Greetings,
A poem by Antonio Machado. Translated from the Spanish by Betty Jean Craige.
Walker, your footsteps are the road, and nothing more.
Walker, there is the road, the road is made by walking.
Walking you make the road, and turning to look behind you see the path you never again will step upon.
Walker, there is no road, only foam trails on the sea.
Metta.
You can't photograph a memory. - Henri Cartier Bresson
Greetings,
I am now in Saigon or HCMC which is short for Ho Chi Minh City. An old name and a new name. One door closes and one door opens. But, as they say, "the hallways can be a bitch."
The last time I was in Saigon I was on my way out, over the pond to what we called, "The World."
I've been on the ground for 24 hours. My initial feeling is that it's more relaxed, open and looser than the conservative north. A most pleasant exchange after 4.5 months. Attitudes, life styles and progressive vibrancy.
As usual, up and out early. I spent the morning sitting in the Cho Lon Chinese marketplace in throbbing mercantile zones near sewage, garbage, vegetable sellers, screaming motorcycles carrying precarious precious loads of everything from food to towering stacks of plastic sandals, wholesalers, hustlers, beggars, thieves and market women who, after the initial suspicious glance or stare thinking "what in the hell is that guy doing here?" they went on about their daily business of haggling, selling, gossiping, cooking, scheming, dealing, and living.
Then, I wandered down no-name streets and found large Chinese pagodas where I lit incense, made offerings, scribbled notes and focused on creating photo magic. Delightful.
Metta.
Greetings,
So, as usual I'm experimenting with the site design and decided to make the "Living on the edge," blog the "Front Page," that opens when you visit.
'It's like this,' said the seer during discussions discussing this eclectic option. 'Why start with Myths and Innuendos when people can immediately access the blog slog?'
'Excellent point,' I said. 'Everyone already knows about myths because they are alive. Most subscribers, visitors and friends have already seen the Myth page, read the book blurb and assorted philosophical insights.
'They are probably bored to tears wondering, why don't those two genius types get their electronic act together and streamline this baby so we don't have to click through to explore new stuff?'
'Clearly,' said the seer. 'Take the ideas and forget the words.'
Enjoy your travels through the Ha Noi neighborhood of reality and dreams. Feel free to drop us a line.
Metta.
On the sidewalk is a feather and a q-tip. Existential awareness.
A broken building at a temple in Ha Noi. Loving lines.
A man hauls out his heavy trash. His destination is the cart. A distant speck, horizon.
Greetings,
I began learning and experimenting with black and white photography. It was about varieties of film, Tri-X, and later Ilford. Grain. Film speed or ISO in photog talk.
Then the learning process of working in the darkroom; developing, making contact sheets, selecting negatives to print, grades and quality of paper, using various chemicals. Developer, fixer, stop-bath, water. Emulsion. A negative holder, enlarger, light management, f/stops, and a timer. Expose and process the paper through the chemicals.
Like magic, an image slowly appears. Looking for the contrast between shadows. Adjust the variables of time and exposure and play. Experiment.
It's easy to fall into the trap of using color, or does color use us? The eye is easily fooled because it is passive. Cut through the colorful clutter and express yourself through shades of gray.
As Picasso said, "I just want to know one thing. What is color?" A pigment of our retina cone imagination.
After finishing the Sapa galleries I decided to do a project documenting my neighborhood here in Ha Noi using the small brilliant laser-like Leica in the B&W mode.
No expectations, no logic. Keeping my blind eye open to light, movement and how they play. Do they play well with each other? That's a relationship question.
Some results were straight from the hip, the point-and-shoot-chance-is-all approach. No digital manipulation. Delightful. A dream dance.
A writer is lucky to get words down and try and make sense of them later. Same with making images. Here's to NOT making sense. Our brains have evolved to predict, establish meaning and detect patterns. Disorientation begets creative thinking.
Metta.
I am beginning to upload images from the recent adventure to Gili Air is-land and Lombok. Word and image editing continues...
In summary: I sat down on Gili Air for eight days and then moved around Lombok for two. About 600-1,000 people live on Air. We should all live on air.
Meno, the next island over is quieter and Trawangan is the party island. Gili means "small island" in Sasak, the local language.
Indonesia has 13,000 islands and 1,000 languages.
Men farm, build new bungalows, fish, commute to Lombok or work in the island tourist industry. Besides rentals - maybe 350 tourists at the max with small restaurants, the water business - diving, glass bottom boat tours and snorkeling provides income.
Women work in cafe kitchens. Some sell carved coconut bracelets, necklaces and fresh mangos, papayas and pineapples on the beach. Mellow hustle.
I sat down every day near the sea. I walked around the island in 1.5 hours. Hot sun, clear blue water, strong southern coastal winds. No people. No motor vehicles. No engines. Only the music of water and sun mixed with the occasional bells from a passing horse cart.
Beaches are filled with tons of bleached out white coral. The men used to fish with dynamite killing the fish and coral.
The distant volcano at Mt. Rinjani on Lombok played inside white and gray clouds.
Every day I sat near the sea, enjoying thick Lombok coffee, reading, writing in the trusty Moleskine, made images, swam inside a clear blue water aquarium, and snorkeled with large turtles. Hello.
It was stressful. Doing my work.
If I had more time I'd make it shorter.
Metta.
Share Article