20140403 code src="McCurry"
In this code, I tried to establish photographs that are akin to the charatcteristics of one of my favorite photographers: Steve McCurry.
A thing to note is that it is impossible to emulate Steve's, actually anyone's, photographs. What may make my yearning more difficult, is that the characteristic of Steve's photos themselves. Steve was the last generation to have used the Kodachrome films. Then there are the subjects of his photography. They are inhabitants of Steve's favorite places: Asia, specifically, the war-ridden, poverty-stricken regions of Asia. The subjects have thus, have innate in them, an aura that cannot be simulated in any other group of people.
Perhaps the most striking visual of McCurry's photographs, at least the most prominent to the untrained eyes, is the subject itself. In the portrait photogrphs of McCurry's, the subjects are looking at the camera, as traditional portraits should. But there is something more in that gaze that 'McCurry's people' have.
Mostly, it's the eyes.
"Most of my photos are grounded in people, I look for the unguardd moment, the essential soul peeking out, experience etched on a person's face" - Steve McCurry (Amateur Photographer of 13 March 2010, p.44)
Then the magic of kodachrome is unleashed. It is what drew me to his photographs in the first place: colors. The vividness they create is striking. It is also what that replenishes the viewer. I disclaim that the view I will explain now is extremely subjective and are my own and do not represent anyone else's. The disclaimer now done, compared to food, a black-and-white photo gives me the satisfaction of a cup of coffee. It leaves a taste that holds long after the photo left the eyes. The monotone hides, it abstains. It is like the cup of coffee that you have to take sip by sip. McCurry's photographs, in contrast, gives the viewer a satisfaction akin to a christmas feast. The eyes of the viewer are flooded by the abundancy of colors. The subtle change in tone, the variation of the hues, they are like a buffet with millions of cuisines in a buffet. The eye is busy looking at a mote of this and a piece of that.
And the viewer is free to choose the course of his/her delication. From the copiousness arises a pattern. A certain menu, a certain color, grabs the viewer's eyes and he is inclined to delve further into those patterns. The magic is that. The viewer is engulfed in a sea of colors, yet the viewer is neither lost nor overblown.
"The photograph is an undeniably powerful medium. Free from the constraints of language, and harnessing the unique qualities of a single moment frozen in time" - Steve McCurry, [Foreword] „Behind photographs (Archiving photographic legends) by Tim Mantoani, Channel Photographics, San Diego CA, 2011
20140403 code src="McCurry-lens"
This code is the reversal of the "McCurry" code. The model in this photo, is me. I really didn't have any power over how this photo came out. But in modeling, I tried to do best what I wanted from my pictures: The power of the eyes. Before the limbs, before any other parts of the body, I tried to relax my facial muscles and concentrated my 'ki' to my eyes.
20140406 code src="spectator dodge"
Very week photography. Short focus. Blurred lights and few colors. Something is protruding but who knows what? vacancy it seems but can it be? Maybe it was this that the arm was yearning to grasp, the entity dissolved in white light and misty air, swaying its body to the rythm of the molecules and rejoicing within the full spectrum the world enables
Contagion. Far behind the front lines there exist a society of green and blues. Should there exist any red, the inhibiting crowds will cringe yet strive to survive. Upon such influences one is vulnerable to the last resort of these entities: contagon
20140423 code src="Royal Mary"
spring? birth of life? Creation comes from destruction, mediated by reorganization. Recognition of this rendition in a simple flower is desired yet not frequently achieved. History says the most beautiful flowers bud from the soil of dead soldiers that drank the royal blood. Springtime it is, but it is not a season only of creation.
20140501 code src="Broken"
confirmed. strive to seek, overcome adversaries. Seek the unreachable, But remember. You might break
20140504 code src="blur"
Fervent. It is one word that I, as a student of photography, come across often.
