blackbook

a measure of loss

2011-03-18T21:10:00.000-07:00

i like to think there's a reason to everything - but at the moment i'm at a loss to think of a single reason behind the devastation that happened to Japan.

To those who lost their lives, may they all find peace in the never ending circle of light. And to those who are left alive, may you all have strength and love to face the long and silent nights.

Singapore Red Cross is accepting donations for the Japan disaster. For details, please click here.

lost in translation my way

2008-06-02T17:03:00.000-07:00

I should have listened to Mimi. A few months ago, she told me to take a Japanese language class. I said I will, as one often does when the wife tells you to do something better than hang around the house beating computer games, or at times when you’re watching the most exciting part of the TV show, or when you’ve finally reached the last few pages of a novel where every word must be read with such gravity so you have a better closure.

So I said yes to her in my vague non-committed but reassuringly non-dismissive way. Of course, I never did went to the class. Well, too late for that now. Adrift in Tokyo, with a few Japanese words in my pocket, mostly from my Aikido training, which are pretty useless out on the streets when you can’t find your damn hotel.

Enter a store, pick any, and the sound builds up to a cacophony of echoes as everyone shrieks out a staccato of “Sumimasen!” and other cryptic greetings they hurl at you.

Welcome to Japan.

It’s a land where the cool factor is a way of life. Where being in one with style is an art form.

The boys are way too cool, the girls are way too prettified. Shu Uemura and Shiseido made sure of that. It seems like each girl you see is a black-belt makeup artist and she has her face as canvas, and everyday is a one-woman exhibition. Bow-legged but prettified.

It is a confusing city. Frustrating because of the language barrier, and perplexing at most because of the cultural barricade Japanese constantly put up.

My kid is doing better than me in the holiday department. Back in Manila, he said he just went snorkelling. He passed his silver grading swimming Survival Exam in Singapore a few weeks ago and can do over 20-30 laps (or maybe it's 50, I lost count and went shooting passing clouds instead) non-stop in an Olympic pool, make floatation out of his pants, clock 100 meters in less than 4 minutes and other magical stuff that in my better days I couldn't possibly accomplish. Now, he’s having the time of his life discovering the open sea while swimming with dolphins.

Here in Japan, I might as well talk to dolphins for all I care.

Shooting Raw offers greater range during the editing stage, but sadly, my Raw converter is in my PC back in Singapore, and my PowerBook is a dead weight with my lousy un-upgraded Photoshop CS. So though I have many pictures to share, I only got one shot in Jpeg that I can upload now. Oh well.

So watch out when I start uploading images. Rest assured when I tell you that Tokyo is probably one of the coolest places I’ve been to. Lost in translation, but cool. Where else can you find an Apple store with a live band playing inside? And the girls oh… did I mention about the girls? Well, I better keep my mouth shut or this will be my last trip away from home without a chaperone.

Either that, or Mimi will force me to learn Sign Language next.

portrait of an artist

2007-02-23T21:19:00.000-08:00

I took a long break from anything that concerned web publishing including uploading on the blog. After a month of revising my web site, trying to hot-wire my brain to understand and speak the mind-numbing, alien language of html script, I went away with a brain burn.

Everytime I see a web program or anything that resembles it, I get a feeling darn close to hurling.

So am I cured from this web disease? Not really. So why am I back then? Well, I want to share with you the good fortune of a Filipino artist with such enormous talent.

Mario Parial (a painter of international stature comparable to the likes of Manansala, Joya, H.R. Ocampo, Cesar Legaspi, Ang Kiukok among others) was here last December 2006 with his family for a gallery opening in Singapore. My family and I met up with them.

Mario and his son Mikel (also a fantastic painter) are Leica shooters. So for the next couple of hours, we were excitedly swapping lenses like little boys with new little toys.

Here's my shot of him using his beautiful Summilux-M 50 mm f/1.4. It's a very pretty lens that is tempting me to begin spending an enormous time on ebay again. Oh well.

Just when you think you are ready to settle with a gorgeous lens like a 35 summicron, another lens comes along to shake your sturdy belief. Often, it starts with friend innocently telling you, "Hey, since you're here, why don't you try this lens on your camera?" and the next thing you know, you're spending more and more time ogling at those lenses found in auction websites with thier prices causing you heart burn. Sigh.

To get back to Mario, here's a news link on his works being included in Sotheby’s category of Southeast Asian paintings. This is the third time his works are being auctioned internationally. The latest auction is happening on April 2007 here in Singapore.

If you haven't bought any of Mario's works yet, now is the time to start getting ready for the auction. It is said that his paintings are getting harder and harder to come by.

Unlike publishing websites and reading html scripts, looking at his paintings will not give you brain burn.

In fact, you can ogle them to your heart's content.

website back to the drawing board

2007-01-08T19:02:00.000-08:00

A few days before Christmas, I made some changes to my website. Bigger photos, easier navigation, simpler format. The intention was sound, but sadly the design was wrong. The pictures were way too big.

So my apology to those who uses 14-inch computer screen or less. A couple of friends complained that they have to scroll down to see the rest of the pictures. Not good.

Apparently, if you're using a 14-inch screen, you can see the top arrows, but not the main navigators buried underneath. Again, you have to scroll down in order to see them. I guess, it's worse for the 12-inch screen users.

I'm trying to fix them now and hoping to solve the problem. Once more, I'm sorry for the inconvenience.

Anyway, Happy New Year! All the best for 2007.

new website up and running.

