Oh Baby! Show Me Your Pictures.

I can only pray that all dinner conversations are so delicious.

At dinner last night, our conversation accidentally drifted into the sometimes-forbidden area of bedroom antics.

Don’t get me wrong, I am not about to beat on the old 377A horse, but since I brought it up, I should just at least make me position clear: What happens behind closed doors of consenting adults, should be private. And that is even if the amorous sound that comes out of the closed doors fascinate us.

So, let me get right into the topic (pun intended).

In the last few months, our friend (whose name shall be kept a secret to spare her of excited callers) has gotten very familiar with the sex lives of the neighbors who live above her. “I now know when the husband is in town because sometimes they will have sex six times a day.” Not just that, she also knows they do it on a squeaky brass bed.

I am very sure our friend is not envious of the actions that her neighbors are getting, neither is she worried that they may be hurting themselves from overdoing. All she wants, is just some peace and quiet so that she can read, watch TV, sleep, and occasionally make the office conference calls.

Our friend knows the name of the female participant, but we, the shit-stirrers, were more interested to know how she looks like. “Wouldn’t it be embarrassing to run into them in the lift?” “Nope, hasn’t happened yet.”

I think I might be tempted to tell them, “you look very happy.” But thank goodness, I don’t live in the same apartment block.

I have to confess that for a long time between my main course and the arrival of desserts, I was wondering how she looks like.

This is bad, I know, but we all subscribe to stereotypes. The woman definitely has a certain look, and she definitely wears a certain kind of clothes and shoes. So is that why we – three women and a man – want to know how she looks like? To confirm that she fits our sketches? Or to satisfy our curiosity that we really don’t know such a person? Or on the contrary, to be able to say, “I knew it, got to be her, she has that look”?

Now what kind of look would that be? Would it be the same as a particular June, who was sued by an ex-lover for allegedly giving him herpes? For we too were all in unison in saying that we need pictures of June when the case goes to trial. Nobody, as far as I remember, was interested to know how the plaintiff looks like.

If the two women I mentioned turn out to be the plain Jane, the comment “still water runs deep” would most certainly come up. If they look even remotely close to the typical Sarong Party Girl, I can guarantee you that we will all be saying, “I knew it.”

Do we just want to know that June is really not May? Come December, we should all know the answer.

I have photographed a fair share of criminals and accuseds in my former life as a newspaper photographer. So much so that I had given advice to some of them. Generally, if you want public sympathy, look remorseful and walk with your head down. Don’t threaten the photographers who are just out there doing their jobs. Don’t smirk, don’t look too smug. And if you want to show your ignorance, walk confidently but pout your lips. Wear glasses but not shades. Be nice to photographers but don’t pose like a supermodel.

June, if you are listening, it means no spaghetti tops OK?

Too Busy For Posterity

This blog is inspired by a recent column by Financial Times columnist Anthony Haden-Guest. As my mark of respect for him, I have adopted the same headline for my entry. First thing first, read him regularly at www.ft.com/arts/columnists/hadenguest. He knows his stuff.

In this Oct 5 article, Haden-Guest, whose specialty is in collecting art, wrote about the late British photographer Terence Donovan but I feel that what happened to him could happen to anyone.

Donovan is not a name likely to pop up instantly when we talk about British photographer, but he was contemporary of David Bailey and was, in his own ways, a great success.

Donovan’s problem was probably common. Caught up with his busy commercial shoots and commission, he had no time to think about his place in art and history. He left behind a lot of works which were uncatalogued. And we all know this – if they are not indexed in some ways, they don’t exist. And if they don’t exist, it means nobody know about them.

I think we can agree that an acceptable measure of a photographer’s success should contain some of the following elements – his wealth, the volume of his life work, his influence, his place in history. But can we assume that the most “successful” ones are the ones who have everything?

Moving out of photography, football fans will probably remember some late English star died broke, and before his death, a precious medal he won had to be sold to pay for his debt. He had no wealth so to speak, but no one could deny his place in footballing history.

I had to go to the dictionaries to check out the definition of ‘posterity’. The word ‘future’ appeared a few times in my searches. But we all know the true meaning of the word, implied or otherwise, carries a much heavier weight.

Posterity would probably mean, in this case, the responsibility to leave behind a meaningful trace of existence, so that the future generation would be able to refer back in time and say that half a century ago, a certain Terence Donovan was making some of the best glamor images of his time.

It doesn’t stop here. Many would argue that photographers are, in their current pursuits, writing history for the generations to come.

However, in reality, the issue is much more complex. For a start, who, other than the most confident of the lots, would dare to think about his place in history, without fear of being called egoistical?

Posterity, unlike fame and wealth is also a more ambiguous concept. I think, for a start, stripped of all the grandeur, posterity is just a proof that one exists/existed.

But starting from this standpoint has its problems. Does it mean every photographer has the obligation to carefully archive all his works, providing ample documentation so that future researchers will be able to get the who-what-where-when-why-how answers?

Or should one start thinking of posterity when he is certain that he already earned a place in history and that he better provides accurate documentation of his life and work?

When I went to the Jacques Henri Lartique retrospective in Pompidou some years back, I was struck by how Lartique himself was a compulsive chronicler of his own life. The volume after volume of his sketch books, visual diaries, shed so much light about what he was thinking. But more importantly, they also provide useful insights to the time he was living in.

