..that if you could let go, in a breath, a fraction of what you carried for your beloved- if you could put it into words...

the sea would carry its own shores, all that it shelters underneath and everything that came close to a home, just to run away with you.

-Miguel Piñero

never were you asked to make many disappear into one. but, to let it explode across an iridescent sky into all the ones it took to bring one here.

I leave to Lima this weekend on a project near and dear to my heart- 5 years to the date of my last trip to Peru (and one of my all time favourites), funny how life works sometimes. I am excited to share some thoughts and reflections with you all soon from the road. In the meantime, smile at strangers, call your friends in England, reach out to that person you can't stop thinking about, let your skin breath and stay hydrated. 

Besos y abrazos XO

Still even with this peace, it's difficult to express why the sudden physical leaving of a being from this planet, one I've never met or seen in the flesh, could leave me this gutted especially when there was so much beauty shared. Prince's music touched some of the most special memories of my childhood and beyond. His physical living was a comfort that those memories could maybe last forever and I could grow with them as the music does. I shed many tears yesterday. Not much fuel entered my body. It was the first time in a long time that it was deeply painful for me to listen to music. And while I don't seek the rhetoric that's probably going ensue in the coming days and months nor do I want to add to it- last night through my lens, the medium of expression that takes the wheel when I am frozen like this, the sky was clear in the deepest shade of blue, almost purple. The moon was almost full. I found the last of blossoms and sat under a branch to catch a cherry moon in April. Sending nothing but love and warmth to all my friends who are standing in the cold and feeling loss in anyway right now. 

Happy Earth Day as well. ❤

Work always has it's perks. It's no secret that Midnight Oil's music is very special to me.  I got a signed copy of "Big Blue Sky", Peter Garrett's memoir, a few weeks ago before my trip down under and I just finished reading it last night. It's one of the most well written memoirs I have read in a long time. Aside from his stories surrounding music in Australia, I was really moved by the brevity in his words, his relentless dedication to the environment as well as his activism for indigenous land rights, conservation, and prison reform. Growing up in Canada, so many of my friends and chosen family are Indigenous and I have seen first hand the palpable unrest and the systemic discrimination they face, so his passion for these issues is something that is particularly moving for me. 

Politics is not something I "get" or am ever enthralled by, especially these days experiencing elections for the first time living in the U.S., let alone the capital. In the words of my dad who visited a few weeks ago: "The options can't be Bushs, Clintons and Trump, this country has played such a pivotal role in history and it needs fresh, invograted, motivated young and intelligent minds that are in tune with what's happening in the world today". I digress. Reading this book reminded me how it might be possible for even something like politics to be redefined- how inspiring it can be to have someone of that caliber of intelligence, depth and sense in one medium of expression use their voice as a platform in another like this. Definitely a cool moment in time. I'll also never stop holding out hope that I will get to see one of my favourite bands play live. 

On a side note, I am about to head to the airport and I want to leave you with these photos from the Broad museum today- which was rad. California, until we meet again, I'll continue to experience you in my dreams. 

In that vein, creativity, to me, is very much about learning to find your own voice and it's a process that can either expand you or contract you, depending on how open you are to the resources at your disposal. So given how much I usually rely on music, art and my surroundings for inspiration, challenging routine is very much a conscious attempt to melt across those "walls" and boundaries in the lexicon that exists in my periphery. For instance, when I know that a certain environment brings out specific emotions in me, like an e-detector, usually after I have written or developed my photos, I will set the work aside. Then when I am ready and open, I will go through the process from "scratch" after exposing myself to an environment on the "opposite" side of the scale. Then, I'll look at the work again and take it further.

I was reminded of that when I discovered this dude on youtube today. It made me realize how artists who stretch the breadth and scale of their toolkit, earn more and more flexibility to go further with their 'tongues'. Like the inverted root of a tree, becoming less trapped by definitions, can be incredibly freeing - deepening our roots and stretching our potential. And, it's something I appreciate a lot when I see it and when I feel it.

Happy Friday!

MonoNeon + Weather Report: "BIRDLAND"

"Le problème, c’est que: même si tu me disais  "j’adore", j’te croirais pas. Je sais plus quand tu joues, et quand tu joues pas. J’suis perdue. Attends deux secondes, j’ai pas fini. Dis-moi que tu m’aimes. Dis-moi juste que tu m’aimes, parce que moi j’oserais jamais te le dire la première, j’aurais trop peur que tu crois que c’est un jeu."

-XO

Scene from Jeux d'Enfants (Love Me If You Dare) (Quiéreme si te atreves)

I discovered the publication Nautilus almost two years ago and have been hooked on it ever since. Every two months I get this magazine in my mailbox. I do my best to set it aside and wait till that Sunday morning to crack it open over a cup of tea or coffee. It tackles really interesting and rich topics from space, illusions, genius, nothingness, time...etc. Articles that have kept me buzzing, challenged and have expanded my perspective. I wanted to share it with you, perhaps there is something in there that might strike you. You can find all the past issues on the website. 

