Category Archives: Photography

Bataan on a Whim

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Crime Partner P and I took off for a drive, not much on the agenda other than, well, to drive. Or get out of Metro Manila even for just a day, and preferably, meet the sea. I wasn’t really geared to shoot, and all I brought was a Leica D-Lux 5. No monsters, this time. Turns out this toy is sort of a tiny monster, nonetheless. Heehee.Image

One of what felt like a hundred hairpins.

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No idea what these are exactly, but they were on the entrance to the Pawikan conservation thing. By the way, The three baby  pawikans were in this tiny enclosure, covered with a net. I simply did not have the heart to take thier photos. (Okay, maybe I should be a photo journalist. LOL)

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Farmers, after puttng the dried grains back in the sacks.

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Crime Partner P — probably comtemplating that we nearly got stuck in the sand. (Yeah, we drove our car sorta too close to the sea. heh heh)

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Forget the white sand; I’d much rather be here than Boracay!

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Like all good things, even a perfect day must come to an end. But what a farewell display!

Missing a Period (No, not the bloody kind)

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The other day I was driving home in rainy-Friday traffic and listening to Cynthia Alexander’s Walk Down the Road album. There was a deep sadness to it, sadness of a happy kind if ever there is such. It’s probably not accurate to say that it is the musician I miss–we were never the kind of BFFs who chat on the phone or meet up for lunch or coffee; it’s more like I see her on her gigs and she drops by our table for a little chat, and of course there’s the annual Bloom exhibit. While I love her music,  I can always listen to all her albums and it’s so easy to just watch her on Youtube.

So what do I miss, exactly?

at 19 East, the send-off series

It’s a period of time, in my life. A time that I wouldn’t exactly want to go through all over again but it was one when silver linings shone through with such intensity that the dark clouds were nearly eclipsed. It was a time when old friends vanished precisely when I needed them most, a time when there was trouble in practically all fronts. And this was the time when a friend stood by me, kept me sane, kept me company. A friend who endured and never complained about the obnoxious other “friends” that I sometimes brought. And we went to Cynthia’s gigs. Never mind that she lives about fifty kilometers away from Conspi. Cynthia’s gigs were practically the only thing that could make her travel that far, and back, in the wee hours of the morning.

It’s the warmth of Cynthia, who never treated us like the bug-eyed fans that we were. It’s her interaction with the band, never acting like she’s the star of the show. It’s Mlou’s multi instrument stunt. It’s CJ Wasu’s tablas. It’s Cynthia’s almost-shy way of acknowledging your presence even in a packed Conspi, her reprimands of my smoking, our hesitation to order sisig or anything non-vegetarian and the silly fear that the smell of a pig’s face on a sizzling plate might cause her to faint.  Cynthia, if ever you read this, apologies, but that gave us a good laugh.

I can only wish her all the best, and thank her for the huge part her gigs and music played in the bonds of friendship formed. As for my friend, I’m sure I’ll see her, maybe in gigs down south this time.

Sunrise at Ugu Bigyan’s

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A couple of months ago a friend and I decided to go for a long drive somewhere south, just for the heck of it. He, because he simply loves to drive, and I, because drives mean pictures!  Ugu Bigyan’s was not a destination, but a quick stop-over.  So quick that no one was awake when we got there (too early, apparently) and only two caretakers were up by the time we left.  Didn’t have a chance to sample Ugu’s cooking, not even coffee!

We were allowed to loiter around and shoot some, though.

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Tony Perez: A Playwright Who Paints [with photos by Hedwig de Leon]

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As part of the Tanghalang Pilipino’s retrospective of  plays written by Tony Perez, he and I did a joint exhibit at the Little Theatre Lobby of the CCP. The festival lasted from 30 September to 23 October, and to my biggest chagrin, I was away on location shoot the entire time! I’m sharing it, anyway.  Unfortunately, I don’t have photographs of the paintings by Tony Perez.

About the Exhibit

 

Antonio Benjamin Silva Perez: Novelist, poet, playwright, painter and teacher.  How does one document someone whose work gets done mostly inside his head?  There, the challenge lurks, skulking in utmost patience, until it lunges and threatens to fling one to despair: as a writer dreads that blank piece of paper, so does a photographer feel the terror of a blank wall waiting to be filled with images she takes. As a poet wrestles with her very marrow to produce a line of verse, so does a photographer struggle to capture an image that has in it the harmony and dissonance,  the light and the darkness, the yin and the yang.