Pictures Pictures On The Wall

An old friend, Jo, called this morning wanting to know if I have any photographs that may be suitable for her new home. Jo is no ordinary person. Managing director of an international property company, she has lived all over the world and in her previous jobs, she fixed high-level problems for secretive clients. “You know my husband, he is the intellectual sort, always like to think of world issues. I think something humanist would be suitable. Something that demonstrates the human spirit.” I promised Jo that I would get back to her asap with some images. See, I know Jo for more than 10 years, but seriously, I don’t know what she really meant by humanist. Or at least, what I have in mind will probably be quite different. Almost instinctively, I wanted to send her a picture I have taken in Yangon some years back of a beautiful girl born with deformed limbs. I love that image and I love it because of the optimism Aung May Sun projects despite her disability. I also have in mind another picture I had taken in Philippines, of two young girls trying to have a good time, even though they had just weathered a hellish typhoon. There are more. For example, I love this series of street portraits in Dhaka – some are of beggars, some worst.

I think you get my drift.

Some of us who became photographers chose the profession because it was like a calling – like what we do with images can help to change the world. We want to believe that sad images can spur people to work harder so they can avoid the sufferings they witness, from a distance. We also tell ourselves that we can create a supermarket for compassion through images, by allowing people to show that they care. I have nothing against Jo. In fact, I consider her one of the best persons I met in this life. But I fear that there is a limit to what we can stomach each day. Who in the right mind would want to be reminded each day of a person in grief? I don’t. My good friend, who had won all kinds of accolades for his series on mental patients, told me only someone mad would hang one of his prints at home. But perhaps not. I have decided, perhaps wrongly so, that I need to censor myself in this case. In doing so, I have also taken into account the fact that Jo has two young children. I really don’t know if my friends would like answering questions like, “Mom, do these people have butter and cheese?” So, Jo will not be getting any samples of broken limbs, neither will she be seeing any broken walls. What I have proposed is a series of landscape shot in South Asia, where residents in the community help themselves and each other through micro-financing. I have restrained from giving her any images of people farming in the hot sun with torn and old clothings. I will be surprised if she has any objections. On the same subject, I am thinking of coming up with a series of tests based on a set of pictures, from which I can predict how liberal or honest my clients are. Yes, like an aptitude test. I will update if I have any luck coming up with that.

Words needed

When I first started working with museum curators and artists, I took a rather dismissive approach to text that accompany imagery. I remember I had been on a jury for a photography competition and when an exhibition was being curated, I was invited to give some input. The show curator, who was on the same jury with me, had taken pain to interview and write about each photo – what the photographer was thinking at the point the photo was made, what he wanted to achieve. I think because a lot of the photographs were not that exciting to me in the first place, I saw little value in the textual accompaniment. Some looked like they were apologizing, some over-glorifying. I probably made a mistake by advising my colleague that words were not needed. What I am doing here with my series seem so contradictory. As I get a bit older, I am lesser and lesser of a believer that a picture equals a million words. I think it does have some bearings in some cases but context is important, the photographer’s thinking is important. I think a lot of photographers take a confrontational position against text, and thus the unfortunate workers of text, because they often see them rival for space and attention. A lot also has a snobbish attitude about text because it is like saying your pictures are not good enough. But more likely than not, photographers are also lazy. I confess that I had been guilty of all the reasons. For this turnaround I really have movies and moviemakers to thank. Recently I bought a copy of Paris Texas, and out of curiosity, decided to enable the feature for director’s commentary. Oh my goodness, what a discovery! I learned so much from Wim Wenders’s comments about why certain scenes were deleted, what he was trying to achieve with certain things. It is just so educational and entertaining. I also have the book Image Makers Image Takers by Anne-Celine Jaeger to thank. All the interviews I read so far have been totally honest and insightful. In particular, I was very very happy to read Alec Soth’s quote: “Whatever you’re interested in, go for it. You can only find your voice if you’re not intimidated by doing stuff that’s been done before.” This is how I interpreted it for myself: I think I have enjoyed some success and that had sometimes stopped me from wanting to take risk for fear of failing. Too often I wanted to embark on a certain project and then would give up because it has been done before. I had been afraid of being compared, I had been afraid of wanting to compare. I have had preconceptions of how certain images should look like. I have been too concerned of being accused of copying. I have been too in awe with the photographers I admire to believe that they could inspire me to do better.

Who are we trying to impress?

Most of you know that for the past few days, I have been living in the world of Facebook. After getting past all the gimmicks, I was determined to make it work for me. Sure, chitchatting and getting reconnected with old pals is great but I am happy that I discovered a few things that are bringing me closer to what I think is nice. One such example is the ability to play Scrabble online. For those of us who work from home, you know what I mean: life can be lonely when you are processing 1000 images. Yesterday, I did something on FB which yielded some interesting findings. After posting some very unobjective images of Myanmar, I had a few instant reactions. A mom-to-be, who is more used to me sending her cute pictures of my nephew, said she couldn’t go on after looking at six pictures. A few wanted to know more about the context. Unsurprisingly, all who commented were not photographers. They seem to be mostly concerned citizens who are genuinely upset/concerned about the state of the world, compared to most photographers who who usually asked if I shot film or digital. I think it is also not far-fetched to predict that if I post my images in a public space like FB, more people click on them than if they were on my personal site. Well, it doesn’t bother me at all as long as they are seen, and hopefully, result in something positive. In fact, I should be pleased that I have now, the opportunity, to reach out to new audience. After all, shouldn’t my world be bigger?