10 – the moult

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Day 10 of 100, Singapore I’m calling this my day of rest. I did intend to write about something this evening, but once we bought our plane tickets in the afternoon, shit started happening faster than you can say “hullabaloo” and here I am at midnight, still working, goldfish brain being, well, goldfish-like. Oh, but if you’re looking to listen to a good photographic conversation, I’d recommend Dispatches with Eric Labastida. It’s around an hour long, but is an utterly enjoyable, insightful photographic conversation. Listen here.

9 – With a little help from my friends

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Day 9 of 100, Singapore No, a camera post doesn’t count. The last line of yesterday’s post now makes sense (I think). Late nights are conducive to many creative endeavors, but writing structurally sound sentences doesn’t appear to be one of them. Nonetheless, better eventually corrected than never. It’s ridiculously late now too, so this won’t be a long one. I’ve been out shooting all day and I’m tired, turning things over in my head while trying to keep focused on work, trying not to be distracted… ha. Back in 2013, my friend Brian Miller introduced me to the music of one Amos Lee (we were enroute to Acoma Pueblo from Albuquerque, which is completely irrelevant to this story, but what’s life without good digressions?). …

8 – Cycles

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Day 8 of 100, Singapore An early one today because I ended up going to bed at 5 am last night. I’m going to bed later and later these days, pre-empting jet lag in Europe – that’s the fun story, anyway. I crave the potent, enveloping silence of a sleeping world. In the course of the last 4 years I’ve lived on the road, being able to shut the door and have an entire space to myself almost never happens. It’s ably replaced with late nights, where the dark stillness is fertile ground for working through the remains of the day, the reset mechanism to ready myself for the new. While I was noodling, I ended up organizing, of all things, my projects. I’ve been …


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Day 7 of 100, Singapore Still here. And this is not a gear review. Picked up a GFX 50S (two, really) from Fujifilm Asia Pacific today, which is headquartered here in Singapore. Favian Loo, divisional marketing manager, offered to loan Flemming and I one with three lenses for a week – to which we were all “YES PLEASE.” It’s not every day someone offers you a ten thousand dollar camera to simply muck around with. When we got to Favian’s office, there were two bodies instead of the one we were expecting to share. It was exceedingly generous of him, especially as we aren’t even attached to the local division (both of us are with Fujifilm Nordic). We are very lucky to be Fujifilm ambassadors. …


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Day 6 of 100, Singapore In my milk-teeth memories, the months around Christmas and the new year were when the monsoon shifted its wet, northeastern weight over the region, bringing weeks of moisture that ranged from light drizzle to torrential deluge. It is the season of respite from the bite of the equatorial warmth. Singapore is 1 degree off the equator, so it’s hot all year round, just a little less so in December. The monsoon hasn’t made much of an appearance in the last three years, going as far as to draw all the weather away from the region in 2014 for months, leaving us on the edge of water rationing and mild panic. I’ve missed the rain – the thunderstorms, the afternoon showers, …


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Day 5 of 100, Singapore Greg’s comment in day 3’s post about keeping on, made me think of a snippet of a poem that a friend shared with me the other day. What we need most, we learn from the menial tasks: the novice raking sand in Buddhist texts, or sweeping leaves, his hands chilled to the bone, while understanding hovers out of reach; the changeling in a folk tale, chopping logs, poised at the dizzy edge of transformation… …and when the insight comes, they carry on with what’s at hand: the gravel path; the fire; knowing the soul is no more difficult than water, or the fig tree by the well that stood for decades, barren and inert, till every branch was answered in …


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Day 4 of 100, Singapore And then, the crash. You recluses out there know what I’m talking about don’t you? The abrasion of so many eyes (whether intended or not). The blow by blow 300% enlarged, curling tighter and tighter inwards, against the risk of shatter. We might be weird, but we’re imaginative. We’ve tuned that part of the machine. There’s no recourse but to let it be. There’ll be a pause in there somewhere. Which way was up again? Silence. Reset.


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Day 3 of 100, Singapore Flemming and I attended the local Fujifilm launch of their three new cameras this evening. Still smarting from the whole debacle with the airline for Sunday’s flight, we’ve decided to add some vodka to that lemon of a situation, and make the best of our additional time here. I’ve genuinely enjoyed myself at these events, which is unusual: I am very awkward around lots of other people. Parties are a special kind of hell. In her Journal Of A Solitude, poet May Sarton likened “every meeting with another human being [to] a collision” during periods of depression. Social situations and/or large crowds have a similar collisive effect on me. You know, when you don’t know if you should have dialed …


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Day 2 of 100, Singapore I started this Hundred Day Diary thing as an encouragement to write. About anything, no matter how silly, or mundane. I began blogging in 1998, enjoying the revelation of getting something I made out in public. Along with that have come the lessons of getting work in public (which I am still learning, I might add). The next year, I left for Australia. For me, blogging and the migrant experience are indelibly linked. That’s all I’ve ever really written about – transition, progression, the two-steps-forward-one-step back cha-cha that is the nature of change and how we adapt ourselves to new frameworks, from a personal perspective. I stopped writing about this, or anything else, when I began photographing. I’m not sure …


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Day 1 of 100, Singapore Well, that went well. Once in a while, flying has goes utterly pear shaped. Sunday night’s flight to Copenhagen didn’t happen after all, because junior airline staff, whose only jobs are to check passengers and baggage in compliantly, tried to play customs officers. As a result, I couldn’t get on my flight, and Flemming, who was on a different flight to the same destination, had to cancel his, and have his bags pulled off the plane. There was a considerable loss of money involved (2 cancelled tickets to Europe from Singapore), and I have begun the resolution process with the airline, but I don’t have much hope that they will do the right thing. I am, after all, just another …