Tag Archives: fine art photography

Here I Stand

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We stand, they say, on the shoulders of our ancestors. Some religions go as far as advocating Ancestor Worship, but in the Philippine culture that I grew up in, it seems visiting our ancestors’ graves every All Saint’s suffices. Last 01 Nov, my brother and I realized that our ancestral gravesite is most likely the last old timer hold out—almost all have been renovated or newly built/re-built. Perhaps in time we will be “forced” to do so as well and put some enclosure on the open space that our grandfathers have chosen as their final resting place. Two days later, I was back, to visit my father and document the place. Not for the last time, I hope.

DLCemetery 1 bw

Mommy, I’m home!

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If there’s one deathbed regret I’d have, it’d be not having gone to the sea often enough. There has always been this fantasy/dream/wish/wishful thinking of being able to breathe underwater and just play with the fishies.  Being a writer-photographer-rescue diver, many people ask why I have not gone into underwater photography. To me it’s simply not wanting to worry about anything–like taking care of gear, thinking of what shots to take, etc. etc–when I’m in the water. It really is, to me, a sort of homecoming. Perhaps some unconscious desire to just float around without a care, like we all once did in our mothers’ wombs. (Okay, amateur psychologists, get off my case, will ya? :p)

Yeah, that’s me in the corner, and No, not losing any religion.

 

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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.”

Fuego! Still

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Instead of an essay for an opening board or such, a poem dedicated to fire, by a daughter of fire.

Baba’s Child

Hedwig de Leon

By your gait I can tell; I know

when you are off for leisure, the pace

of unhurried cadence breaking

into a dance. It never fails to rupture

my trance: the leaps, stomps and pirouettes

of bare feet on yielding grass.

At times it is the certainty, the sure

footed march to war: I feel each inhale

each exhale each breath; never

labored always calm all ways

Quiet. The perfect backdrop

to your scream in the sky; the perfect

Silence soon shattered as heaven

roars with thunder and lightning zigs

and zags across the skies.

In a hammock on your back I lie

Cradled, nibbling fruits and nuts, wondering

Why? Why must you carry me in a sack

on your back even when you fight? Or hold

me to your chest while you snooze?

A shrug.

Great. Should I pester you for an answer, pelt

You with nuts, maybe?             But then you

Opened an eye before I could:          “Because,

You said, “you are a brat.”

“My brat.“

August 2010

Fuego!

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19 Auagust 2010, and Fuego! opened at Penguin. Late post, yes, very. I kind of got a little possessive of my little fire babies, didn’t exactly want them out there in the wild cyber world. Silly, huh? But come on, give a photog a break. There was a lot that went on: African drummers came, Earth dancers came, goodness, even my Mom came. That really was the biggest surprise of the night. I was scared of a people-less opening, but No, we ended up drinking beer on the sidewalks. It was a fun night, problem is I couldn’t document it. Good thing some friends took some. Coming up, soon!