In the meantime, for your hump day, here is Martin Molin and his Wintergatan Marble Machine. 

for flooding. for expanding their lungs with lexicon that drips like honey from your mouth. for choosing to take on the dust and sift through the wreckage. for giving them a haven in crevices they've never felt before. all while never asking for anything in return.  

You started at the sky. 

began at their limit. their impossible. their out of sight. from your excess they made their plenty.

over. and over. and over again...

that's how much you are enough. 

I learned about Andres Amador a number of years back when I was visiting California. I quickly realized not only how incredibly lucky I was to catch one of his 'scapes, but for in that moment I would be one of the few to witness and be immersed in something that would be gone the next. 

With the beach as his canvas and rakes his brushes, Andres Amador creates large-scale artworks that explore nature's geometry -- and life's impermanence. For more info on this and other stories in this KQED series, visit http://bit.ly/1mF7fus Funding for KQED Arts is provided by The William and Flora Hewlett Foundation.

I hope you, too, experience a few (or hopefully many) of those moments everyday...

February skies have me musing and I feel like I want to share a story with you. This is not just any one, it's one that carries with it all the other ones. Ours....

Photography came into my life when I was very young. My mom was an avid camera collector- she was really big on collecting vintage cameras and she was adamant, as I imagine many parents are, about documenting the crazy shenanigans my brother and I were up to at all stages of our lives. There was one camera that changed me forever and my mom stored it in this yellow KODAK duffel bag: a Hasselblad 500 CM. I remember it just as if it were sitting on the table in front of me now. The first time I saw my mother holding that camera, I remember thinking the two of them together, I'd never seen someone look more beautiful, sensual, strong and capable of holding the world in the palm of their hand. That was it. It might sound odd that something could be so mesmerizing to someone so young, but from the moment I laid eyes on that camera, I needed to know everything about it. By nature, I was incredibly shy and quiet but I was notorious for causing havoc in the dark. I loved knowing how things worked and part of that was taking things apart down to the very.last.screw. So needless to say my parents came home one fateful night to find their 6 year old kid standing at the top of the dining table and a hella expensive Hasselblad in parts and pieces. My mom was not too amused but knew, being a scientist for a living herself, that this was just the beginning. Not many people outside my family got it though. In fact, one of the things that used to really get to me is when people would jokingly say that I was “obsessed” with photography almost insinuating that this courtship I had with this medium of expression- the countless hours in the darkroom, the money I saved up and spent on equipment etc were "odd" or "weird" for a kid my age. I never understood why their judgement got under my skin and today I remembered a French saying my mom used to say when I got upset: “qui a froid souffle le feu” (let the one who is cold blow the coals). Somehow it’s a little clearer to me now.

We live in a world that is a cornucopia of billions upon billions of things that can occupy our field of attention at any given moment in time. With our conscience being a relatively limited space, the details of this world engage in a kind of competition for our attention- the kind that displaces one object of affection with another (it’s actually pretty sexy to think about it). The criteria for that – how attentive we become towards any one object- generally depends on the degree to which that object stirs in us "mania" or as Plato called it “theia mania” (divine mania). Mania being a state of focus that extends towards/on something beyond the limits of relative normality. Perhaps that’s why it’s often said that the greatest artists, creators, thinkers, scientists were/are, on some level, maniacs. In fact, come to think about it, one of my favorite stories about Newton is when he was asked how he was able to discover his mechanical understanding of the universe, and he responded saying “by thinking about it day and night”.

There are two very different concepts potentially at hand here: that of 'passion' versus that of 'obsession'. The two are often linked but they (at least in my mind) vary very much in kind. I will preface what I am about to say with this: I think that this idea of mania/obsession has a negative connotation and it’s not unintelligible to know that it likely comes with its association with some of the least favourable events or experiences in human history. There are countless cautionary tales of people who become so consumed with/by something that they lose their connection to their community(ies), meaningful relationships, and display what can be perceived or described by some as “subversive" or "rebellious" behavior, driving them to an edge.

Passion and obsession are engendered within us. They both manifest in outward action or pursuit, which can, in turn, provide us with direction and purpose. They can be incredibly powerful motivators to take risks, make sacrifices and step outside of (our) conventional norms to achieve what it is that we ultimately desire. But, where I think passion and obsession part ways is that edge, which is, mind you, never the same for any one person and where it takes each differs as well. One state of being leaves room for the free will of those 'taken' to fight their way to edges upon edges and come out deepened and enriched, while the other is characterized by a passive surrender to the pull by the very object consuming the person until they are exiled. One involves both the heart and mind and one is all in the mind. One opens you, rewards you in intangible ways and makes you feel limitless because it is grounded in infinite paths and the other becomes the only path, closing you off. One burns bright within, irrespective of any extrinsic encouragement or reward and the other is driven by the reward and that which the reward represents. You can probably guess which is which.

