Some more practice with photographing couples. Ellen and Ziny are both med students who used to be roommates. They happened to be in Ottawa at the same time for internships at different hospitals, so it was the perfect opportunity to get them both together for a few shots.
Getting black hair and clothes to show up against a black background is very tricky. I suspect darker textures need their own dedicated light source to increase the exposure.
The woman I’ve been looking for my entire life.
Her name was Christine. She was thin lipped. Frail limbed. Not the least bit camera shy, as she pulled her shirt up to expose a breast, like she had fallen on the grass this way and the folds in her clothes rearranged themselves on her body.
Here she is on a horse in the night. Here she is, grim-faced, cradling her son. There was a scar on her neck from a suicide attempt years earlier, and through a series of photographs, you could see the scar heal.
For seven years she was married, before she successfully jumped to her death from the 9th floor of an apartment in East Berlin.
This is someone who understood his art, his morbidity, his need to capture her suicide in a frame, then publish the image of her body on the pavement, looking down from the 9th floor, along with insouciant pictures of a teacup, a playground, a tank, three plants.
And as soon as I had found her, she’s gone.
Should I be happy that she existed? Should I be sad that she’s gone? Should I be punished for comparing the women I’ve had to her?
Is this painful, or beautiful, or both?
Some people ask me whether I feel more Chinese or Canadian. While some first-generation Canadians say that they’re neither, I feel like I’m both, because I appreciate and understand things from both cultures. I have the best of both worlds.
I already have a the hanzi character for “tao” on my right wrist, so I got the word “tao” on my left in English. This tattoo serves two purposes: as an expression of this dual heritage, and as another reminder for me to follow the tao.
I went back to Jay at New Moon, who did an awesome job on my first tattoo. When I walked in, he had the latest Mars Volta album on, which I didn’t even know was out until that day. Most of the time was passed comparing them to Tool, two of our favourite bands1.
Can you tell when he’s going over my artery? (Hint: I start to swear)
The three-letter word is written in Avenir. As the Humanist, sans-serif typeface designed by Adrian Fruitiger (also used for the title and menu of this site), it’s my favourite font. Clean, sharp, minimalist, and legible. The most distinguishing part, as with most good fonts, is the double-story “a”, which increases legibility.
I had over a dozen variations, at different point sizes, kerning values, and weights. I wanted the weight, size, and position to balance with the one on my right wrist. In the end, I went with one that was 63.78 points, and the 35 “light” weight.
Sometimes I come out of a session feeling great. Sometimes I come out feeling like a monster, like some horrible, fucked-up person.
During my first session, my therapist noted that this was a mutual process. It wasn’t as if he was going to surgically remove an issue with me, it would take the both of us working together, with a progressive effort from me.
That’s what I’m doing now. I’m determined to fix myself.
Playing around with black-and-white, an off-camera flash, and a nice Cuban cigar.
Sometimes, enjoying life is as simple as this.
While my mother always made it a point to stay involved in my life (to a fault), it was never because she loved me. She’s not someone who’s emotionally intelligent enough to understand what love is.
Which is why she tries to cling to me so desperately, even when I try so vehemently to avoid her. It’s the same way that some men or women only love the idea of marriage, instead of their spouses. They’re relationships based on all the wrong reasons.
Realizing this has made me wonder; did I ever actually love my girlfriends, or did I just love the idea of love?
Also known as a drinking party at Shirley’s.
This is how I learn that people have a good time when there’s at least one person willing to make a fool of himself, because it sets the tone for everyone else.
That being young is to be young at heart. That to be young at heart is to laugh deep and laugh regularly.
And that it never hurts to have alcohol to help facilitate the process.
I’m walking through a Chinese Christian church. The wood is old but lacquered well. Decorations line the walls: a tree made of childrens’ handprints, posters about the Almighty with slogans in large print, calendars and schedules of upcoming events. We head downwards while a prayer meeting goes on upstairs. A young girl in Heelies skates alongside us in the hall.
We’re lead to a room with two table tennis tables, blue, relatively new. There isn’t much room to maneuver, but the lighting is great. Shou offers us some Jasmine tea. Players are warming up as more Chinese men come in one at a time. They play in sneakers without sneaker socks, or dress shirts, or those shirts with logos you get for free at a company. Their shorts are an awkward length between capris and sports trunks.
Dan introduces himself to everyone. I’m sitting down, trying to place the province of their accents. Tamarra picks up a children’s book and starts to read.
All their serves are illegal; they don’t throw the ball the regulation 6 inches straight up, which means they can put an unfair spin on the ball before it hits the paddle. A result of the insular society they have here, where they play the same people over and over again, never venturing outside their religious clique. They simply don’t know any better.