Today, I was on board the school bus heading back to school from Seoul. Half the students on the bus were sleeping, the student next to me was watching a movie, and I was writing an essay. All was normal, yes. Then the sky suddenly exploded into a brilliance of light. It was raining lightly and the sky was nothing but black clouds, everywhere but that portion where the sun set. The sun shined in a brilliance of red and orange, and the rainclouds, ominous in most times, transformed into blots of ink pellets streamlined across the bloody canvas. I had my camera with me. I always did. Alas, I was in a bus with windows streaked with filth. It was three minutes off desperate struggle to get the scene somehow into my puny lens. For a while, the sun set in the side I sat. I got most of the shots, including this one, in that window of time. Then the bus turned a corner and the sun was behind us. It was a minute of agonizing pacing back and forth the passage of the bus when the bus took a road bit this way and that. Then the bus went into a tunnel. For about thirty seconds, artificial fluorescent light flooded my eyes. Light that gave neither the power nor the grandeur of the sun. When the bus exited the linear tunnel, I turned around to see if there was a trace of sun left. The sky was rainy blue. It was hard to believe that the sunset existed only moments before. Then I realized. The mountain, that huge carcass of earth and rock, was blocking the sunlight from reaching the other side of the mountain. The mountain was paramount, massive. I wasn’t even going to get near its shadow in the time it took for the sun to go under the horizon. The spectacle was gone for good. Dumbfounded I slumped back into my seat. Nobody else seemed to have noticed the sunset. No car reversed in its path to see the sun again. And in the mountain’s shadow, on the other part of the road, a steady stream of drivers was traveling towards the vista I sought for. On that side of the mountain, nobody could be aware of what was to be met on the other end of the tunnel. It was the magic of time’s arrow. Nobody could know what was to come. A muddy sky could suddenly turn into the realm of dreams, a moment of joy could plummet into dryness. One had to be prepared for both. To embrace surprise when it came, and to capture it before it left.
Meanwhile, I give this photo a name. If you can’t snap it mid-way, blur it. Obstacles, though huge when taken the punch one-by-one, is only minor in the span of life’s exposure.
Today, I was on board the school bus heading back to school from Seoul. Half the students on the bus were sleeping, the student next to me was watching a movie, and I was writing an essay. All was normal, yes. Then the sky suddenly exploded into a brilliance of light. It was raining lightly and the sky was nothing but black clouds, everywhere but that portion where the sun set. The sun shined in a brilliance of red and orange, and the rainclouds, ominous in most times, transformed into blots of ink pellets streamlined across the bloody canvas. I had my camera with me. I always did. Alas, I was in a bus with windows streaked with filth. It was three minutes off desperate struggle to get the scene somehow into my puny lens. For a while, the sun set in the side I sat. I got most of the shots, including this one, in that window of time. Then the bus turned a corner and the sun was behind us. It was a minute of agonizing pacing back and forth the passage of the bus when the bus took a road bit this way and that. Then the bus went into a tunnel. For about thirty seconds, artificial fluorescent light flooded my eyes. Light that gave neither the power nor the grandeur of the sun. When the bus exited the linear tunnel, I turned around to see if there was a trace of sun left. The sky was rainy blue. It was hard to believe that the sunset existed only moments before. Then I realized. The mountain, that huge carcass of earth and rock, was blocking the sunlight from reaching the other side of the mountain. The mountain was paramount, massive. I wasn’t even going to get near its shadow in the time it took for the sun to go under the horizon. The spectacle was gone for good. Dumbfounded I slumped back into my seat. Nobody else seemed to have noticed the sunset. No car reversed in its path to see the sun again. And in the mountain’s shadow, on the other part of the road, a steady stream of drivers was traveling towards the vista I sought for. On that side of the mountain, nobody could be aware of what was to be met on the other end of the tunnel. It was the magic of time’s arrow. Nobody could know what was to come. A muddy sky could suddenly turn into the realm of dreams, a moment of joy could plummet into dryness. One had to be prepared for both. To embrace surprise when it came, and to capture it before it left.
Meanwhile, I give this photo a name. If you can’t snap it mid-way, blur it. Obstacles, though huge when taken the punch one-by-one, is only minor in the span of life’s exposure.
20140510 code src="Dream Catcher"
Spiders have been the subject of wonders and marvels for many people throughout the aesthetic history. I am one of such people. The webs these creatures spin demand attention and scrutiny in both the scientific and artistic fields. They are conductors of light, without which their existence cannot be known. They are like blotches of life, hidden among the treasures of forests, buildings and alleys. They are dream catchers, finding the lost dreams for those who have lost them...
