pete writes me again [3]

hi chi

how’s the day? well, I guess, for me at least, it’s a typical London sunday afternoon… as your email came in, I’m drinking an espresso, dark and strong… and I stare out of my studio window… low clouds are drifting slowly by on their endless journey, dark birds with beaks like swords skim the stony grey water of the river looking for fish… I’m half listening to miles davis and john coltrane… and every now and then the sun appears and washes a faded autumnal golden light over the city… so everything has that bittersweet feel to it… not quite blue… but nearly…

well, a quick apology first… for being presumptive and using english without a second thought… though I already see from your work you have an excellent command of english… but I’m afraid it’s a very English/American conceit to think, without question, that the rest of the world will automatically be happy to speak English… unfortunately I don’t speak a word of your native tongue

you shouldn’t feel too overwhelmed… my respect is genuine rather than generous… and it’s because your work, to me, has an honesty and integrity about it… a most important quality… way more important than making those pretty shots that get endless comments in flickr… there is a game that can be played on flickr… and you can see many examples of it… you can produce a set of pretty shots… seductive colours, attractive compositions, appealing surface textures… if you study the techniques, it’s not too hard… and then you join as many groups as you can… hundreds in some cases… and then, for every image you post up, you’ll get a stream of compliments… don’t get me wrong, I’m not condemning it… we all love a pretty image and the comments are fine too… but there is a danger that the images are being manufactured for the applause they’ll receive… not as an expression or reflection of someone’s unique and personal vision… so you shouldn’t be intimidated by all that…

don’t worry about not being able to shoot… life gets in the way, shit happens… it’s part of the process… I had a period of nearly ten years when I was submerged in daily life, paying the rent, the responsibilities of business, of relationships, and hardly made any personal work at all… but, when you do get to shoot, your work will reflect all those things and be stronger for it… and the shots won’t be glamorous… so don’t try… just believe in yourself…

I do have a strong belief in what I do… it’s one of the few constants in my life… I’ve made a lot of mistakes… fucked-up a lot of things… and I know my pictures aren’t pretty and are hard-edged and unglamorous… but they are my ‘pure gold’… what I find my life is worth living for… and if other people get something out of them, then fine… but I don’t take my pictures for other people… they are for me… they are a constant reminder for me that there aren’t any

answers, just questions and life isn’t about some mythical destination where you find enlightenment… it’s all about the journey…

anyhow, a drink and a chat would be nice… and who knows… Saigon is in my top ten list of destinations for future trips… but in the mean time email will have to suffice and I’ll look forward to hearing from you too

take care

pete

……………………………………………….

me replies to pete [2]

hey pete,

how’s the day?
i read your email over and over again, trying to gulp in all the words you use and felt like you were writing it in a passionate rush.
and am overtaking. showering under a downpour of beautiful words and description of surreal transparent things that can only be felt with soul.

and am overwhelmed by the honor to be addressed to with such generous respect. i’ve seen magnificent works on flickr. and always consider myself as a toddler.

thanks so much. i wish you were close so that i could buy you a drink and hear your thoughts. seriously.

have the impression you have strong belief in what you are doing and what you love. that inspires me greatly.
i’ve not been able to shoot these days. crushed under pressures from responsibilities, money trap and all you can name in light of a typical urban life… more has to do with my personal scenario…

sort of not sure what i should be writing. i’ve heard from you what i am swept over by. am not sure what to say except for thank you….

what inspire(s) you, pete?

am digging deep to find what for me is pure gold, what’s life is worth living for…. find it hard to make glamorous shots….

just so you know, i hope to hear from you again.

chi

oh, and am a writer.

pete inspires my fucktography]

hi chi

thanks for your words… I do know what you mean… I have been so late in coming to flickr… of course, many times in the past I’ve spent an hour here and there browsing, wandering aimlessly like a small child in the candy store, being impressed and intimidated, being amused and entertained, being shocked and startled, being appalled and dismayed, and occasionally being truly inspired… so quite why it took me so long to post up my own images I don’t know… but that’s me… not only do I miss the bus, but I fall asleep at the depot and miss the next three… but, hey, I’m here now, squashed up the back… and it is a great (and important) place… I love the fact that there is so much stuff and such a wide spectrum of work represented… it is truly what photography is about… not some elitist bullshit manufactured for the sleazy art market, that sells at auction for obscene amounts of money, only to become part of the investment portfolio of some guy who wouldn’t know a good shot if it bit him on the ass…

and when you spend a couple of hours trawling through the endless sunsets and famous landmarks, the 50 sequential files of a rather bemused looking dog and the river of anonymous smiling faces… and then you come across a few beguiling frames of transcendent light and colour (like your images)… it’s like finding diamonds in the dust… and you can just pick them up and put them in your pocket.. and every now and then, take them out and watch them sparkle…