Many of those very same philosophers who talked about mania, likened the way that love manifests itself to the way obsession does. Jose Ortega y Gasset talked about how a lover falls under a “spell” and becomes “enchanted”- how that state of being, this anomalous focus of attention on another, doesn’t “constitute enrichment of our mental life” but just the opposite, "it grows rigid and fixed as a prisoner to a single being”. Plato said how the person who is enamored has this sense of being richer, but it actually reduced their world and made the lover’s world more concentrated.  However, I don't think that this is the only way for love to come about and unravel us. At least, it’s not the kind of love I ever yearned to have or fought to keep in my life. I think it’s also where many story tellers may have missed the alternative interpretations and permutations. There isn’t just this single narrative of obsession and doom or obsession and happily ever after. Those were never the love stories I was moved by. At first sight where all you have to do is meet, the story writes itself from there on and all the pieces would fall into place. That's why the question is whether it's the something or the someone? 

There are plenty of people who have that belief (and all the more power to them) in chasing mediums of expression. Whether it’s a camera, a paintbrush, a carpenter's chisel, a chef's kitchen knife, a fight ring… whatever it is that becomes the subject/object/idea that consumes someone, particularly in art, there are too many examples of people who gravitate towards a craft, when it’s actually the pull of all the things that they believe will come with it. Like a satellite that never makes it past a parking orbit. Obsession begins at the fixation on something with a false hope that the something will become everything. The obsessed make that which consumes them be represented by these superfluous byproducts that may or may not come- fame, money, sex etc. That’s the precise problem with obsession: the chase of a seemingly vast universe, is nothing but a dead end road. There is nothing there but this drain of self and energy. No internal fulfillment because nothing can be enough when something's value is defined externally or when all the value rides on one component of a much bigger whole.  Because once you get a hold of it (or believe that you did), you get the satisfaction you need for a period of time, throw the rest out and then there you are, often left with this sense of gaping emptiness. The thrill is gone. Perhaps that’s why obsession petrifies me, and probably why when I have the slightest doubt that I am entering that zone (as we are all prone to it in varying degrees), I run away steadfast in the opposite direction, cutting myself off from any tether.

Photography was never an infatuation to me. It was never an escape from life. Never something to possess or that could possess me. It was always a choice above a lot of other things. Not because it was/could be a survival mechanism. Not because it filled a void. Not because one day it would help me escape or run away from whatever difficulties I may face or give me a path to an even better life than the one I had. It was and remains to be my way of navigating those things and facing them. It was my shuttle to possibilities, not the final destination. It was the buddy I often preferred to hangout with, not because I didn’t have anything or anyone else, on the weekends or after school. Photography never isolated me or took me away from the world, it thrust me into it. 

Photography is not my obsession, it is my (deepest) passion. Never in a million years did I imagine I would be here with it 20 years later. And I can't say why or how, but even if we never make it to print in the best magazines or publications, or if we never made a single dime from our photos (which still is true but more on that later), I just know without a shadow of doubt that I will still wake up excited to look through the camera. I love who I am when we are together. I love what we create. I love the questions we ask and the ones we answer only to find that those answers are questions in disguise. I love that we haven't scratched the surface in what we've said together and yet found so much in between the lines. Even when we are physically apart, I am a better person for knowing the camera. I carry it in me. It's my kaleidoscope. And despite the times I have gone the distance with the camera, as it has with me, only to feel like we've come up short. Or the times where I scrapped the films because I told myself what we have together isn't real, rooted or good enough. Times where the camera did the same with me. Times where I thought I couldn't hold it and it me, or that we could give each other the weight deserved, as others might be better able to. Times where I wished we'd never met because then all these things would maybe be more simple. Yet somehow, I've learned to make allowances - how to not fill in the blanks- becoming more understanding and patient. I've grown to appreciate a lot of things more because of that relationship.

The camera and I: we aren't a "perfect match". We aren't "meant to be". We aren't each other's everything. We just helped shape for each other a lot of things. I am my best self when we are together. I am extended and elevated. I venture to places I never imagined possible. My world is expanded and made more fluid. 

I am (and think I will always be) the girl looking at the pieces, one by one, apart and then together again. Me and the camera- we don't take the same photos we did when we first met. We've evolved with time and yet never left each other's side, no matter how near or far we were. You see, we were never led through the looking glass by a white rabbit into a world of make belief. We chose to experience the world by making up our own rules. In our own language. Without small talk. Without introductions. We turned it all into our playground. This whole life has been our dream because together we found wonder. The best treasure of all. The passion without any opposite or equal.  There is just no turning your back on that kind of love, no matter how hard you try. 

Photos for this post were taken by a Hasselblad 500 CM. 

Only 560 people have ever been to outer space. For obvious reasons, a trip there can change one's perspective. For NASA astronaut and former NFL wide receiver Leland Melvin, that change happened when he broke bread in the International Space Station with astronauts from all over the world.

she spends her time collapsing dams to rush to a place called Core. there they collect salts of this earth and precious minerals pool behind infinite doors. 

only ones who don't choose the streams they chart by mass dive in the clear. for they scrape every floor without signs that say: "enter there and exit here". wait for no instructions or licenses to navigate these waters and know how with treasure to reappear. 

