I'd forgotten about these

When I was young, I would go to a photo studio near my market to take passport photos. Photo shops then were typically bigger than the counters you see these days, because there would be in the back large pieces of equipment, backdrops and chairs for photo-taking.

All my passport sized head shots were sullen-faced. I don't think I enjoyed being photographed, plus I had the notion you're not supposed to smile as that distorts your face and you won't look like you.

I think it used to be common for such photo labs to display the pictures they had taken in such a way. The arrange-under-glass-tabletop idea is particularly nostalgic.



We were wandering around Little India one very hot afternoon a couple of weeks back when I stopped to take the outside of this shop. The uncle saw me and waved at me to take as many as I can, as they would redevelop the area soon. Anxiously I asked him when, but he just shrugged and told me soon everything there would be gone.

I stepped into the shop to look at some very old cameras and pretty old-looking rolls of film. I was bowled over by the interior, because it felt so familiar even though I'd never been there.

I showed the uncle my blackbird, fly camera as he was interested in it. Having made conversation, I asked if I could take pictures of the inside of the shop (usually I wouldn't dare).

There were two or three customers coming in to take head shots during the time I was there. It was all done very efficiently.





I imagine many Indian nationals coming in here to take portraits to send home. They'd be able to pick out their favourite jacket and tie from the lot here and preen in the mirror for a bit.





Lots of faded packets. I had the urge to go through everything to see what had remained uncollected and wonder why. Think about all the stories in there.

Until I started playing with plastic cameras and film, it had never occurred to me how important photo labs were to many of the foreign workers here. Whenever I prowl around in Cash Converters for old cameras, there would be one or two of them trying to pick out a cheap film camera. I imagine them documenting their outings and life, flipping through their stash of photos affectionately, picking out the happiest ones to send back home.

Remember passing around numbered albums to order photos from?






Many years back I went to a modern-day photo lab to take passport photos. The teenage girl whipped out a digital point-and-shoot. I looked around for the designated photo-taking area. She gestured at me to sit on the high stool right beside the counter and shoved up against the wall - probably the very same one she just had lunch on.

After that I had one other modern-day experience. It was one of those photo lab chains at Raffles Place. At least they had a small designated area with professional lights and camera, even though it was separated from the busy corridor by only a glass wall. The photos were shit and handed to me on a floppy. I was left with the awful feeling that that ugly photo of me would exist forever. Although the truth is that film has lasted longer than floppy disks. I threw it away.

These days I take passport photos in instant booths, because the photos out of there look slightly fuzzy and blurred at the edges, like you're a real person but not quite defined. And because of that, you always look good.

Happy accidents

The roll of expired Kodak E100VS yielded three curiously pink and blue shots. I love them and wouldn't have minded a few more.

The day I was attacked by mosquito swarms

e

I love bumboat rides and big fat clouds.






My favourite tree there at high tide and low tide.











It says Sundry Shop. I was too chicken (it looked wild and scary) to go nearer.




Adventures on Pulau Ubin from a couple of weeks back. On photos, the whole thing looks so tranquil I can almost forget how I was attacked by swarms of mosquitoes, how grossly sticky and sweaty I was after a day of cycling in heat and extreme humidity, how good a shower felt at the end of the day, and how I had to slather on anti-iching gel for a few days after. But the key word is almost.

Three very different Tizzy Bac MVs

The latest album 如果看見地獄，我就不怕魔鬼 is totally growing on me. The more I listen the more I love.

The first MV is my favourite of the lot. It's strangely inspiring for a Bali wedding I'll be attending in May, though I think if the bride watches the MV, she'll be worried I said that.

婚禮歌手


For the Way I Live


鐵之貝克

Isn't it sad, to hang yourself and be written up in NYT not as yourself but as an extension of much, much more famous kins.

I know "Nicholas Hughes Commits Suicide" doesn't have the same ring as "Son of Sylvia Plath Commits Suicide". Even if such a headline had been run, I might not have clicked on it.

Mr. Hughes’s early life was darkened by shadows of depression and suicide. Ms. Plath explored the themes in her 1963 novel “The Bell Jar,” which follows an ambitious college student who tries to kill herself after suffering a nervous breakdown while interning at a New York City magazine. The novel reflected Ms. Plath’s own experiences, including her early struggles with depression and her attempt at suicide while working at Mademoiselle in New York as a college student.

After a stay at a mental institution, Ms. Plath went on to study poetry at Cambridge University, where she met Ted Hughes, who was on his way to world fame as a poet. The two were married in 1956, and had two children — Nicholas and Frieda — but separated in 1962 after Mr. Hughes began an affair with another woman, Assia Wevill. Ms. Plath killed herself at the age of 30 by sticking her head in an oven in her London home on Feb. 11, 1963, as Nicholas and Frieda slept nearby.