and you’re so right about how all these images can take you out of your own head, out of the habitual persistence of your own vision and into another way of looking… and the real beauty of it, if you allow it, is that they enter you by a kind of osmosis to become touchstones that, when you next look through the viewfinder, resonate and inform your seeing… not to say that you end up imitating… it’s only of passing interest to me whether you lug around a 4×5 field camera or shoot everything on a cellphone, so I’m not going to rush out and buy the same equipment, neither am I going to go out looking for subject matter or situations that might yield images that ‘look’ like chi’s work… but I know for sure, I’ll be out on the streets one day, I’ll turn a corner and without even having the camera to my eye, see a composition, a fall of light, a range of colour, and I’ll impulsively make the image… and it will be new to me in a way none of my previous shots ever have been… and only later when I have processed the image and am enjoying the unique newness of it, will something stir in the back of my mind and make me realise that, whilst the image will look like nothing you would ever take, there is something of your vision embedded in it…

this is why I recommended Saul Leiter… his work has that kind of power… but I’m not sure it will be easy for you to find his book… it is now out of print and highly sought after… I believe copies sell for up to a 1000 US dollars… I was, for once, so lucky to pick it up in a photography gallery bookstore in London when it was first published… I was thumbing through a bunch of monographs, picked up this small square book, opened it and looked at only a handful of images and rushed straight to the cash register… funny how you know what some things are in an instant… and amazing to think that his work was undiscovered for many years … he was a regular commercial photographer working in New York, and in his own time used to prowl the streets… and he used out of date film stock because he liked the unexpected color shifts and variations it produced when processed… anyway, in case you don’t find the book (at an affordable price), here is a link to some of his images… http://www.mbfala.com/artists/_Saul%20Leiter/_other%20works/

anyway… as for me? well, I’m a commercial photographer, mostly doing still life work, which though unglamorous, I enjoy doing… even after twenty years I’m still amazed that people will pay me good money to do something i love so much… and it’s so totally the opposite of my personal work… in my studio I get to play god… I control everything, both in front of and behind the camera… the light, the colour, the arrangement… whereas with my personal work, I can only throw a small frame around the world… I am totally at the mercy of the light, of the things that grow and decay in it, of the people who construct and destruct and mark and erode and inhabit and abandon the spaces and things I choose to frame… a kind of yin and yang thing really…

and you?

btw, I’m so glad I commented on your work and sent you a message… not normally my thing… I feel at a loss with commenting on peoples work… I refuse to say things like ‘nice shadows’ or ‘nice bokeh’ or ‘nice DOP’ … I know people who do make those comments mean well and maybe its just another way of saying ‘nice picture’, but to me all those things are so much part of what photography is, it’s like looking at a Rothko and saying ‘nice paint’ – it doesn’t address the emotional response… which is difficult to do without writing a whole essay, so generally I just add images to my favorites… but I think it’s nice to let people know, however inadequately, when you identify and respond so strongly to their imagery

well, please keep all of us out here in flickrland amazed and entranced by your images

take care

Pete

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock – T. S. Eliot

Let us go then, you and I,

When the evening is spread out against the sky

Like a patient etherized upon a table;

Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,

The muttering retreats

Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels

And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:

Streets that follow like a tedious argument

Of insidious intent

To lead you to an overwhelming question . . .

Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”

Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go

Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,

The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes,

Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,

Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,

Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,

Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,

And seeing that it was a soft October night,

Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time

For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,

Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;

There will be time, there will be time

To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;

There will be time to murder and create,

And time for all the works and days of hands

That lift and drop a question on your plate;

Time for you and time for me,

And time yet for a hundred indecisions,

And for a hundred visions and revisions,

Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go

Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time

To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”

Time to turn back and descend the stair,

With a bald spot in the middle of my hair–

[They will say: "How his hair is growing thin!"]

My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,

My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin–

[They will say: "But how his arms and legs are thin!"]

Do I dare

Disturb the universe?

In a minute there is time

For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all:–

Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,

I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;

I know the voices dying with a dying fall

Beneath the music from a farther room.

So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all–

The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,

And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,

When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,

Then how should I begin

To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?

And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all–

Arms that are braceleted and white and bare

(But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!)

Is it perfume from a dress

That makes me so digress?

Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.

And should I then presume?

And how should I begin?

Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets

And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes

Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? …

I should have been a pair of ragged claws

Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

*        *        *        *

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!

Smoothed by long fingers,

Asleep … tired … or it malingers,

Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.

Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,

Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?

But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,

Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,

I am no prophet — and here’s no great matter;

I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,

And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,

And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,

After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,

Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,

Would it have been worth while,

To have bitten off the matter with a smile,

To have squeezed the universe into a ball

To roll it toward some overwhelming question,

To say: “I am Lazarus come from the dead

Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”–

If one, settling a pillow by her head,

Should say: “That is not what I meant at all.