2006-12-23T17:00:00.000-08:00

Now my site is back to the basic html. Last week, I finally had time to look at my web and got rid of flash programming. Three things prompted me to go back to the good-old html script.

First was the programming error/virus doing its rounds on Firefox and Netscape browsers that freeze the whole system when you open a web page with flash – my computer managed to get infected by it.

The next reason was the seemingly complicated way of uploading new pictures while using flash programs – an anti-thesis to what I wrote a couple of months back when I shifted to flash programming. What was simple and easy then, I found it ridiculously time-consuming now.

And the third one was the most important of all. I managed to find a way of showing huge files while securing them from downloading. It’s the main reason why I shifted to flash few months back. Flash photo gallery prohibits downloading of pictures (well, you can do a capture screen, but the resolution is not the same).

So now I can show bigger files, yet secure in my knowledge that they couldn’t be downloaded easily. I’m sure people will always find ways to get things from the web if they really want to, but I’m also sure my photos aren’t that desirable for them to spend time and effort.

I’m still uploading photos, but you can start checking them out now. The screen is huge, so no more squinting. The photos are 1000 pixels on the sides. Check out the Places section since I’m putting up more pictures fom Berlin.

I’m hoping to finish uploading most of the pictures in a few days. But you can start checking them out now. Have fun.

SPECIAL MESSAGE TO TONY TING:

Tony, Alfred from P is looking for you. I saw that you checked out my blog while you’re in Doha, Quatar (I told you I know everything and can see beyond the veils of time and distance). Do email him or me. I hope that both of you and yan are having fun. Don’t eat too much sand my friends. And damn it, take pictures but keep that Ricoh GR-D away from the sandstorm. I don’t think they’re giving you a new one when you crawl back to their servicing office again.

marathon man

2006-12-13T02:05:00.000-08:00

There is something with running a race that brings out the primal joy in everyone. Even just watching it, the sheer power and perseverance of the runners get into you.

Two weeks back during the Standard Chartered Singapore Marathon, my boy finished his first race, the 750 meters Kids Dash. He wore his favourite costume, the Flash. It was awesome.

More than 35,000 people ran with him. Even more so, watched it.

Much later, before he went to bed, he proudly showed me his marathon medal. He said I should run with him next year. That we should finish the race together. That was sweet.

So next year, Dec 2, I’m running the half-marathon. That’s 21 kilometers. I’ve been running more than 5 kilometers, 3 times a week now in hopes that by next year, the distance won’t kill me.

If you have nothing else to do on Dec 2, 2007, come to Singapore and run the marathon. You can run for charity or cause, or run your own race.

If you're not convinced why you should run, simply watch how children play. They run everywhere, all the time for a reason. They run because it's fun. Only grown-ups learned to forget this.

Next year, discover it again.

Berlin in Letters

2006-10-26T01:51:00.000-07:00

In a short letter I penned for my Father while I was in Berlin, I noted with poignant reflection, that a city with so many war memorials doesn’t seem right.

One of the most eerie, and to many, perplexing war memorials dotting the city was the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe designed by Peter Eisenman.

Known also as the Holocaust Memorial, it consist of 19,000 square meters site covered with 2,700 concrete pillars, each stelae is 95 centimeters wide and 2,375 meters long, with each height varying from zero to 4 meters. No blocks are alike. They are arranged in a grid pattern, over an undulating field.

Each pillar is spaced 95 centimeters apart to allow only one person to navigate through the grid.

In a note written by the architect to explain the design, he declared “In this monument there is no goal, no end, no working one's way in or out,"

According to the memorial leaflet about the site, the design did not use the usual symbolism style for memorials. This very modern approach to the memorial, almost free of associations from the holocaust, is open to many interpretations.

Which, I guess, is where most criticisms come from – that the modern design helps bury the shame and horror of Germany’s darkest hours.

It is true that there is an annex below the memorial that provides background on the victims commemorated. But then, with no pun intended, it is kind of buried underground if you don’t find it.

Walking inside the concrete pillars, there are indeed eerie moments. Like when bursts of voices arrive to lightly startle you. Oftentimes laughter and shrieks from kids playing hide-and-seek among the blocks would pierce the silence. And if you turn fast enough, you'll see glimpse of them as they disappear among the blocks.

Indeed, there are times when you feel a bit lost amidst the labyrinth, fleeting moments of unease. Like you can’t go out or choose what direction to take next, that you are trapped in a never-ending cul-de-sacs.

But to declare that to walk inside the blocks was to actually feel what the victims felt during the years of monstrousity is tantamount to a denial of the horror of the holocaust itself. I don’t think we can build a monument that will duplicate the anguish and terror of that epoch.

But I guess, to me, this will do for now. When I walked in and found myself alone amidst a very narrow space, devoid of contact from anyone else, and all I saw were blocks of grey concrete walls surrounding me, with all the street sound muffled, I ended up submerged into a private world where my only companion was my thought. In a moment that was mine alone, I ended up confronting the sheer madness of it all. I said my sorry in silence.

If you continue to walk towards the southeast corner of the site, like I did, and descend down the stairs to the Information Center, you will find four small rooms with displays dedicated to the murdered Jews in Europe.

When I entered the first room, I was confronted with a letter written by a Jewish girl named Judith Wischnjatskaja who wrote to her Dad in America in 1942. It was found by a Soviet officer after the war and was sent to Jerusalem.