Six years later, Ms. Wevill, who had helped raise Nicholas and Frieda after Ms. Plath’s death, killed herself and her 4-year-old daughter, Shura. Ms. Wevill styled the murder-suicide in the same manner, using a gas stove.

I've never heard of Nicholas Hughes before this. But I find the whole thing, from his family history to his own personal demons, remarkably tragic.

So for what it's worth, Nicholas Hughes Commits Suicide.

For the first time in my life, I'm feeling that 24 hours is not enough. I need time to trawl the www, watch TV shows online, blog, do a bit of work, take photos and sleep. My problem is that apart from photo-taking which can be done every few days, I want to do all the rest on a daily basis. It's come to a point that I think sleep is a waste of time. But I still like to sleep. There lies my problem.

(Actually I do need to sleep more and adjust my sleeping hours. My skin is suffering from my impetuous disregard for shut-eye.)

Was up the whole of last night working. Only managed to catch a couple hours in the morning before waking up again to make follow-up calls. Still, I suppose it was worth it since they liked the story and I cleared one deadline. With that out of the way, I feel a lot more relaxed (my shoulders have been aching from tension the past week).

Tomorrow I'll be going out to take pictures. Now I'm going to catch up on my cyber world activities. This space has been looking a little sad, hope things will perk up soon.

The Importance of Being Earnest

[The Importance of Being Earnest] is exquisitely trivial, a delicate bubble of fancy, and it has its own philosophy... that we treat all the trivial things of life seriously, and all the serious things of life with sincere and studied triviality.

- Ivan Heng quotes Oscar Wilde in his Artistic Director's Message for the programme booklet

When I heard that Wild Rice was going to do an all-male staging of The Importance of Being Earnest, I was intrigued and hesitant. I love Oscar Wilde but I hate productions that take too much liberty with original texts and intentions.

Still, there was a free ticket thanks to bridezilla, and I do like Brendon Fernandez very much. So I went. And it was great fun. After the show, I was wondering to myself whether Glen Goei's idea of an all-male, non-cross dressing cast worked. But since I laughed so much, it worked for me whether it worked or not.

It's actually a very interesting concept. Wardrobe was practically a role by itself. While all of them were in suits, there were characteristics to each outfit that clearly defined the traits of the wearer.



(image from wild rice facebook group)

The first act was the best of it, followed by the muffin tiff in Act Two. Chua Enlai as Gwendolen and Ivan Heng as Lady Bracknell were absolutely hilarious, while Ivan Heng and Brendon Fernandez had the best costumes. Frederick Lee designed all the suits and divine would be the best description for them. I can't find any more images so you'll just have to catch the production to see for yourself.

Runs till 11 April, details here.

Quick GG debrief

GG hasn't gotten me excited for a while now. I like episode 19.

Plus, Blair looked stunning in the Herve Leger dress. Not the best picture but if you've watched the scene where she leaned against Chuck to seduce him, you'd have seen how amazing the dress was on her.

Amazing

In May 2005 following a short helicopter ride over Tokyo [Stephen Wiltshire] drew a stunningly detailed panoramic view of the city on a 10-meter-long canvas from memory.

- Official Stephen Wiltshire website

If you don't want to watch the whole video, go straight to 6:49 to see the 10-metre long drawing.

The A+R Store has an abundance of things to love.


Suck U.K. Notebook & Pencil / Eva Solo Table Grill



Singgih Kartono Magno Wooden Radio - complete with lovely packaging

Alessandro Esteri's One Year of White Pages / Tsubota Pearl Stick Lighters

Lost

Haven't gone cycling since I took on some freelance writing work a week ago. Today I went again and for a while, it all felt better.

I have four or five rolls of undeveloped film sitting around. They contain explorations of various places and day to day happenings that I noticed. I haven't been particularly anxious about getting them processed. I think it's because I wasn't excited when I took those 180 odd shots. There wasn't that streak of adrenaline leading the impulse to snap. I just took them anyway because I set out to do so, or because I thought it might make a good picture. It was all very rational. I suppose you could call it a lack of inspiration?

That was how I felt when I was at these playgrounds. Photos were taken for the sake of taking photos and it shows. Which is why it took me so long to post them.

Perhaps it's film fatigue. Or perhaps it's an inevitable thing in life that you lose the initial giddiness that makes the unknown so exciting.

I think I expect too much from that giddiness.

最近一直在逃避
知道不對 不好
卻好像跳進了一個很深很窄的洞
不想爬出來
反而想請哪位路過的先生好心把泥土堆回洞里
我不會叫不會哭
只會乖乖的靠在泥牆
等著一切消失。