film – Carlo Centeno

I see through a glass darkly…

It’s been noted in different ways, but anything that could be said about 2020 has already been said. There are new normals and our previous ways of living and working have undergone something more than a reboot. I wonder about the sustainability of our modifications to the changes we’ve been subjected to. At present, 2 things loom large for me in our modern ethos: the scale of loss [life, careers, homes, e.g.] and the contraction of education systems for students, Kindergarten through college.

The burden shouldered by first responders, caregivers, allied professionals, physicians, peace officers, firefighters, et al, is without precedent. Supporting them goes without saying. The COVID-19 story continues to unfold, though I hope the developing narrative produces more positive than negative outcomes. And yet I am still looking through a glass darkly.

Many conventions, routines and well-defined standards have been poured over with uncertainty. That change takes place, is to be expected, but the fog of what happens or what should happen clouds our view near and far. Supposition greets us through this dark glass of modern life. There’s the world before the new coronovirus, and the one hereafter.

All of this thinking takes me back to much younger days, days of academe, of discussion, of expository writing. This dark window we’re peering through—including windows like broadcast and online news, social media, Twitter, FB, e.g.—does shape our perceptions and expectations. Many are unclear, even misshapen or unrecognizable, perhaps even hinting at what was once familiar. Plato’s Allegory of the Cave posits we should question our assumptions. Thinking across and through assumptions helps nurture self-reliance and problem solving. I like to think of it in more practical terms: use your knowledge, experience and current life stage to shape your own conclusions versus being told what they should be.

None of this is new. Some of you probably realize that this post of mine references scripture.

Now, we see only an indistinct image in a mirror, but then we will be face to face.
Now what I know is incomplete, but then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known.
1 Corinthians 13:12

Recollections

My previous post, Reliant on Memory [May 12, 2020], has opened one small but particular memory album. It opens to a time and place that transcends the meaning of simplicity, functionality or perhaps this phrase of accommodation, “Well, it’s how things are done here.”

Single-cylinder motorbikes are common in the Philippines and much of southeast Asia. By day, it’s a mule, transporting cargo to places near and far. After work, it’s the family vehicle for many. It’s not an unusual sight to see a family or 3 or 4 on the bike. The smallest is atop the gas tank in a makeshift carrier, the others snugly huddled on the plank seat.

After dropping off a fare nearby, the driver took his lunch break. You’ll seldom see a sign, but a “karinderya” or canteen, is a form of home business. An average salary for a family of 4 is about P260,000 pesos. That’s $5,250 USD. “Ginagawa mo ang mayroon ka.” [You make do with what you have].

The Philippines has its share of supermarkets, but locals depend on small, family-owned vendors to deliver fresh product. Here a butcher makes ready some of the morning’s catch. Ice is a valued commodity in this tropical country. Not surprising, the food quality is excellent, but you need to know the best sources for seafood, poultry and other meats.

Two workers appear unfazed with the heat and humidity, while stuck in Manila’s infamous traffic. In any weather extreme, it’s critical to acclimate. I was fortunate to be in a car with its AC running at maximum. With temps at 95F [35C] and relative humidity pushing 70%, having an AC was paramount to survival.

A Manila suburb. Ang ganda talaga sa mga lugar … [it’s really beautiful in places].

Countenance-2

Fade-free nostalgia…

What is it about nostalgia that some of us cannot jettison? A valid concern is that the yearning makes a mess of being-in-the-moment. That same yearning can deny future possibilities when it turns to ruminating. For some, nostalgia can magnify preoccupation. Not good.

Yet there are fragments of nostalgia that remain fade-free. Like writing/journaling and photography, riding a sport bike can be solitary, well, a choice by many, including myself. Certainly some of my own experience aboard two wheels can be marked as memorable [and mostly positive].

As is fitting this time of year, nostalgia tends to swell, though more specifically with auld lang syne, those days of fond remembrance, of days spent from far-off times or even those more recent. It matters none because an experience that generates a fondness or even a light-hearted sense of joy is timeless. The decades can sometimes feel “like only yesterday.”

The distinction I’m trying to make is that auld lang syne speaks of a heart-felt time devoid of regret and rumination. Isn’t that what probes our memory at year’s end? What have we forgotten? Whom have we forgotten?

My school of thought is that these fade-free capsules of nostalgia are not containers of events that could’ve or should’ve been. No, auld lang syne is more about preserving good things which matter: lessons learned, people who’ve made a difference, the unconditional, enduring quality of gratitude and love.

Before I make a mess of this post, I’ll let the poet Robert Burns weigh in. He’s the Scot who made this poem, this inimitable song, about as timeless as anything found in life. Click here.