"Dear Father! I take my leave of you before death. We would so much like to live, but they won't let us, we will perish. I am so afraid of this death, for the small children are thrown alive into the grave. Goodbye forever. I kiss you. Your J."

She penned this letter to her Father when she was twelve years old.

There was no date given as to when she was murdered.

berlin blues 3

2006-10-15T11:20:00.000-07:00

finding the way out of the labyrinth of the Memorial to the murdered Jews in Europe.

recording & remembering

the boy, the music & the church

Inside the Neue Wache (The New Guardhouse), one can find the sculpture by German artist Käthe Kollowitz titled Pietá. The significance of this memorial has been revised many times - depending on the prevailing social sentiments adopted that particular time it was conceptualised. As i only recorded it and added nothing, i felt no need to add my copyright to the picture. other people may find that odd, as other photographers would prefer to have copyrights on all their pictures. i will not revise my stand in this case.

berlin blues 2

2006-10-14T22:54:00.000-07:00

here are more pictures from berlin. i'm trying to refrain from showing the cliche postcard type photos, but i'm including the brandenburg gate just to get it done and over with.

make love not war

shot from behind by warhol

there's a story within the painting, believe me. it took the audio tape close to 10 minutes explaining it to me. of course, i can't remember much about it now, but that's art for you. or so they say.

now i'm off to the holocaust museum. i've been postponing that for the last few days knowing it's going to be a harrowing experience. the sad part is, looking at what's happening now, we never learned anything from it. maybe we should put a holocaust museum in every cities in the world. maybe then, we'll treat each other better. or at least with decency. but then again maybe not. we're not animals you know. animals don't deliberately and methodically exterminate one species the way we do.

no. we're just humans. and i say that with deep apology.

berlin blues

2006-10-12T21:50:00.000-07:00

The first thing that you find out when you arrive in Berlin in autumn is how much a sudden drift of cold wind could bash you on the face and leave you staggering on the street. In fact, it feels like a palpable slap of a cold leather glove that makes your teeth rattle. What dawns next is that cold, tingling realization that you came a tad too balmy in a city about to freeze over.

Well, that 6 degrees Celsius’ BBC weather forecast for the next fives days in Berlin seems a bit warm on the monitor the last time I checked. In fact, that was the maximum coldness it promised, so I was expecting the weather to turn bitter during the evening.

Since night, as I planned, involves infusing the blood with the right kind of spirit that Germany is known for, I presumed such a drop on temperature would be manageable. Once alcohol is in the blood to warm me up, even Norway would look a bit sunny. So I didn’t expect to get this now. Not in the bloody middle of the day while I’m about to have my lunch.

Oh well. I guess that bar on the other side of the restaurant I’m headed to looks mightily warm and inviting. And I’m never one to turn down a good invite. Especially when my face needs thawing.

Ich bin ein Berliner or so for a few days

2006-09-25T07:35:00.000-07:00

it's a go. i'm off to berlin on the 10th of october.

my entry managed to cling to the last six places of the international photo competition. i'll talk about this once i get more information. meanwhile, if you visit my website, please click the Alzheimer's Disease Association website link i placed there and spend a bit of time reading their articles on dementia.

better yet, if you are in singapore, you might want to contribute a bit of your time to volunteer efforts. currently the disease affects 28 million people worldwide. in 2040, it is expected to rise to 81 million worldwide.

if you think Dementia has nothing to do with you, keep in mind that 2040 is 34 years from now. while alzheimer's disease is not automatically caused by aging (as commonly believed), the elderly are more susceptible to the disease. and whether you like it or not, we are all going to be a bit older by 2040.

i hope you would remember that.

berlin in black & white

2006-09-05T05:46:00.000-07:00

and so it goes.

i was recently informed that i managed to land the first prize on a photo contest here in Singapore, as well as a consolation prize.

i was also informed that my submitted photos will be part of an exhibition in Germany on Oct 12-14. adding to that, i also managed to qualify for the international level of judging. the panel of judges will be photo editors from CNN, Reuters, BBC Online, Time magazine and the UK newspaper The Times.

i'll let you know what happens.

if everything went well, i may find myself in Berlin then.

sooner than soon as the saying goes.

2006-06-30T07:13:00.000-07:00

I've been busy shooting and how time flies when I do that. It seems ages ago that I visited this site.

One day you are preparing for a shoot and next thing you know weeks have passed since you did something normal again. Like going for a drink with friends or just write a sentence or two in your blog.

Last week, just to get away from my photo editing, I went to a house warming of a friend from UK and I found myself actually visualing a shot in the middle of the party hubbub. I was glancing at the tele as Germany pounded Sweden in the World Cup, and I found myself visualising how to light a scene for a Levi's shoot that I was doing in 3 days' time. So much for trying to relax my mind with a bit of alcohol.

Good enough I don't do these mind-shifting when I swim at night. Or else I'll find myself at the bottom of the pool, thinking of angles and lightings and forgetting how to breathe.

So am I back writing again? Maybe.

I know some of you have been coming back here to check for my new post and I felt I need to apologise for that.

Sorry I wasn't home. But I am now. And come back anytime. If ever I'm not here, I'll leave a photo for you. I'll leave the door open too. Let yourself in, sit back, put your feet up and make yourself at home. Click.

2006-06-09T03:00:00.000-07:00

A few days ago, I found myself missing the time I was using film cameras for my street photography. Day in day out, while shooting god knows how many digital shots, there's this growing discontent inside me.

