It was the best I ever had. A feeling I can never forget. Still lingers on my pillow when I lay my head down at night. The memories come alive in my dreams, a scent but nothing to see. It feels like I lost something dear. I knew who I was, who I wanted to be, and now I'm confused and disabled. I'm doubting everything I believed in. Came in through the storm but never closed the door, left a mess in the room and no apologies. I confused the cavalier with cool, I didn't look close enough. Read the cover but didn't see the blank pages... didn't tear the emptiness inside. Instead, closed the rest and focused on the best.
It was October 31, 2014–My roommate and I were working hard on our school assignments when we saw a group of construction workers in the hotel across the street. As our window faced directly to their window, they seemed eager to wave "Hello" to us, to which we gladly reciprocated. What happened next was a chain of downward events; the construction workers (clearly not focused on their job) began writing a phone number down on a large piece of cardboard and held it up against the window. The phone number obviously belonging to one of the many 40-something-year-old men, they began mouthing the number at us. Feeling extremely violated in our own home, my roommate and I began snapping photos of them using our phones and cameras as a way of returning the voyeuristic feeling. Unfortunately, this only provoked one of them because he began stripping by the window, gaze fixated onto us, like one of those prostitutes in the Red Light District.
This event not only bugged me constantly for months afterwards (believe it or not, these things happen more often than not, entering into the privacy of our own apartment), but it also inspired me to create a photographic series out of it in March 2015. Neither my roommate nor I knew exactly what this man was thinking of when he was taking his clothes off, or what exact emotion drove him to do what he did. It wasn't exactly the taking off the clothes that bothered me, it was more the fact that he did it staring right at us. We didn't exactly know what he was thinking, so why were we so creeped out about his fixated gaze? Was it his age, his gender, his build, his ethnicity? Through this series, I wanted to ask myself, and throw the question out there, "What affects the message behind the gaze?".
Each participant was asked to portray a particular type of 'smile', picked randomly out of a hat by the participant. I simply captured their portrayal, and displayed the images for the audience to read and guess what kind of 'smile' they felt the participant was portraying. What is affecting your reading of the gaze?
Give it a guess.
I recently worked on a series of portraits called 'INTERRUPTION'. This series attempts to ask the question, "What is our reaction when technology prevents our ability to see the people we are in relationships with?". Like that odd phenomenon when you can't rip a photograph of your loving grandfather, but you aren't hesitant to tear apart a photograph of your ex-boyfriend. What emotions we carry with us for those who we have known for long or short, affects our ability to make connections to captured images of them. Through using technology to distort the faces of 5 people and their partners (friends, family, bf/gfs, exes, roommates), I'm attempting to stick my toes into the psychology of human relationships.
Feel free to leave your thoughts in the comments below.
View in 'PERSONAL'...
I’m always so amazed by musicians who are able to put into poetry the complex feelings we carry in our day to day lives. As I sit here in front of my Mac, trying to get the words down, I feel cheated by Apple’s promise that creativity can flow so easily as long as you’ve got the right tools. I’m staring blank at my 27 inch screen and I can’t seem to translate my thoughts into words, let alone written words. Maybe it’s because words don’t affect me as much as actions. I’ve always found myself to be a melody over lyrics kind of gal, sounds over words.
Recently I’ve really soaked into the idea that you shouldn’t take yourself so seriously. I believe in this so much because I’m realizing so many of my friends, colleagues, and myself included who are entering the dreaded ‘real world’ in just less than a few years, can’t seem to rekindle that joy of creating that fuelled the fire to help them get to where they are now. I know this is a struggle that almost every art and design student finds themselves fighting with, and possibly this is one reason why; I find that going to an art and design school, it’s hard to find inspiration in what’s already created. It’s like trying to come up with the lyrics for a new song by listening to another one. We pine at a project, over a fight with a friend, at feeling disappointed at ourselves even, at home, at our desks, in front of our computers, staring at our oversized monitor screens, demanding an answer from it, when there is a whole outside world just waiting to hand you a little piece of mind. Maybe you won’t get the answer you were looking for, but at least you will find a little peace, maybe a breath of fresh air, knowing there are always bigger things in life than what you’re stressing over. I’m not saying go on that expensive rooftop you pay with your rent, glance at the millions of twinkly lights below, and breathe in that city air–that shit’s pretty cliché (not saying I’ve never done this..). I mean, maybe you should put aside the worries you’ve created yourself and just do the things you always said you would do when you grew up. If that means going on a rooftop, then hey, fucking do it (I did..). If that means making a blog and writing about it so that someone else in the vista of the virtual world can find some truth in it and feel OK about everything for just a moment, then hey, fucking do it (Doing it!). You just gotta learn to make fun of yourself and make fun of life sometimes.
You are younger than you are living your life as, so maybe you should quit labelling yourself as a “creative individual”, an excuse that stands in between yourself and that true fun you once used to feel, and just allow that identity to become the result of your enjoyment for life.
Going through my archive of images on my hard drives, I found so many photographs of my travels from years past that I never had a chance to upload in a curated fashion. So I decided to start the fall with a glimpse into the past.
In 2013, I was a little ambitious and went traveling across 5 countries, and the first stop was Japan. I had first been to Japan when I was 13 visiting Kyoto and Osaka for a few days. Being so young and immature, all I remembered from this short trip was being frustrated about having to stand in the searing Japanese summer heat while visiting all the wonderful sights. So this time, I was determined to capture the beauties of this country's capital city with as much attention and no regrets. After all, they say "All that's left, are the photographs you took." / "남는건 사진밖에 없다."
Tokyo was both a nostalgic dream and an inspirational playground. Taking the JR Yamanote line between Shin-Okubo and Harajuku, the suburban scenes that passed before my eyes were the real sources of inspiration for directors like Hayao Miyazaki and Isao Takahata. I felt as if I were in the shoes of the creators of some of my childhood films. The short subway ride took me back in time and to a place where artists only had the smell of morning rain and the sounds of birds and insects as inspiration to build a world of pure imagination. I was pleasantly surprised to experience these thoughts in Tokyo, a city known for its advancement in innovative technology.
Where childhood memories connected me with aged artists, I was also inspired as a young creative myself, by the boisterous youth culture. As I walked down the district streets in Shibuya, I felt incredibly welcomed to celebrate my youth; the busy nightlife included various open-concept bars and alcoves filled with the smell and sounds of sizzling street food, as well as an absurd amount of young 20-somethings carrying shopping bags from stores like Sword Fish, JSG, and Me Jane. This was were consumerism came to die, and celebrate everything it had to offer. From nail bars (Vanila Dew) to cafe-turned-live music bars (café Studio), from DIY perfume shops (Le Labo) to dessert-only buffets (Sweet Paradise), there was everything and anything you didn't think you'd need because you didn't know was a thing.
Tokyo was not just a vacation spot, it was a spot in my own imagination come to life. It was the perfect place to spend guilt-free, and a place of absolute tranquility—all in one. In Tokyo, you don't travel, you live.
Continued in 'TRAVEL'...