Uncomplications

Is our evolutionary advancement driven, in part, by the creation of things increasingly complex? This home sitting stoically somewhere in London, is the antithesis of a modern home. You won’t find computer-controlled lights, security systems, or appliances seamlessly linked to an app on your phone or tablet. Think simple yet purposeful. Venerated in stature, an edifice devoid of pretense.

Similarly, this pub distills [pun intended] an uncomplicated persona. How so? Nowhere did I see a roster of specialty beers, ales, lagers, mixed drinks, martinis and so on. Visually, there’s a lot to draw your attention, but nothing approaching sensory overload. Six taps of beer, the usual suspects in liquor and I’m sure a wine list practical in scale and price points.

Ditto for this uncomplicated yet tasteful-looking bar. I’m all for imaginative thinking, but that’s a far cry from thinking that the latest and greatest is something we need. Novelty can make many things interesting, but the fascination can quickly fade.

Today, we’re seeing even more complexity in an already complex, confounding arena that is automobile manufacturing. Case in point, the steering wheel of Formula 1 race cars. It’s essentially a computer with a realm of adjustments a driver can make while racing. Granted, an F1 car is an extremely specialized machine, but we’re already witnessing technology trickling down to passenger cars: paddle shifting, adjustable suspension rates, electronically controlled ride height, dual clutch transmissions, electronic steering, throttle control and more.

Growing complexity effectively commoditizes our thinking. Artificial intelligence is no longer science fiction and this growing reliance, this transference or programming of cognition to things inanimate is troubling. Interestingly, the late Dr. Stephen Hawking once said that the rise of AI is utterly frightening. Why? AI advancement and its integration to our day-to-day living will reshape civilization and redefine humanity.

Uncomplications.

Have a face-to-face conversation [not Skype, not Facetime] with someone you value and keep in high regard. Pen a letter or card [not an IM, email or Tweet]. To feel good—really good—do something that will make another person smile, even laugh. We give too much of our time to monitors, hand-held devices, playlists, news feeds and much less to each other.

Commute

Instant gratification

Earlier this month, I took out my Rolleiflex 6008 Pro and took a few photos using Polaroid 679 pack film. For those old enough to remember, Polaroids were frequently used to check exposure, light quality, composition, subject focus, depth of field and so on. These are but a few samples I took; in each case, the texture, the feel and ambiance of the image puts me in a calm state of mind.

A Timeless Reunion

I had a reunion recently. In the real sense of the word, I did see my high-school classmates and enjoyed listening to the way their lives took shape after graduation. Aside from [some] grey hairs, balding heads, [slightly] heavier waistlines, kids in and out of college, the many memories that circled back to greet us were good ones.

In another way, I had my own personal reunion with one of my binders of negatives. I found images from my days at L-C in Connecticut and decided to revisit them, though this time in a digital sort of way: scanning and rendering in post production. One thing’s certain, it’s much easier to scan and develop versus pour, measure, pour again, agitate, rinse, pour, fix, rinse, etc. etc.

The farm fields a la the soccer/lacrosse fields were still there. That pond is gone. I could’ve done a “before ‘n after” photo line-up, but decided, no, the before image has more meaning and substance. The “after” image—like others of its kind—looks too clean, even sterile.

What’s missing in this photography reunion is the ambiance, the nuance, the visceral energy of darkroom work. Your senses are so much closer to the image during development. You feel the smoothness of the paper when wet, made even more so with the addition of a wetting agent to promote spotless drying. The piercing smell of rapid-fixer reminded me to make sure the exhaust fan was on. The glow of the soft, red, safety light confirmed my presence in this other world, a place that made me feel safe, included and perhaps artistically complete.

This is a matter of opinion, but those negatives some 30-plus years old have held up rather well. Aside from dust marks, some scratches here and there, the emulsion has endured, and continues to do so. This is one of the things that I miss/love about analog photography. I can open a box, a binder, some glassine sleeves loaded with film and hold anyone up to a light source and immediately understand that there’s an image in front of me. I may not wholly comprehend what I’m looking at in a cognitive sense, but emotionally, there’s just something magical about looking at something that doesn’t need anything more than light, careful handling and a curious eye.

Untitled

As much as I do like shooting digital, I admit a soft spot for all things analog. My roots are in film photography so that has something to do with all of this fascination for the old. I hope film never goes away; wishful thinking, but such is the march of technology. For now, wherever I can find film—some reasonably priced—then I’ll fetch a couple of rolls or so. Outdated film is fair game as they produce a different feel altogether. I think we get too hung up on histograms and color balance so much so that we dampen our feelings for what photography can bring to us.

With winter’s short days, I get pulled into the boldness of both light and shadow. And when the weather is just uncooperative—really windy, extremely cold, etc.—I’ll get involved with film, a light meter, a medium format camera and sometimes a tripod.