Don't get me wrong, digital photography is convenient and by far, economical. More so when you're experimenting on a look that you want to achieve. Each shot is free, with no significant monetary baggage attached to it. It cuts the middle man, and you can upload hundreds of pictures to your computer faster than you can put a roll of tri-x film into a developing reel.

The client loves it because they get immediate feedback. The talents love it because it gives them a guide when posing for the camera. The photographer loves it because it's reassuring when the lighting, angle and other technical aspects of the shoot are near to what he envisions.

But when doing street photography and documentary, where the client is just you and the models are ordinary folks you see out in the streets (and there are no guidelines or deadlines) the argument about digital photography being convenient doesn't stack well.

I see something nice, I bring the camera to my eyes, I press the shutter and in micro seconds, a perfect rendition of the scene - with perfectly focussed images, perfectly exposed lighting and perfectly framed tableau - comes up from the back of my Canon 5D.

If I think it is not perfect enough, I raise the camera again, and rattle off more shots.

With a dozen back-up of the same moment thinly sliced by ultra-mega-lightning shutter speed, I should be rejoicing.

But I am not.

True, when I was using Leica rangefinders for street photography, there were times when I missed shots, I missed focus, I misjudged the light and went for wrong exposures and I had frames which were totally useless.

But nowadays, how I craved for the slow, deliberate shots I used to make with a fully mechanical machine. I missed the Zen feeling. I missed the joy of finding a keeper in a roll full of mistakes.

I missed the imperfections.

It slowed me down. It made me think.

So for my street and documentary photography, I am officially divorcing my digital SLR. I am going back in time. I'm going back to good old tri-x film and my Leica rangefinders. In fact, instead of using my M6 or other Ms, I may even go back to the days of screw mount rangefinders. Cameras used during WW2. No meter. Bottom-loader. With lenses twice my age.

That means going 70 years back in time to be exact.

I've seen the future and I'm taking a pass. Click.

2006-05-31T07:21:00.000-07:00

A friend confessed that after he saw the link I placed in my previous post, he felt really, really small.

Another, who saw the 10-minute version (Beyond Words), looked around his office and asked himself what in heaven's name he was doing there.

Their reactions echoed mine.

In the face of such massive misery and human turmoil recorded by some of the world's most important photographers, our own private turmoil becomes insignificant.

Suddenly, all the little problems we have within striking distance become less of a problem and become more of a joke. The zit on your face that's been bothering you the whole day suddenly feels zilch. The soccer fever infecting the current collective soul becomes a tad too cold for you.

Seeing a father covering his anguish with hands caked in dried blood beside the broken body of his young daughter leaves you feeling fragmented inside. Seeing a mother huddled with her two kids in a ditch with her clothes splattered in blood leaves you seeing red.

You know just by looking at their faces, something immensely precious, something beyond measures, were taken away from them.

While watching the drama unfolding, I remembered a line from the novel Catch-22 by Joseph Heller.

"When you talk to the man upstairs,I want you to tell Him something for me. Tell Him it ain't right for people to die when they're young. I mean it. Tell Him if they got to die at all, they got to die when they are old. I want you to tell Him that. I don't think He knows it ain't right, because He's supposed to be good, and it's been going on for a long, long time. Okay?"

The powerful images taken by these war photographers will stay with you long after you've seen the free movie. And I hope it stays with you for a long, long time.

Because something happens afterwards. You go home and you talk, really talk to people closest to you. You look into their eyes. You hold their hands. You hug them goodnight, hug them really tight.

Knowing fully well, that anytime, at the whim of fate, all that you hold in your arms, could easily be taken away.

Sometimes forever. Click.

2006-05-23T23:54:00.000-07:00

"These shots did not test my faith in the value of photography so much as it tested my very faith in humanity. There is no value in giving up . . . that I continue out of hope. Not hope in God or divine intervention but hope in humanity because all we have is each other."

- James Nachtwey

Please, please have a look at the link below. Scroll down and double click on the Judge's Choice (GRAPHIC). And send the link to as many people as you can.

Beyond Words

2006-05-08T07:08:00.000-07:00

It's been awhile since I posted here. I've been busy moving to my new pad. It took me a long time to find one since my requirement to my agent was to get a big, empty place with my plan of turning it into a studio I can access anytime. So apart from the boxes that came from my old house, new boxes came into the new crib from furniture shops. So for two weeks, I¹ve been busy packing stuff and unpacking even more stuff.

It's amazing how much you can accumulate in a few years. I hoard. That's my sin. I even collect used film canisters that other people normally throw away in the rubbish.

I collect small scrap of tattered papers (or shoeboxes) that Leon used as his meandering journals in his first few attempts of putting his thoughts into writing. I have his scribbles that eventually turned to comprehensible words like "hir is my rox skul - leon rox - time closd at 5." A sentence he managed to compose after watching the movie called School of Rock. It is also possible that I still have every dinosaur drawings that he painted on paper which he gave me since his dino obsession started.

I found a lost photo - my first portrait shoot ever of mimi when she was just 18 and my Dalmatian dog named Demi. I lost it for more than a decade. It's back with me now.

I found my Dad's letter when I told him about my plan of devoting my life to political struggle - a beautifully written piece about life - using an old typewriter, complete with uneven blotches of ink from a well-used typewriter ribbon.

Reading the letter long time ago was confusing, now it's a pleasure. Then, I was a young student involved with politics and spouting out rhetoric on liberty and equality. He ended the letter with a very apt line: "pray, for that, too, shall set you free." An advise that puzzled me then but which I now hold dear.