Dan gets paired up for a match. They both play conservatively when warming up, trying to hide their techniques while feeling each other out. “Some people, when you get it in their hit zone, never miss”. Dan’s opponent makes no mistakes for him to capitalize on, but a consistent defence wears him out. His opponent spends his energy winning the first game, smashing at every opportunity, and loses his momentum. Dan wins every game for the rest of the match.
I was late for work this morning. The weather was beautiful on the drive in. There were thick, dark clouds hanging ominously in the distance and high in the sky, but the sun was out, bathing everything in brightness. The wind was refreshingly cool, so I had to roll the windows down.
In another weird phase lately. Hyper again. Currently feeling this part from verse 35 of the Tao Te Jing:
Hold fast to the Great Form within and let the world pass as it may
Then the changes of life will not bring pain but contentment, joy, and well-being
Sometimes, I feel like I’m being tested. It hasn’t really been going badly, but it’s certainly a mix of ups and downs, resolutions and frustrations.
I started to notice that I’ve been talking to myself when alone. Sometimes I laugh aloud too. I once read an article about a young man who did a solo transatlantic journey by boat that took several weeks, and he said that talking to yourself is normal; it’s when you start to answer your own questions that you should be worried. I think I’ll be alright.
I’ve come to accept the way things have turned out. I’ve felt this way before, but it never lasted more than a couple months, something that happens when I lose sight of the tao. Hopefully it won’t be so ephemeral this time. I just need to remember that things will continue to work out on their own. To stop trying to force things to happen. To breathe.
And to hold fast to the way that cannot be walked.
So the next two weeks are:
Not including the work I need to do on my latest photo project for the next show. I’m also supposed to catch up with Naveed at some point in there; he’s having a pool party for his latest investment property. I got us some cigars because he’s a new father, which I’ll have to do for Aaron as well, since his first (a boy) is on the way.
Busyness seems to come all at once, leaving me bewildered. Never a bit here and there.
Then all of a sudden, I’m alone for days at a time, wondering what happened and where everyone went. It’s a strange flux that goes from one extreme to the other.
The goal becomes a balance of both. That way, the solitude is a welcome change from the overstimulation and vice-versa.
Quand je vous aimerai?
ma foi, je ne sais pas,
peut-être jamais, peut-être demain,
mais pas aujourd’hui, c’est certain.
One day, he discovered that she loved him just as much as the day she left, and that every new man she sought for comfort was just another attempt to replace him; he was unlike anyone she had ever met before. But there was nothing that could be done; the pain had left him cold and unmoved.
And it’s only being on both sides of such an idea that allows him to accept this.
L’amour est un oiseau rebelle
que nul ne peut apprivoiser,
et c’est bien en vain qu’on l’appelle,
s’il lui convient de refuser
Suddenly, he came upon the realization that her beauty unintentionally entraps men, who are then led to their downfall by their own misguided ideas of love, and that he was simply another one of many. Not that it mattered anyway; to force such things is futile.
Tu ne l’attends plus, il est là!
Been working on photographing couples the past few months. It’s more difficult than I initially thought. You want to express love, but there are only so many ways one can do so without kissing.
You’re no longer photographing an expression, as with a single person portrait, but an interaction.
Having two people express themselves in such a way can be tricky too. Many are too shy to kiss in public, let alone on camera.
When it works, though, it works. You can see it in their faces. The way their eyes shine. It’s almost like they lose themselves, because they’re drowning in each other, and nothing else in the world exists.
And, of course, best viewed large and on black. Click through for full size.
Lights down, sound up, for this one. Maybe some tea and a pastry if it’s not too late.
I had Maps by Yeah Yeah Yeahs playing here.
Stripped down, the beat alternates between triplet–three–one–two-three–one–two and one-two-three–one–two-three–one–two, fooling the listener into thinking it’s in some sort of complex time-signature. It’s actually based in common time, but with the triplets in there and the down-beat (marked by the open snare) falling on four and then three of the next bar, the song takes on a syncopated rhythm. This isn’t what makes the song good, though. It’s all Karen O and her voice.
I’ve been so moody lately. Up and down. Developments and denouements. Most likely a result of my overthinking and overplanning over everything. Still trying to take things one day at a time, without rushing head first, without falling head over heels.
I’ve begun seeing my psychologist on a session-by-session basis (instead of on a schedule — an indication of progress). In between, my Tai Chi classes have become my therapy. There’s something about class that centres me; the camaraderie, the movements, the breathing, the contact, the feeling that I’m improving a part of myself, bit by bit, even if it’s subconsciously. A time where I can totally focus, a place where I can forget everything else.
Afterwards, it’s a drive home in the dark with the windows down, and the rustling of wind in my hair.
The serenity carries forward. I’m recharged again. Then I’m strong enough to be myself. I’m strong enough to accept these feelings.
They don’t love you like I love you.