Born we are trained to master revisions. Learning to accept that which we can carry and what is out of hand. Always at the cusp of absolute dreams moving forward with new drafts. Now, there is more of you and I than what we remember - so much has been masked within the other's edits as time passed. 

Bill Withers' music will always be tied to some of the purest parts of me. I grew up listening to his records and his songs, to me, are the bud of the bud. Few people understand complex simplicity, let alone how to artistically channel it.  He does, I think. 

Everything that I have heard or read from him, makes me respect him as a musician and artist- he was his own, did it his way and when he walked away from the industry, he did it at peak on his own accord.  It makes my heart flutter, just thinking about his music, without any doubt that the boy next door will run away with it. 

I've been watching a lot movies and documentaries lately. I don't think anything has touched me in quite some time as much as the doc "Still Bill" did. I thought I would share it with you. 

For DVD info: http://www.newvideo.com/featured-releases/still-bill/ Now Available on iTunes: http://www.iTunes.com/Movies/StillBill STILL BILL is an intimate portrait of soul legend Bill Withers, best known for his classics "Ain't No Sunshine," "Lean On Me," "Lovely Day," "Grandma's Hands," and "Just the Two of Us."

Iconic singer/songwriter Bill Withers sits down in conversation with Aloe Blacc for a rare public appearance at the 10th Annual "I Create Music" Expo in Los Angeles. Watch video of the on stage interview as the reclusive musical genius discusses influences, religion, the difference between music and the music industry--and why he refused to cover Elvis Presley ("Well, that just pissed me off") --OKP TV's cameras were there to capture it all.

Release by the Estate of Nina Simone: "Freedom" Recording session: Documentary, excerpt from "Nina: An Historical Perspective" by Peter Rodis

Just watched the documentary "What happened Miss Simone?". This woman's music and spirit moves me. 

Happy New Year, friends. I wish you (as I wish for myself and the world) more love, depth, health, light, laughter, peace, comfort, freed bodies and spirits, music, dance, adventure, and better company every passing day this year than the past combined.

2015 has been one of the hardest years for me yet, but I am grateful when I remember that the track record for the tough days and winding through them has so far been a 100%. 

Cheers to revolutions and revelations. To all that is within and that is waiting to be discovered..... 

-XO 

I don't know how love becomes.

Or, what I would have to do when it found me.

Would I recognize its face? Would I retreat?

All I know, is when we did meet:

I.             c   r   a   c   k   e   d.         everywhere.

and the blooms...

they are still pushing through even the asphalt and concrete,

rooting themselves without feet.

•

I am sitting in one of my favourite coffee shops growing up. Not so far from here is where I first began exploring with my first film camera at 7 years old. It's also where my hands were first held on a skateboard. While this sets the stage for a walk down nostalgia lane, moments like these are a way of connecting fleeting memories and making a little sense of what they have become in me.

I have been thinking a lot about vulnerability and self reflection lately. I have grown to appreciate and embrace how they make me feel raw and exposed. Tender and layered. And in embracing them, I have learned enough to know that I often land on my feet from the jump feeling more rooted in myself. The truth is I have had more moments in the past four years where those very feelings have left me feeling like jello and a cement block simultaneously, than any other period in my life. But, I can say that, without a doubt, although they've shaken and shattered me (without exaggeration), they also slowly put me together again. 

I don't find it one bit surprising that the birthplace of creativity is vulnerability and self reflection (yes, I do think of them as two sides of the same coin in many respects). Neither one is easy and often I find myself fraught with feelings of fear, joy, melancholy and doubt when I am reflecting or feel particularly vulnerable. Still, no matter how you slice it, we live in a vulnerable world. A world that is interconnected. A world of actions and reactions- where someone's extension of love becomes another's education in its expression. Where one's anger and rage to those innocent likely spurred from anger and rage towards or around them. Where wars in countries we've never been to affect our lives thousands of miles away. Someone's gluttony is at the expense of another's hunger. Someone's knowledge can serve as a platform for someone else's education (just as it can their ignorance). 

Whether it's through sharing a poem, a photograph or these thoughts out loud- I can unabashedly admit that as much as it's for my own satisfaction, I am conscious that it is also a call for connection to myself and to the world. It stems from a deep desire for someone to see me just as I yearn to see: myself, them and us both in one another. But, that to me is the crux of self-reflection and creative expression: connecting to a voice through which I can tell my own story with a fuller heart. The root of that heart, I am learning, is compassion towards my own self but also towards others. So, if we were to take the dictionary definition of 'compassion' as "co-suffering"- to go out of one's way in order help someone else physically, spiritually, or  empathize with their emotional hurts or pains... creativity as a process begins to make a lot more sense, at least to me. 