Incidentally, while I hoard, my father is the opposite.

He makes the concept of travelling light feel very heavy. He is "transient living" realised. It's amazing because his work entails him to move from place to place a lot of time. But he does so with such economy that he appears to be passing through. He doesn't hang anything on walls and his tables are all in its most essential form. He leaves a place the way he found it.

I tried doing that too. Many times. And failed spectacularly many times too. When I travel, I travel with megatons of bags. By the time my cameras, lenses, batteries, chargers, cleaning kits, back-ups and laptop go in the bag, I couldn't feel my arms anymore. By the time my strobe lights, light stands, back-up lights, sine converter and backdrop kit are in their respective cases, I'm beyond the airline luggage limit. And I haven't started with my clothes yet.

I just like to keep things near me in case I have needs for them later. And that entails hoarding.

Maybe that's the reason why I crave taking pictures and my father doesn't. Photography is another way of hoarding. Except you collect moments in time.

And with time, there's just so much to hoard, and so little, well, time. Click.

2006-04-18T23:17:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I was going through all my film negatives – you know that dark transparent thing where photos used to come from – and I noticed a funny thing – I was actually holding them tenderly. Like I was afraid that they might fall on the floor and disintegrate. I was carefully holding them by their perforations, gently placing them in little plastic slots and binding them inside a big, thick portfolio book.

And since I only used rangefinders on them (and most were non-metered), maybe even half of them were unfocused, miserably composed, over and under exposed. But still it felt like I was holding something priceless.

I still remember the time I started developing my own black and white film. I was in the University then. We had a dingy, totally claustrophobic-inducing darkroom. I was sharing it with over 50 students.

It was a hot and clammy cell. The vinegarish smell of old chemicals clinging to every fibre of my skin and clothes as I wrestled in the dark, occasionally lighted by a red flickering bulb. I had to agitate the developer with one hand, while I held the doorknob with another in case somebody opened the door. The lock had given up long time ago.

And as I would count in my head to time the developer, I would also pray to the TriX gods that the chemicals I found underneath the sink were good enough to get me one more photo, or merciful heavens, develop a roll of exposed film.

Then, with my brain slightly disoriented from the darkness, my body smelling like it had been dipped in a vat of vinegar, and yes by gods, in a classic example of faith defying chemistry, I would come out with a triumphant look in my bloodshot eyes. Again and again.

This makes me wonder if in the future I will remember with the same intensity my current photo editing room. The number of external hard drives I have underneath my computer desk. The size of my monitor. The quantum power of my latest pentium. The wonder programs I'm using to filter the photos. The speed of wireless digital transfer into the web. The pristine white walls where I place most of my inkjet printouts.

Because it's surprising that after all these years, I still remember vividly that old darkroom where I learned to dodge and burn.

It was a 4x6 mosquito-infested prison. Its walls covered with years of peeling paint and faded wallpaper. If I close my eyes, I could still see the melted power switch above the rusty enlarger.

It was decrepit. It was smelly. It was grimy.

It was the best place on earth. Click.

2006-04-16T03:55:00.000-07:00

I finally managed to turn half of my website to flash. One is the Diptych section and the other is Panorama. Check them out. The images are bigger and there are a couple of new photos too. For those who prefer non-flash presentation, or for viewers with no flash plug-in and don't care to install one (it's really easy and I created a link for you for free download at www.macromedia.com), I still retained the old presentation. Just go to Contact page and it will lead you to the old site. Do let me know if you're having a problem accessing it. I've given up on persuading people to leave me a note here and just to sign with their initials, so just email it to me.

Three people have asked if I took the Moon photo in my Diptych. Indeed I did. From my bedroom window.

Shooting the Moon, against a common notion, is very easy. The problem is the setting of the camera. Logic seems to dictate that because you are shooting at night, the setting should also be nightime. Not the case with the Moon. The Moon is directly lighted by the sun. That's why it glows. So shooting the Moon is like shooting an object in direct sunlight. You use the good old Sunny 16 rule.

Pardon me if I go technical just a bit here. I'll make it as painless as possible. Two paragraphs at most. Promise.

Before the days of automated metering, people with meterless camera used the Sunny 16. Simply said, on a sunny day, turn your aperture(f) to 16 and the speed of your camera to the film's ISO. So if you're using ISO400 film, the setting is f16 + 400 (speed of camera).

The metering will vary when you're on a shade (open up the lens or slow the speed of the camera a bit), but that's a topic for another day. But let me add that this metering is perfect for meterless rangefinder cameras where you can align the split images/compose and shoot without fumbling on the lens aperture and camera speed.

Back to the topic at hand, shooting the Moon is like shooting during the day. But using a long lens (300mm to 400mm lens will do) with a strong and steady tripod. Of course, you must apply bracketing. That means, you shoot on f11 and f22 (apart from f16) to get the desired exposure.

And do not be alarmed if the picture comes up with a grey landscape and not yellow. The Moon is not yellow. It's the atmosphere that makes it look yellow. As well as romantic songs and poems.

Try it sometimes. It's fun. Anyway, the Moon is slipping away from our gravity by 4 centimetres a year. A couple of billion years and it's gone. Shoot it while you can. Click.

2006-04-11T20:53:00.000-07:00

I'm teaching myself to write shorter. Really.

An old friend complained that it’s starting to feel like I’m writing novelettes here.

