I used to ask myself whether I’m capturing the emotion of a moment or my own emotions projected onto it.
It’s neither. It’s my wishful thinking that I capture. My wishful thinking that feels real for a second. I don’t know how much of it actually exists—or if any of it does at all. This is why my photography keeps its distance. Proximity feels like betrayal. If I get too close, I’ll see. And if I see, I’ll know the truth—that my rose-colored glasses have lied to me all along.Where shall I look? I know it’s impossible to unsee the seen. If I didn’t see, it would vanish. A clinging to a wishful reality.
At the same time, books are stacked up on my desk: The Doors of Perception by Aldous Huxley, Ways of Seeing by John Berger, and Alhacen’s Theory of Visual Perception by A. Mark Smith. They wait for me to learn how to see. It’s time I surrender to seeing it all—the good, the bad, and everything in between. My eyes naturally search for goodness in every corner. Maybe seeing the other side will lead to something better. Alchemy.
May the flash of my camera be a light that helps to see.