At some point each of us has and will ask for affirmation: "Was that O.K.?" (in other words "Am I good enough?") in infinite contexts. No one is immune to that- no matter how big or small. I truly believe that. We are wired to be imperfect and vulnerable creatures but we continue to be socialized to hack our lives by wrapping up everything in a box with a bow on top.  We crave connection but we more often, in todays world, learn to master disconnection. Admittedly there is nothing more crippling than when you bare yourself to someone only to feel unseen or acknowledged. We also live in a world where doing that repeatedly becomes exhausting physically, mentally and emotionally. Where the math becomes more foreign/ tough to justify. But it's important to also recognize that the roads are closed off down that route. When we reflect and open up we are really stepping out of our bodies and reaching inward. We are befriending ourselves over and over again. Finding different beings that all coexist in the same vessel. Beings that contradict yet, so gorgeously, complement one another-giving this single vessel dimension. This vessel at it's core yearns to be held, carried, marveled at... so when we begin to court it in passion and suffering we inadvertently become (better) companions to each other in the process. We are all suffering, in different ways, but we're all hardwired for it. That's why we are capable of experiencing profound connection when we hear a song, bask in a painting, or immerse ourselves in poetry and prose... we are capable of being moved, in our own way, even if it is to a being we've never met before.  But it requires a certain readiness and openness. That's why in suppressing this desire to connect to something deeper, we are weakened (not strengthened) and we end up sacrificing/neglecting the thing we desire the most: deep companionship - with ourselves and the world. Even more, alongside it, we begin to destroy the birthplace of spring, where we bloom... 

It's not easy. It's nature but it also needs nurture. It's excruciating work and yet in the same vein it's not because of it's authenticity. It involves unlocking rusty cellar doors and looking into the mirror. It means not occupying up every minute of the day looking at a screen to avoid touch or contact with our surroundings. It means leaving space to relearn what it's like to be "bored" so that we can enjoy the company of ourselves enough before others can be asked to like it and seek it. But we more than often live vicariously through false productions that push us into a hamster wheel of perfecting the image of ourselves and our lives. We numb and bury our shame- our fear of admitting that all we crave is that deep sense of acceptance of who we are as we are. We move away from real belonging and alongside it end up losing our ability to live and love wholeheartedly. To feel.  To create.

After my first big heartbreak, as broken and emptied as I felt, I also remember feeling incredibly flooded. At one moment, I wrote in my diary: "there is so much love inside of me to give and I don't know where to put it anymore". It makes me tear up reading those words even now. I didn't know it at the time but that's when I had to begin another journey of self-reflection and immerse myself in creative expression. I just moved towards the things that made me feel full again- runs at 4:30 am every morning to catch the sun's rise, painting, playing piano, countless hours writing, traveling and exploring with my camera... all of it alone. Rather than suppress my flood with noise, I let it explode. And seldom did I feel lonely. I quickly learned it is because that flood was (as it always is) yearning to return home- to me. That's how it finds a voice (or many!). That's how the heart finds heart. That's how it learns to feel safe again... to find space and sanctuary in itself, first, so it can than do that with and in others. 

To sum up, not so long ago on a plane ride, I read an article on Stephen Colbert in GQ magazine. He was talking about his upcoming debut on The Late Show. He said something that hit a nerve with me when thinking about all of this: "the end product is jokes, but you could easily say the end product is intention. Having intentionality at all times... the process of process is process." I think it can be easy to forget that vulnerability and self reflection are not outcomes that we arrive at begrudgingly. They are not things that happen to us. That we can avoid or dread for too long without consequences. They are part and parcel of a vital and crucial process that is unique but necessary for each of us. The creative process is infinite but it is not automated or something that we can take for granted. 

And today, in this light, I am reminded of some abc's in photography that can hold out to be true. Sometimes it’s necessary to choose to stand with my back to the sun in the arena of life. In order to be immersed in creative expression, there is just no way around vulnerability and self-reflection. It's how shadows can be ahead of us so they can no longer take us down from behind. Now, pardon me as I go with mine to dance the evening away...

we've held space for few compared to the millions left outside doors slammed shut. the sad part is we all know what it's like to be cut.

but we make exceptions forgetting blood pooled within borders can't stay contained. it clots, seeps into crevices leaving stains and scars that remain.

under the microscope: the attacker and refugee, the culprit and victim are streaming down the same veins. running to and from the same chains.

tearing up the world with trivial definitions in dispute. a sick high on becoming humanity's loots. 

move on by emptying one bag after another to dilute the drain. forget that we've been here too many times before accumulating pain. 

and it won't stop until each 'man' remembers that Hu(e) and Kind are 'his' first and last name.

If you had asked me four years ago where I would settle if I lived in the States, it would hands down be either NYC or somewhere in Southern California. But I think I fall more in love with D.C. each day that passes more than before. Living here still feels really fresh and exciting. There is so much to see and explore. So many subcultures. Art. History. Music! I thought I would share some sights and sounds from my phone from the past few weeks. I was lucky to catch some of my favourite musicians: Lianne La Havas, Mutemath and Haitus Kaiyote. I have a video of Nai Palm doing a cover of Chaka Khan's 'Ain't Nobody' impromptu. Will try to post it soon. 