Unlike my earlier posts where my story is condensed to its bare essentials.

Short and sweet. Like a haiku. But instead of counting syllables, I go for words. Let's see.

Five words for my introduction.

Seven words to state all my thoughts.

Five words to say goodbye.

Click.

2006-04-08T10:09:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine just got himself a Ricoh GR Digital. What a beaut the camera is. In fact he was kind enough to lend it to me so I could shoot it side by side with a playing card. As you can see, it is small. Very small indeed.

During the early days of film, 5 to 10 years BD (Before Digital) Ricoh came up with a series of very compact, very intuitive yet ultra reliable film cameras called the GR series.

The GR series became the choice for back-up and point-and-shoot by professional photographers, journalists and advanced enthusiasts who prefer total control over automation. Its outstanding performance, both in terms of razor sharp images and its "take-it-all" magnesium-alloy body, made it the secret darling in the photographic world.

Now, against the current popular zoom trend, Ricoh has resolutely stuck the GR Digital with a fixed lens. Its F2.4 fixed focal length lens is equivalent to a 28mm in film body cameras. It also has wheels in front and back for aperture and speed. Which clearly defines the niche it is trying to capture with this camera.

What is amazing about GRd is that if you put a viewfinder (for the 21mm lens converter) on top , it is reminiscent of Leica Screw Mount rangefinders with wide-angle finder from the 40s to the 60s.

In fact, the first time I held it, it felt like an analogue camera. Only when I flipped it on its back and saw the 2.5 inches wide screen that its digital nature became apparent.

This is also true with the soon-to-be introduced Panasonic DMC-L1 (in collaboration with Olympus and Leica). It has an aperture ring infront of the lens and shutter speed dial on top of the body. Just like a traditional, film camera of the by-gone era.

The most amusing thing about the digital race that's happening in photography is that the more the digital technology embraces us, the more we hold on to good old traditional ways of taking pictures.

It's like the more we are overwhelmed and confused by the ever changing wonders of the digital revolution, the more we look at the past to seek our bearing.

So don't go to Ebay and start selling those old bricks yet.

As the new cameras feel more and more like strangers, that old camera at the bottom drawer may turn out to be your last familiar friend. Click.

2006-04-05T03:00:00.000-07:00

Once in awhile, apart from my rants and musings on life and photography, I will also recommend books that I wish you'd read before we all go up in that big classical concert in the sky. Or the rave, intoxicating, foam party underneath. One such book that you should get hold of before that happens is "The Short History of Nearly Everything" by Bill Bryson. It is one of the most fascinating books I've come across recently.

It's a big tome, comprising of almost 700 pages of interesting, at times poignantly funny anecdotes, about a world trying to discover its importance amidst billions of other worlds. It also has 100 over pages of notes, bibliography and indices to give you an idea how thoroughly well researched it is.

In this book you will learn, for instance, that when Albert Einstein proposed the Special Theory of Relativity (which is arguably the theory that changed the way science looked at the universe) he was merely a third class technical examiner in a small patent office in Bern. Apparently his latest application for second class promotion was rejected. His application as a university lecturer was also rejected. Bringing down his lofty ambition, Albert Einstein decided to apply as a high school teacher. This, too, was rejected.

In this book, you will also appalingly learn that Thomas Midgley, Jr., the guy who invented tetraethyl lead (lead gasoline among other things) in 1923 (which causes brain and kidney failure, cancer, destroy the nervous system, causes coma or death to name just a few symptoms) was also the one who invented chlorofluorocarbons, better known as CFC.

With tetraethyl lead, he gave Americans 625 times more lead in their blood than people before 1923. With CFC, he gave the world one of the most destructive man-made gas to devour the ozone layer in the stratosphere. There was no CFC in the atmosphere before he was born.

As we all know, without ozone, we'll all suffer from radiation burns. Unless of course you live under the sea, underground or you wear protective suits 24-hours a day. In fact, life on earth would not be possible.

To give you a rough idea how destructive CFC is, a single ozone molecule can absorb heat from ultraviolet radiation 10 thousand times more efficient than a molecule of carbon dioxide. But a single kilogram of CFCs can destroy 70,000 kilogram of atmospheric ozone.

And the ozone layer is just 2 millimetres thick. Go figure the chances of the ozone surviving that. Or us in the end. Because while the production of CFC is banned in some countries, the use is not. Illegal imports of CFCs in the US, for example, still amount to 20 million pounds per year - coming from countries without ban on CFCs yet. The present levels of CFC (without further addition) will continue to destroy the ozone up to 100 years.

Sorry if I digressed. I just can't stand nor fathom this monumental display of sheer lunacy.

But despite all these sad information, the book is not all grim and dismal. It's a wonderful book. It's not historical in a sense of how historical book goes. Bill Bryson's writing has intelligent clarity that is neither boring nor pontifical. The language is neither highfalutin nor ornate.

In the end, you will look at the world through different eyes. In hope that you'll treat it differently.

And when you finished reading the "The Short History of Nearly Everything", share it with someone close to you. For what is seeing the glory of the universe if you have nobody to share it with?

Then you'll both know how frighteningly beautiful (and beautifully frightening) the universe is. Click.

2006-04-03T03:00:00.000-07:00

I finally got hold of the new Canon 5D. The camera has been out of stock most of the time since last year. The price of the unit has gone down from its original list price of US$3,299. Now you can get it for almost US$3,000 for the body alone. I did.

