd and someone them saw my lens coming quickly ducked to let me shoot. Perhaps my attitude emit professionalism and sent a clear message to the onlookers the meaning of my business. I don't think I can forget the ethics, moral, and the basic a value of a human being to not save someone's life but rather save the moment worth capturing. If the EMS workers weren't there, I will definitely lend a hand. Sadly to bring up facts about some people in this city who will not help until someone else takes a lead. Living in a large city like New York, hack, I think living in this world in general can often expose oneself to elements of dishonesty, schemes, and scams. Sometimes to simply lend a hand can become a game of guessing whether you could end up a victim of blackmail. What happened to the pureness, what happened to compassion or simply our own humanly passion.
"Today, I am very honored to participate the opening of time capsule my friend buried in his garage and last seen daylights in 5 years. old photos, dusted vhs, those old memories ritually recorded on devices themselves are already a relics of our time. the dazed days we chilled seemingly wasteful yet these events pave our way to conquer the fear of the future. time traveling is at talks, we are heading to a new era."
Thinking back the 11 years since I moved out of my mother's house and lived with the opposite of myself for so long. It's been 2 years since our big split. She's in a totally new life right now learning to start from scratch. I'm faced with changes and still constantly challenging myself by tossing myself out of one comfort zone from another. In my friend's photos I found him in many different hairstyles, from innocent to bad boy, from an artist to aspiring promoter. I saw the comedy "Dinner with Schmucks" last night. Steve Carrel masterfully made the film extremely funny. Yet these comedies often carry a good positive moral. They were talking about dreamers and I can related the movie directly to the photos from my friend's photo capsule. We phase through my stages just like the VHS era passing the baton to the DVD, the Blueray, and how Steve Hawkins now confirms the possibilities of entering the time travel era.
I think we will be more problematic if we found ourself unchanged in a decade. Change is good just like how these photos from a time capsule everyone must all have somewhere in their house, in one of their dusted old photo albums, when we open them we hear the past speaking to us and may just add a few spices and sparkle new shines to our futures ahead.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Writer's block
I can still vividly recall the sight of soft yellow light from an untainted light bulbs diffused by the paper lamp cover on top of the emerald green dragon head lamp sitting on top of his desk. He is the only person in my family who smokes once a while. I recall later years he finally quit but when ever he's deeply stressed he would drink a little and smoke a few. Often I see him crumbling freshly written lined paper and toss the paper ball into a nearby trash basket which is filled with crumbling balls. Minutes later he would reach over and pick up that crumbling paper ball and flatten it and happily cherishes it and start making circles. In later years my mother liked to describe the way my grand father reacted to writer's block like a tube of nearly empty toothpaste. No matter how hard you squeeze, only a little spews out. But that little paste is still enough to brush off a night of heavy eating however just won't foam as much.
I grew up in a literary family having both grandparents from my father's side to be renowned in the Foreign language to Chinese translation circle and output many popular text and books. There are books all over my humble 2 bedroom home in Nanjing. I heard there were even more books before the destructive cultural revolution in the 60's which forced the family to burn many before they confiscate them. Somehow, being the first grandson of the family who carried on the last name Zhao, I am neither at all a passionate book reader nor a writer by occupation. Perhaps I carried on the workaholism of my mother and became possibly the first Zhao to work full time in an office environment and loving my job everyday.
In recent years I finally picked up or rediscover the artist within me. Photography became my second expression. When ever I am out of words, I like to use my subjects to set the place, composition to tell the story, depth of field to foreshadow, and write a few lines as if a movie isn't complete without a subtitle.
1258pm reads on my clock. I have just 2 more minutes before my lunch hour is complete. Sipping an incredibly delicious soup made up of bitter melon, mushroom, squash, and clams braised in chicken stock. Half hour ago I imagined myself as the journalist from New York Times who interviewed Andrew Cuomo in his so called Camp Campaign for NY Governor but 2 pages through an article that counts more than 10 pages I suddenly obtained the urge to finally write something.
Last night I described myself as if an empty tube of toothpaste being squeezed but nothing comes out. 15 minutes ago I was ready to write but only faced with lack of topics. I searched the ceiling left and right leaning my head against my cushioned office chair. I pictured the hanging ornament off the ceiling and pretend my pupils were F 1.8 lenses by Nikon to create the shallow and deep depth of field over and over. Suddenly I thought, writer's block. Why don't I topic myself off writer's block.
I like to quote the marketing niche of Nike, "just do it". We, as professionals in what ever field we do, often times we are so well aware of our own processes thus instead of progressing we sloth in an almost standing still motion. Just do it - I'm not sure where this topic can lead myself to but without starting from somewhere then how can I end here.
I grew up in a literary family having both grandparents from my father's side to be renowned in the Foreign language to Chinese translation circle and output many popular text and books. There are books all over my humble 2 bedroom home in Nanjing. I heard there were even more books before the destructive cultural revolution in the 60's which forced the family to burn many before they confiscate them. Somehow, being the first grandson of the family who carried on the last name Zhao, I am neither at all a passionate book reader nor a writer by occupation. Perhaps I carried on the workaholism of my mother and became possibly the first Zhao to work full time in an office environment and loving my job everyday.
In recent years I finally picked up or rediscover the artist within me. Photography became my second expression. When ever I am out of words, I like to use my subjects to set the place, composition to tell the story, depth of field to foreshadow, and write a few lines as if a movie isn't complete without a subtitle.
1258pm reads on my clock. I have just 2 more minutes before my lunch hour is complete. Sipping an incredibly delicious soup made up of bitter melon, mushroom, squash, and clams braised in chicken stock. Half hour ago I imagined myself as the journalist from New York Times who interviewed Andrew Cuomo in his so called Camp Campaign for NY Governor but 2 pages through an article that counts more than 10 pages I suddenly obtained the urge to finally write something.
Last night I described myself as if an empty tube of toothpaste being squeezed but nothing comes out. 15 minutes ago I was ready to write but only faced with lack of topics. I searched the ceiling left and right leaning my head against my cushioned office chair. I pictured the hanging ornament off the ceiling and pretend my pupils were F 1.8 lenses by Nikon to create the shallow and deep depth of field over and over. Suddenly I thought, writer's block. Why don't I topic myself off writer's block.
I like to quote the marketing niche of Nike, "just do it". We, as professionals in what ever field we do, often times we are so well aware of our own processes thus instead of progressing we sloth in an almost standing still motion. Just do it - I'm not sure where this topic can lead myself to but without starting from somewhere then how can I end here.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
don't know what to blog about
need to write something, write anything. all these interesting events I'm reading about. all these things happening in the city never sleeps. i've prepared myself for this. it's now midnight. I'm caught in the battle of whether to gain 15 minutes of sleep or blog for another 15 minutes more. i'm caught in the longest writers block ever. i think i need to be sober. i need to clean my mind before i start spilling guts all over my keyboard. i feel like an old toothpaste being squeezed but nothing comes out. i'm ending it now, i'm ending this ok, i'm ending this night.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
TGIF
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