Until then, I hope you take time to shed some gratitude for mama earth. Be humbled by how stunning she is always in her bare skin no matter the season. Go check out art somewhere in your 'hood. Support small bands that make real music. Visit a farmer's market or two. Give strong hugs without reservation. Kisses on both cheeks because you don't want nobody jealous. Hold doors for strangers. Say thank you. And stay on the right lane if you are not passing by.  I promise some verbose musings are coming soon. Until then, plein de bisous. xo

Read an article in The Times yesterday that resonated deeply with me. It also reminded me of a photo I had taken a short while ago while visiting the NGA with my dad. I hope it sparks something in you as it did in me. 

A few weeks ago, I got to visit one of the world's most beautiful places: Bohol. Made it to the top of the Chocolate Hills, hung out with some of the Philippines' most precious wildlife, terseirs, and saw some wondrous creatures underneath the sea. ♥

I am always aware of how much I connect and intensely come alive when I am present with and in nature. Much of my self-full journey has been returning to a place where I am kinder to myself, more patient and forgiving of my shortcomings as much as I try to be towards others' (something that always came a little more easily to me). Being in the skyline of greens against blues, I return to earth which makes it return to me.

So, that day, I was reminded again that as much I have always aspired to be of service to the world, as much as I dedicate myself to it, the greatest good has to start with finding the highest expression of myself. How beautiful it is to imagine a world of exploding ethers, stardust, comets and fiery lights in infinite forms? You and I are the source. And for the wilderness that resides in each of us, there is nothing but an endlessly evolving horizon, a new sun for each rise and set, one that says: I will give you all if your all is open to me. And sometimes that requires listening more than talking, being more than reacting, standing still than always moving... 

I am relishing in corners of this beautiful city solo and spent my last moments of this 'lap' around the Sun surrounded by beautiful strangers. At dinner in Gwangjang Market, I was approached by a man - an American citizen who's lived in S.K. for 15 years.  We had a wonderful conversation about the country's culture and lamented on how a huge cornerstone of relationships here in Korea, is the deep respect younger generations have for elders. He was curious what my views were about aging as a woman who's experienced both Eastern and Western cultures, and now lives in the States. I can't tell you how nourished I feel right now, it was truly food for my thoughts and a serendipitous gift from the universe.

On the way back, I remembered this quote from Simone de Beauvoir:

"It is old age, rather than death, that is to be contrasted with life. Old age is life's parody, whereas death transforms life into a destiny: in a way it preserves it by giving it the absolute dimension. Death does away with time." 

There is a phantom that is out there, a belief, that with old age we are lessened and diminished in contrast to life- which is epitomized in youth. In this sense, less can be a worse nightmare than that of death (more metaphorically of course). But, we spend our life fearing this other- a supposedly weathered, deficient and inferior version of our former 'able' selves. As if looking in the mirror, we don't want to be reminded that we are inching our way closer to this DMYY.0 that we dreaded all along. However, as myopic as humans can be to the definitions of ability, when we've seen the exceptions to the supposed invented rules time and time again, we still judge ourselves and each other by this warped metric. So I ask, what if we greeted this stranger, whom we feared all along, with respect for breaking all the promises we made on their behalf in 'younger' days - promises to stick some ideal narrative. What if we commended this person for carving a story that didn't pop up on a ouija board. What if we smashed down all the walls and clichés we confined them to stick to inward and outward. What if we looked at this stranger in the mirror as friend, an ally- who is undoubtedly more equipped to carry life within and experience it so much more ably than we ever imagined. This multi-faceted animal who learned to evolve and shake the hands of time and still remain standing. A beautiful being whose thoughts, actions, movements and feelings have surpassed our fixed images and turned them into cinematic moving pictures. A creation that has touched on and spans genres, languages, cultures and colours.....

The truth is I often forget my age and I have to pause to recount others' ages as well. This is simultaneously hilarious and odd to my family and friends. My sense of time is pretty damn warped but I am aware now that it's likely because I was usually the youngest person in the room, and much of my experiences are anachronisms. And, I suspect they will continue to be. But even then, seldom does age measure or guarantee a person's character in my eyes. So this other is rarely something I fear or give much attention to, but one I try to say hello to in wonderment and admiration just as I do at any 'stage' of life. And why wouldn't I, if she's earned it?!

I am learning to tap 'her' on the shoulder for some advice. I am learning to listen to her gut more and explore all the meaning that her life stands for and continues to- far beyond the value she confined herself to when she could only see what she knew. Her and I continue to stand in more than one place watching the Sun. That's why finishing a year/trip/lap on this bound clock has a different vision and weight. It can't be measured in hours, minutes or seconds. There isn't a metric for a full life, especially not when the cadence of every one of those increments of time isn't equal but so deserving of it's own place. 

Cheers to strength, agility and depth; to breaking down static definitions and gimmicks; to seeing this vessel grow deeper, richer, brighter and darker (you know, so you can see the stars can shine at night ;) ). 

Cebu, here I come! 

..anniversaries never came to me naturally. speaking the same code annually. it's beautiful to remember the connections that we've kept alive. but, circuit boards break when they're overloaded. and not all are wired to work the same way. there are paths inside each of us, that only we can greet. our organs have constitutions that we couldn't describe to others how to iterate. like today, how I couldn't, even if I wanted to, engrave the schemes keeping me tongue-tied and awake. it comes in ebbs and flows like alternating waves. laps around the sun come around once a year, still, those aren't the things I often celebrate. August always reminds me of magic in a lifetime, powered by morse sparks of main power lines, that no gimmick can encapsulate or retrace. just like how lightening never strikes twice in the same place.

y o u.

hands overlap 22 times a day.