The viewfinder is bigger, brighter and it covers 96%. When you put your eye on the viewfinder, it is like seeing the light for the first time. What a relief. Its full-frame capability and 12.8 (just shy away from 13) Mega Pixels mean improved dynamic range (I hope), less noise, smaller Depth Of Field (DOF), bigger print size, as well as no cropping factor. The 50mm lens is 50mm and not 80mm lens. Which is why I went for this camera. I miss the 50mm focal length.

I’m always partial to the 50mm lens. I used this focal length during my university years while covering student’s demonstrations and rallies. I had two cameras then, both Minoltas. One had a 50mm, the other, a 28mm. I always use up the roll on the 50mm, but never the 28mm. Strange really when you come to think that a 28mm would have been a better option when shooting a crowd. I guess I was more comfortable with the 50mm focal length.

My Olympus OM-1n (probably the most intuitive SLR ever made) was always mated with this focal length. Even my Leica M6, though I tried courting the 28mm and 35mm Summicron lens for awhile, still ended up with the 50mm.

This prime lens forces you think in a way. Don’t misconstrue me. I love the convenience of zoom lens, specially the 17-40mm f4L and the 70-200L, and I use them both. But with the 50mm lens, you know where you stand.

And in photography, as well as in life, that matters most. Click.

2006-03-30T08:15:00.000-08:00

I'm currently converting my website to a flash for easier upload on my side so I'll be posting photos here for now. As I mentioned earlier, I did an impromptu street studio portraits of kids when I was in Hong Kong when I saw a black canvas along a market stall. Here's a sample of the effort. No big umbrella and softbox here, just ambient with a little help from my camera flash for the catchlight. It was an in and out portrait shoot, two shots each.

It's a feat I need to master soon enough once the National Park Board here in Singapore give me the go signal to erect my outdoor studio. I managed to get me a nice portable power supply (a pure sine wave inverter) today for my Elinchrom studio flashes and everything is packed and ready. Alas, I just need the permit signed.

In fairness to NPark, they have never come across a project like this yet they are very supportive in securing me a place to use right in the heart of Orchard Road. The Philippine consul in Singapore already gave me a call regarding my project. I hope, everything goes well and I'll be shooting soon.

Incidentally, a few days after I came back to Singapore, I got a call from a Hong Kong model who stumbled on my website and liked what she saw. Now she's here in town and she wants me to do some work with her. It feels strange that I must have been in Hong Kong shooting pictures for my website at the same moment when she was surfing my website.

Internet moves in a mysterious way. Click.

2006-03-15T23:06:00.000-08:00

There is something tangibly film noir about people in winter landscape. As evening approaches, the dark, brooding feeling is palpable in the air. As the light recedes, darkness creeps in, and you can almost visualise the cinematographer pulling up his collar against the cold.

Well almost really. Because as I held the thought in my mind, lost in the imaginary aesthetics of it, the Strawberry Cheesecake flavour Jelly Belly bean didn’t mix well with the Sizzling Cinnamon flavour bean (or was that Strawberry Daiquiri?) and left me partly coughing and choking.

As I try not to puke in the middle of a crowded harbour, I realised one thing though. If you actually think of it, a film noir is best because of the suspense it entails at the end.

The high-constrast, almost nihilistic landscape and the overtly dramatic lighting prelude to a surprise.

Maybe Jelly Belly is the kid’s lighter version of it. Not knowing whether you’ll be getting a treat of Toasted Marshmallow or a refreshing Root Beer is pretty surprising.

And of course, there's always the chance of being blasted with a Jalapeno. Click.

2006-03-12T21:12:00.001-08:00

You never actually visited a place like a complete stranger until you join a foreign-language tour group. One of the most memorable thing I'll remember about this recent trip was the serendipity I found being led around Hong Kong by a Mandarin-speaking tour guide. I was saying something about the wisdom of travelling and being lost in my previous post, and this time I went extreme. Now I feel like I'm from a totally different planet. And it feels great. It is amusing at times but totally liberating above all.

Incidentally, this is probably my most creatively productive trip in a long time. Normally, I’m distracted or tired or just plain swamped with unnecessary baggages. This time, I've reached more than 2 thousand shots in less than 3 days and got few keepers to boot. I even managed to do some street portraits with some kids when I found a black backdrop in a night market. Though the weather is erratic – dropping 15 to 10 degrees – it is still good to walk around simply shooting. In fact I seem to prefer weather like this when doing street photography. SP in New York must be very nice indeed.

Last night I shot this couple in a tight embrace at the Tsim Sha Tsui Harbour. It was pretty dark and I was using ISO 1600 but it was still all blurry. Cursing the mirror shake on my SLR and myself for not bringing a rangefinder, and against all the lessons on stealth shooting, I went in, flipped open my flash, and pop them several times. They didn’t even bother to glance at me. I don't think they'll even look at me even if I setup a couple of studio lights right there and then.

Love is blind. Keep your eyes wide open. Click.

2006-03-05T23:24:00.000-08:00

A few days from now I’m off to Hong Kong. It’s always fun to go there and be overwhelmed by the ceaseless cacophony the city is known for. To feel like a stranger in a strange land. I always believe that travelling is not much about finding yourself, but more about losing yourself. There is something humbling about ignorance, and when you’re on the road, you are always ignorant.

And something happens to your photography too each time you travel. You force yourself to see differently. Which is why I highly recommend that if you are serious about the craft, move about. Travel a lot. Don’t be stuck in one place.