That is not it, at all.”

And would it have been worth it, after all,

Would it have been worth while,

After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,

After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor–

And this, and so much more?–

It is impossible to say just what I mean!

But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:

Would it have been worth while

If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,

And turning toward the window, should say:

“That is not it at all,

That is not what I meant, at all.”

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;

Am an attendant lord, one that will do

To swell a progress, start a scene or two,

Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,

Deferential, glad to be of use,

Politic, cautious, and meticulous;

Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;

At times, indeed, almost ridiculous–

Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old . . .I grow old . . .

I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?

I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.

I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves

Combing the white hair of the waves blown back

When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea

By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown

Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

do i want tomorrow to come?

if you knew i don’t want tomorrow to come

something has become a habit, a part of my body, like my flesh

when tomorrow comes, it means i’ll have to cut it off

it means “perhaps, never again”

if you knew it hurt me the same

or more

though i’ll do what i need to do

no fall for me

you’re there em?
Hmmm -  I guess not. I wonder what you’re doing, where you are who you’re with, what you’re thinking, seeing, hearing, feeling . . . .
I wonder if I should wonder less. Probably – but easier mused over than acted on, and you’re a much more pleasant focus than work.
Spent the weekend in Pattaya with the boys (every bit as damaging/chaotic as expected and more), and came back in a haze to autumn in Hanoi – a sudden shift from baking heat to cool morning air, soft light, something more subdued in the air.
Maybe it’s Oan Hon passing with the full moon – the scent of incense still heavy in the air, or the moon cakes and lanterns appearing with Tet Trung Thu on the way, but something has changed here in the last week, an imperceptible shift between two entirely different cities. Even in myself I feel slower, reflective. There is something about mua thu that suits hanoi so well, the fading light, an edge – however slight – of melancholy, something that gives the city back it’s dignity, it’s history, after months of the throb and hum of summer exuberance.
Maybe it’s just that it matches the autumn colours in me. The slipping by of days. The musing on ends and beginnings.
Today I ate breakfast on the lake – cool air and a mist, however slight, on the water. It was beautiful . . .

[received from N, Aug 19th ]

wordfockingplay

but maybe you like me because of the fact that i remember things and cherish memories. why do you want me to forget?

i did not ask you to forget. i just asked you to forgo.

just a perfect day

“but you said you would stay for yourself. not for me, not for us.”

“am leaving for myself too.”

“no, i have the feeling you are leaving because of me”

“because of you, yes. but i am doing it for myself. it’s good for me.”

to put an end to toleration. to put an end to the emptiness that waits for me to open my eyes and face every single morning by your side.

i have to leave to save myself from being held down to all these trivia depression. i hate to think bad of you, of her, i hate recalling speaking it straight to your face: “i look down on what you did to each other.” and you said: “i know.” ah, fuck! If you just stood up, got angry, fought for what you believed. you let me walk on you. and i dont want to

i have to put an end to it before i become somebody disdainful. i want to be the me that i like being with. i need to stay away from you to let you be and myself be.

let you be and myself be.

“what if you stay till the end of the month?”

so that you would continue giving me misleading, disillusioning sparks? no need.

i want to be someone greater than myself but being with you has turned me to be so selfish and banal. let’s not talk about who’s right and wrong. tired of that.

i won’t stay, won’t wait for you to heal up as you asked. i wish to see you save yourself while i do mine.

i lost it.

it took gerard two years of stay in america to come back to vietnam. it took me a heartbreak.

outpouring

it’s been a while since i last wrote something down. well, i did. handwriting in my little notebook. but mostly, i zipped myself up. found  it impossible to let things out. honestly.

it’s exactly the middle of august. more or less, half a year i’ve been exposed to incidents in life like cruel waves that come attack and left me cringing, fading, shrinking and fragile.

broken. broken. broken.

and they’re not just words anymore when it’s just spelled  out  so clearly  in the head like somebody were inside my head speaking.

i woke up, opened my eyes and sat up. and that was the word, exactly the word that popped up: “broken”. it’s like reaching enlightenment, ironically.

the last time was just last week. [ i never told you, did i? and you, too? because i don't say it doesn't mean it wasn't there and everything was fine. i was hurt. but it's not even yr fault]

i suffer from what i am going through. but i love what i see and the world around me.

you just want to make an emo out of yourself. no, my friend. i aspire to stop feeling this fragile. time heals, you think? things follow one another to collapse since my dad’s hospitalization in february. this is a strange year. a challenging one for me.

but i still want to love the world around me.

sent in silent sheerness

i am tired

of you

of you not knowing you are tiring me down

don’t wanna go back and find out it was all true or all lies

just over, all over, finished

i quit

for goods

a slight push of the hand

the door is shut