And how many sun and moon rises and sets,

have we watched 4 times in array?

Still we break glass radiuses to carve space.

Draw maps that cross worlds for the other to trace.

Roam the night to learn the shape of every star.

And we're closer than ever which can feel so far.

Like outlets with hot wires,

even when facing spires,

plugged in both the sky and ground,

never doubt, you too, are always found.

We are running to meet at a skyline,

to hone a home by design,

for dreamers who don't live by clocks,

made to sail the seas than stand just on docks.

But you live chasing pinholes when the world dims by your side. Teeter between half empties and half fulls, when you could flood the glass with all elements for the ride. Stuck on remote play down below, when you can fly channels 30,000 ft high.

And if you knew how your details, from dirt to stars, could be mirrored and burn bright in these eyes for a whole lifetime... Then again, I can't blame you for not knowing what it's like for the sky to look through you as the universe flipped inside out - like it's all encompassed in your one alone.

I am trying to make laughing rooms a thing here but so far no one is buying it. On another note, I really dig this city a lot and I am always amazed by the inventiveness and resourcefulness of the Japanese. Time here over the past year has made me reflect a bit about ideas, innovation and creativity... 

Akin to a painter's blank canvas or a musician's blank tape, I have to come to appreciate that film and memory cards, unmarked by light, are by far two of the most beautiful "possessions" I can seek to own. They are the very representation of 'infinite' possibilities to me. And I think one of the worst feelings when you are trying to express yourself through an artistic medium, is the gnawing voice that tells you that the content you unearth is not of substance or doesn't add anything to what already exists. 

Often times 'we' talk about how there are no longer original ideas -that, to me, is essentially the equivalent of saying that all the people that could be conceived, have been. Photography, music and various other art forms are the very proof that 'realities' betray and ally with each other endlessly. Doubt is inevitable, natural and maybe even healthy... but, it can, as many say, also be a killer. However, the crux of creation lies in honesty in the process and being immersed in the now, and part of that is embracing doubt but not letting it be a distraction. It's often fruitless being more wrapped up in what something will mean in a time that hasn't yet arrived or that has passed - both of which, we are not present in. And I am learning that the birthplace of the textured, coloured, weathered and most lush stories and experiences is the middle, and without presence in it, we are merely living stagnantly in a static countdown to a finish line...

Art- in its various forms- is a mobius strip of how we experience the world around us through kaleidoscope lenses - our own and others'. From the instant we find ourselves faced with that view, our own perspective is then altered, whether we enjoyed that experience or not. As an audience and now a participant in that journey, whether we intend for it or not, we enter a stage where the dichotomous elements breakdown-  mind/body, essence/appearance, subject/ object and spirit/matter. In other words, every photograph, song, painting, poem or form of artistic expression is an infinite portal- a window- to other windows onto the world. We need them all. Without these portals and in the absence of any one of them, we are limited in how we access the range of (so-called) realities present. A spectrum that cannot be captured by any one moment of (creative) expression and/or experience.

So when do we get that one photograph that will capture it all? That album that's going to make it the only one to take with us on that island far far away? Or that painting that we will stand in awe of and never want to move away from? It's simple, never. The answer will change moment to moment, person to person - that finite breaks and builds faster than we can blink. Think of many of the painters, musicians or artists who passed on without being 'justly' appreciated during their time (will they ever be?!) and we're still learning how to give them due credit. It was never a question of time-less-ness but rather, time-full-ness.

In other words, the middle is the 360 degrees that rolls on. It's all fleeting, but the beauty, in chasing a so called "transparent depiction/experience of reality", or in arriving at "the original" experience, is that it will never fully arrive because the spectrum extends and far outpaces our own capacity to take it all in. Every interpretation, past, present and future, beyond a single moment in time and space, is part of the ever evolving whole - no matter the angle, the colour scale, the instruments and the extent of its 'enhancement' or lack thereof.  That goes from trying to figure out the absolute root to the absolute finish. 

The idea in stumbling across these middles- these windows, was not to be trapped in their contents, their supposed meaning in a time that isn't their own, but rather to give us space to aerate and to look around. These middles can: raise our potential, expand our reach, take us to places beyond those that meet our eyes and minds... and, if are willing, bring others on that journey as well. Those are the moments that ought to be expressed, that are worth experiencing, witnessing and looking back on. You know, over the rainbow and in the "end"....

"A map says to you: Read me carefully, follow me closely, doubt me not...I am the earth in the palm of your hand." - Beryl Markham

Summer is here and today I woke up in the mood to listen to some favourite bootlegs and live recordings that I have enjoyed over the years. Hope you are all having a beautiful Sunday wherever you are in the world. 

