June 14, 2009
The Foto Club: Legendary Underground Fotographers
Call it a revelation. Call it biblical. Call it any which way the sermon goes, in the end it left me speechless and with much less said than anticipated. Strolling down a narrow beaten path to meet some new friends with some old "acquaintances", I can't help but feel a little nostalgic from my first impressions of a lightbox and its entire mystique. Although I
ve accepted the personal connection with this affair with light, it had never occurred to me that I would ever conceive the notion of finding a more intimate exchange with its guardians. Still I find myself tempted by what had always been a monogamous rendezvous to now a swine of "many-pigs-in-me". Setting an old friend down on a dirty, white, plastic table under some mischievous coconuts above did bring back a memory or two. With the lux and cron hovering between the center of my chest and the lining of my back, I set out to find a few frames with a few friends.
As the small, private cult, or more publicly labeled foto club had its share of schnapps here and there, it was in the spirit of Banarck that I was able to frame some moments that surely were unforgettable. The dark storm clouds had receded deep into the volcanic lairs that hid the moon's face from her daytime companion. The shanghai breezes that coasted across the waters guided the dancing ripples to no end. With the warm rays bellowing across the cron's sharpening lens, I see clearly through my rangefinder the smile that was in every heart that was composed between the lines. Again, I couldn't help but feel nostalgic from the raw power in creativity that surrounded me. I envied the purity of each shutter break, for I knew that their fotos will be priceless and mine have marked its time in values. And so I find myself stumbling to the edge of the deck; to my amazement, it was unfinished so much like my journey as a photographer.
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