That’s one reason why a few months from now, I’m off to the Inner Mongolia. Home to Genghis Khan, it’s a vast grassland beyond the Great Wall and the Gobi Desert. It is frighteningly far from the madding crowd but with even more possibilities of losing yourself in a very desolate landscape. Which is great. For more than a week I’ll be carrying my hotel room on my back. For a photographer who is comfortable doing portraits in a controlled environment, this is totally different. I can’t imagine the limitless photographic promise waiting for me there.

And that‘s what’s good with photography. There is always a boundless room to grow in any direction you want. You can redefine yourself every now and then. Which is another thing that I highly recommend. Keep yourself fresh and don’t get trapped in the quagmire of sameness. If you get bogged down in similarities, you’ll eventually find yourself in ennui.

Being consistently good is great. Being consistently the same is doldrums waiting to happen. So keep shooting. Keep travelling. Keep experimenting. Don’t be afraid to reinvent yourself.

Even Inner Mongolia used to call itself Outer Mongolia. Click.

2006-02-27T02:14:00.000-08:00

I just had lunch with a friend of mine, a photojournalist from Agence France Presse. I always make it a point to meet up with him when he’s in town. Because he seldom is. And he’s a very decent guy and fun to talk to though he spends more time in depressing and nightmare-inducing situations.

Last year he was in Iraq and the pictures he brought back home were far disturbing than I could possibly imagine. It makes shooting movie stars, models and fashion works seemingly pointless in comparison. You can’t help but be awed and humbled by this kind of photographer.

While some artsy fashion photographers in Asia spend endless hours prepping up models and celebrities, dressing them up with collaborations from make-up artists and designers, then having an exhibition and calling the show as one of photography’s opus. Then they’d swagger around town boasting about the glory of their lighting set-ups (which are totally technical) and the concept behind their pictures (which are normally copied) and the fantastic job the set designers and make-up artists did (which are predictably ornamental).

On the other hand, you have one of these photojournalists who spend ungodly hours in the pit of hell all alone. He stares at Medusa in her grotesqueness and shoots her right between the eyes, comes home and calmly have coffee with you and talk about how he misses the kids and the wife.

You won’t even hear him talk about what he saw in hell until you drag it out from him, letter by letter. No bragging. No triumph in his voice that he just barely survived a roadside bomb blast. Just calm, calculated narration that is depressing at most, at times frightening and utterly humbling. He reminds me of James Nachtwey politely, and apologetically, describing the many conflicts he covered around the world in the documentary film, the War Photographer.

So on one hand you have the artsy fashion photographers who often make prosaic, banal and pedestrian images of Beauty and heralds them as their personal triumph and great contribution to the world.

On the other hand, we have these photojournalists who document poignant, real and important images of human struggle against the ugly and insensitive world yet remain utterly quiet, and almost apologetic about it.

And what do we do? We reward the artsy and pretentious photographers by showering them praises and celebrate their infernal attempt to elevate celebrities into the realm of arts by placing them and their cohorts in the golden pedestal, while we ignore the important works of the documentary photographers.

Go figure. Click.

2006-02-16T23:19:00.000-08:00

I find it amusing that when I leave my crib without a camera, I feel utterly vulnerable. Like I blundered into a war zone without a Kevlar jacket on. And as I hesitantly pick my steps from the rubble, I wait for a sniper to cut me down.

A nightmare plays over and over again in my head - I’m caught in a world-changing event and, by heavens, I have nothing in my hands except my miserable camera handphone.

The interesting part is that it takes me hours to decide whether to leave my camera behind. The internal debate starts when I wake up and ends when I lock my door. And when I do leave it behind, I spend the waking hours looking around frantically.

For when I see something sublime, something beautiful, something interesting to capture, I hear this sadly familiar sound in my head. Click.

2006-02-13T01:43:00.000-08:00

So the toast felt soggy. So the coffee tasted like mud. You got caught in the rain. You got caught in the traffic. Your phone went bust. You wanted a new one. Your boss asked you to work late. You had a headache. You missed your bus. You missed your train. You missed the shows on TV. Something went wrong. Nothing seemed perfect.

If today you felt like the universe conspired to give you a tough time, do yourself a favour. Before you go to bed, check out the photo gallery at www.worldpressphoto.nl for the 2005 World Press Photo winners. In fact, do the universe a favour, send the link to as many people as you can.

And be damn glad you only had a soggy toast this morning. Click.

2006-02-08T19:44:00.000-08:00

What is it with a face that attracts me to it? Not the one that went through the fairy fingers of a make-up artist, for that is a face delicately made to sell an image.

What I mean are faces in the streets that I see everyday. The plain and unrehearsed -the plump and the skinny, the one with shifty eyes, the one with hundred yards stare, the stern and the tease, the bashful and the bold, the frank and the furtive, the fragile and the firm, the tense, the calm. Each one a narrative waiting to happen.

You can’t help try reading them sometimes. One click at a time.

2006-02-06T23:20:00.000-08:00

Click. A sound so distinct. Short. Solid. Unyielding. Clipping the air with so much finality. It can freeze time. Or a moment. Or a face. In black and white. Or in colour.

Once I shot a man outside a pub. He came out and found it raining. He took a drag on his cigarette and I squeezed. Then he ducked inside again. It happened fast. Five seconds, tops. That was years ago.

Yesterday I stumbled on the photo again. The smoke from his cigarette still hanging in midair. Click.