— Digby Wolfe, “Kids Who are Different”

When I was in the second grade, my parents inadvertently delivered (what I now see as) a home run on one of the most instrumental lessons they could ever teach me about life: seek and celebrate the non-linear. Ironic as it may be, that it was through a conversation with my Math teacher. That lesson continues to be fundamental in how I often (try to) explore experiences as they unfold, and reflect them, particularly through my photography.

To preface, this is my Mama's account of this incident. It was the annual parent teacher meeting and my parents had made the rounds. As they sat down for their final meeting, my teacher proceeded with the standard small talk: "Everything is going great, except I have one concern, a complaint about you, really- when I give your daughter a problem, she often gives me too many different ways of solving the same problem. I fear this might cause confusion for her in the future when she compares herself with her peers. I just need her to stick to what we learned in class. So, I request that at home, from now on, you don't go beyond the curriculum covered in the way we cover it. Either I teach her or you do." My Pop smiled, "I don't see the problem. I refuse to raise my daughter to think in only linear ways, even in how she approaches mathematics." When my parents came home, they sat me down and asked me to continue to explore these channels of thinking at every opportunity possible, no matter what. To them, this was the only way I could arrive at a place where I stood more confident and with a perspective that was reserved by me only. They continued to remind me of this at every opportunity they could, till this very moment.

I have come to realize that one of the hardest parts of the creative process, at least for me, is that even in seeking the most deserted and unexplored roads, it is important to never lose sight that through it all, I am the driver. Yes, there are inevitable compromises that I will need to make. Nature will call. The car might break down or my shoes will ware out. I may go on a detour or be thrown off course. I will at some point need to seek the guidance of an external compass or have to accept and embrace the necessity of company from the short-term hitchhikers to the long-term loved ones. But, in the end, all of this is part and parcel of the exhaustive process of living fully- of the being in human being. That said, only I can see/make the journey what it is and what it could be. Even if I run into similar roadblocks that someone else may have inevitably faced, it won't be with the same trajectory. My A to B was never meant be the same as anyone else's and it can't be, no matter how much I try. There are no 'wrong' paths because 'failures' are just life's way of rerouting us. What makes sense is the beaten path, but what if there are possibilities out there that haven't been sensed or explored? What if tracing someone else's blueprint gives me less every time rather than the deluge it did for the first person who charted it? What if value isn't always derived from taking the shortest and most direct routes alone? What if it isn't in passing (only) through the markers that make me somehow more certain that I am checking off the right milestones or that I am part of some predetermined "norm"?

After all, the likes, followers, accolades and re-posts are (ironically) nothing but someone else's hashtag. They can (and don't have to) be (at most) the cherry on top. And as much as 'we' all, on some level, would love (maybe even need) that validation and to have that affirmative nod, it doesn't have to be the goal, but rather just a fraction of a much bigger picture....

Perhaps at the end of this journey, it could all add up to a story that isn't prescribed, pretty or popular... just personal.

Now, Leibniz... where are my keys?!

Hi there, welcome to my new home on the internet. If this was my doorstep, I imagine I would greet you with a warm hug, some sort of cooking utensil in hand and a stained apron, to a home full of music, laughter, delicious food and your choice of beverage. As I put the finishing touches on this meal, I'd probably ease you in with conversation about your day and we'd start to wander down a path where we explore the extraordinary in the ordinary and tease out inspirational musings. Alas, though we are at a distance and I cannot experience this with you as I wish to (yet), however, when we are both here together, I promise to use this space and time to write as I would speak with you (as though you are sitting across from me). 

The last time I kept one of these diaries up, was chapters ago...you may have been there too. So much has happened since then. In the last 5 years I've lived in 4 countries, traveled to dozens more, picked up and parted with some long and short term company, supposedly mastered something, and settled (for now) in the 'city of magnificent distances'. Looking back, it remains to be the most thrilling game of Tetris I've played in while. I couldn't be more grateful for the ride and the experiences, but somewhere along the way, after I made the decision to go to Graduate School, it feels like everything moved warp speed. And although I had, for as long as I can remember, been accompanied by my constant sling back companion(s) to document the journey, we slowly found ourselves staring outside different windows, losing sight of why we were together, how we extended one another and where we were going in all of this. 

Often we can, as an audience, but also as artists and reflectors, forget that affinities with the creative process - the limbs and branches which we chart to find the elusive "new" - require a certain degree of conscious choice. The journey isn't always effortless, power outages happen and the well is seldom 'bottomless' for prolonged periods.  In fact, despite our most ideal desires, traveling pathways and forming these connections with ourselves can often feel like expecting the Colorado River to flow any other way than through the Grand Canyon. That's not to say it's futile, rather, that without appreciating the tried, tested and (so called) tired routes we can never be fully ready to see the space the new ones can take up or even make enough room for them to rush in. 

Here and now, when it comes to my relationship with photography, with myself, I aim to do both. I hope you'll continue to join me, at the least for the 'food'. I promise to keep the experience eclectic for the universal explorer and curious wanderer in me, just as I hope to in you. Still, I am infinitely grateful for you coming over, no matter how frequent or how long. I know I'll see you again soon.....