amazing people, life

Blumen im Winter…

UntitledEin alter Mann, der lächelt, ist wie Blumen im Winter

(An old man who smiles is like flowers in the winter. -German proverb)

The Charleston Shuffle

Tried to catch dad doing the Charleston Shuffle, but his arms were too fast for my exposure, and vanished!

breakfast mit meinem alten Mann

A display of energy like this is rare from him, these days, but he had perked up considerably after a big breakfast together on the verandah.

breakfast mit meinem alten Mann

Also done by this father-daughter pair on Saturday: swapped files, showed each other our Flickr photos (with background story narration), watched one of the BBC’s Planet Earth DVDs., shared a visit from friend and artist Ace Polintan, had halo-halo ice cream with leche flan on top (decadence), took selfies with the camera’s remote control, and watched the sky for rain.
Frühstück mit meinem alten Mann

Of course, after all this (plus his stunt on the dance floor) he had to take a nana nap. :)

Frühstück mit meinem alten Mann

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windswept
My dad, our family friend Mae, and I went driving for the day to the Tanay foothills of the Sierra Madre—the longest mountain range in the Philippines. I tried shooting from the moving car, so as not to disrupt the trip or annoy my father’s driver too much, but didn’t meet with very much success. The shot of these windswept, grass-covered hills was the only one worth keeping. The bare hills are a testament to the locals’ charcoal-making activities for many decades, and the painter John Altomonte responded to my photograph with some lines of poetry, which I will include here because they help make the photograph seem better than it actually is…

Weeping winds, a broken hearted land…
gone the children- the trees, her winged troubadours?

life, travel

The Sierra Madre with dad

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amazing people, photography

Eats, shoots, and leaves a tremendous impression.

Had such an inspiring meet-up with the brilliant street photographer behind WordPress blog Malate, Elmer Valenzuela, last night. In a bar overlooking an urban crossroads, filled with young people in ridiculous hipster getup, throbbing with live music and strobed with laser lights, we sat over a dozen beers and a sizzling plate of that classic Filipino drinking snack known as sisig (it’s minced pig’s face, now doesn’t that sound lovely? Perfect foil for lots of booze.)

It was so great to finally meet Elmer Valenzuela in person, and to find him every bit as genuine, artistic, and nice as he seems on his blog. He’s incredibly modest, insisting that anybody could do what he does…the sign of real passion. “No, not everyone,” I assure him…my reluctance to pull a camera out of my bag, not to say point it at someone on the street, borders on neurosis. I carry my DSLR in a backpack everywhere…the streets of Singapore, the streets of Manila…but it’s pretty usual to come home having taken not a single shot. Terrified of street photography.

Back to Elmer’s blog, where he disses would-be street photographers who shoot from the safety of their cars (Eeep, that’s ME!) and worry about something happening to their cameras (Again, a raw nerve, goddamit). In his post Shadow Selfie: Overture to Street Photography, these words from Robert Frank sit, emphasized, centered, and pointing an accusing finger at me:

If an artist doesn’t take risks, then it’s not worth it.

We parted ways, but not before we aimed our cameras across the table at each other. I don’t know how his shots went, but mine were absolute crap in the low, low light, and I deleted them in disgust. I sped home through empty streets at 2 in the morning, stopping at a 7-Eleven to pick up a cheap pack of smokes and a couple of balut (fertilised and partially developed duck eggs) from an old lady out the front. Local wisdom says that balut gives you, er, staying power, stamina, or spunk. I’m running out of time in Manila, but if there’s one thing I would love to do before I go, it’s take Elmer up on his invitation to go for a street photography walk around Intramuros, the oldest district and historic core of the City of Manila. Maybe those duck eggs will work their magic, and I’ll master my fear of the fascinating, inscrutable street.

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family, my friends

Friends & Family

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I arrived in Manila a week ago, and hit the ground running. Have been out almost every night, as different groups of friends sweep me off to gatherings, get-togethers, and parties in hotel rooms, in rapid succession. The trend seems to be: 3 days of going out, followed by one quiet day at home with my dad, resting, doing my laundry, and organising my schedule.

at The Ascot with 4 goddesses
I am starting to feel the effects of so much socialising, drinking, and eating (food I’m supposed to avoid), but I have been loving the precious hours spent with “my tribe”: the raucous laughter, the feeling of being totally accepted, familiar, and unconditionally loved; the sparkling joy of conversations that dive—without polite preamble or censorship—into the depths of some of life’s great themes: how to live, how to die, how to engender change, how to make a difference, reconciling one’s real and imagined families, protecting integrity, nurturing creativity, food as encoded culture and as an expression of selfhood, the roller-coaster ride that is love, sex, and attraction, the role of poverty and its codependency with government, the absurdity of democracy, the ravages of time and the melancholy poetry of ageing…

As you can imagine, the sketchbook has suffered some neglect. Here’s a sketch of Darwin airport from my seat on the plane, and the facade of a hotel in Singapore, on Duxton Road. Nothing new to show, but I will try to do some sketches if I am home for most of the day, tomorrow. :)

Darwin to Singapore

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It’s little I care what path I take,
And where it leads it’s little I care;
But out of this house, lest my heart break,
I must go, and off somewhere.

It’s little I know what’s in my heart,
What’s in my mind it’s little I know,
But there’s that in me must up and start,
And it’s little I care where my feet go.

—from Departure, Edna St. Vincent Millay

20 November 2014

aboard the M/V sonofagun, books + poetry

Departure

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Thank you, Miri…I promise that I will never, ever die. ;)