Or, as Tony Perez would put it, the Eros and the Thanatos. Only after such misery does the Muse relent, and be it poem or photo, the images come. Then, and only then, is the challenge met.  Hopefully.

*Photos chosen from over two hundred, taken over a period of nineteen months.

Scenes From the Basement

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This is half public service, and half rant. Photography is a necessity, and definitely not for aesthetics.

First sms I saw when I woke up Sunday morning was from K, asking if I had any idea what time we’d have electricity again. I didn’t even know power was out, as I wasn’t in the studio. Then she explained that a car blew up in the basement, and two or three other cars burned along with it. That got me worried, because I left a car at that basement.  I went back to the condo and was greeted by the sorry sight of people lugging suitcases and carts of hastily packed things, stuff thrown in huge garbage bags and hauled to their cars. Dang, the place felt like some ghost town with people just wanting to get out.

Today the story came together, finally. From what I gather, one of the residents met with a car accident and drove the vehicle to the basement, anyway. While he was maneuvering to park, smoke started to come out from under the hood. Driver staggered out as the guard on duty ran toward the car with a fire extinguisher. Flames erupted, and the rest, especially the SUV parked right beside it, is history. Another SUV sustained a lot of  damage, while a sedan had a melted bumper and busted headlights.

And perhaps the best part is that almost the entire building is left without power, no telephone lines, and no cable.  Good luck, everyone, especially to the offices. Right now I am typing this in the dark, as the emergency outlet can only handle so much. Plug a pc in, and forget about using your electric fan.

So, for crying out loud, I am no expert but if any of you gets into an accident that could’ve damaged the engine in any way, please drive your car to the nearest service outlet. It doesn’t just happen in the movies; damaged engines can make cars blow up, burst into flames, and take some innocents with them. Not to mention disrupting the lives and livelihood of the occupants of an entire building, big time.

 

La Lluvia

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Last Saturday everyone in Manila must’ve experienced that all day wetness, with the rain that came and went, poured gently one moment and in torrents the next. It was a perfect afternoon to spend at home, preferably at the balcony, with a cup of coffee, a good book, and cigarettes. But when you gotta go, you gotta go.  To meetings, that is.  Which was just as good, if not better, for a photographer. Made me think maybe it’s time to work on a Rain series, after Fuego! Ironically, it was because of the rain that I didn’t bring anything but a toy cam. Oh well.  :p

A Stranded Baby and a Jug of Vinegar

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My favorite car that got christened Baby G (as in gangsta) overheated somewhere along Greenmeadows. With two appointments to keep and 15 minutes away from the first one, there wasn’t much choice but to leave the baby there. Hitched a ride with the first guy who came along, got a car from home, and finished all the stuff in the to-do list. Now, time to pick up the poor thing. Hauling two gallons of water in old vinegar jugs, I hailed a cab, and while I was getting into it, my camera tumbled out of the gear bag and rolled on the pavement. Goodness. When I got to my stranded car, the first thing I did was to shoot and make sure my camera is still alive.

Okay, it is! (Come to think of it, battle scarred gear has a certain appeal. LOL)

So far, so good. Put water in a dehydrated radiator. My bad. But hey, can’t possibly end a day like that! Might as well shoot some. Night photography without a tripod doesn’t sound right, but the sheer stupidity of it put me in a good mood. hah! Couldn’t expose too long with a handheld cam tho.

Not too many cars at 1am, too. One last. Just to satisfy a bug.

A Fine Art Photographer’s Walk

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These past few months personal and professional hassle almost made me forget what I love most about photography–it is the seeing part, finding beauty where none seems to exist, seeing it and wanting to share it. I never saw the need nor ever had the desire for fancy set-ups, fancy lighting, or other things that make for a glamorous photograph. Yes, of course, I do those things; sometimes I need to, either for work or personal requests, and I find absolutely nothing wrong with it, as long as it does not make me forget what in my heart of hearts I thrive on doing, and that is shooting “junk.”  “Junk,” because nothing is ever real thrash to me, as a photographer. “Junk,” because, chances are, no one would bother to take photos of those; “junk,” because–and forgive me a little bit of ego trip here–chances are, I was the only one who saw it, or took the time to.

The hassle that nearly took me away from my gear drove me into some sort of melancholy, and the thing that arrested what could have been a downward spiral was a decision to walk alone for a while, just me and a 5D. 24/7.  The photos I am about to attach may not mean or appeal much to most of you, but to me, they will forever remind me of the day I said, “This is my art, this is my photography. I am paying for it with my time, my money, and my energy. I hope you find it in your heart to respect that, but if you don’t it’s perfectly all right.”