Light on the Walls

Translated…

The Day-to-Day Ness on the Walls

As my friends entered into my new home, the question they voiced would be the same, “Are all the photos on the walls yours?”

not my photograph…

There are three keywords of this question, first, the “wall”.  From a small lake view suite, I’d moved into a one-story house with two bedrooms, a living room and a dining room, the living space became bigger, and naturally, there are more empty slots on the walls too.  Some of the walls were painted to bright orange, some beige, there were also the colors of white and light yellow too.

The walls are not naked, they are wearing, the second keyword, the things that were called as “projects”.  All my friend can tell by just one look, that everything on my walls aren’t from the reprints that you get at the wholesales mart, nor are the items those highly-priced paintings from the auction houses either.

They were presented there, as “works”, that they were, created by someone who felt inspired.  And, it’s clearly so, one of my friends who is an art agent, also an amateur artist, saw the paintings on the walls, said that they are very strong images.  Images, can be interpreted as how the pictures make one feel.

not my picture…

And the reason why those images are so strong, because of the third keyword, photo.  They’re all, pictures from a camera.  All the images came out of a camera, of photography.  And, ninety-five percent of all the works are black-and-white, and, eighty-percent were of Kyoto, Japan.

The electric railways in Kyoto, the glass windows with the mannequins in the shops, the trees and the shadows of people in Kyoto.  Other than Kyoto, there were also, from Northern Europe, mostly were photographed from every day life.  everyday life, along with the scents of everydayness that seeped through the frames, giving off that natural kind of atmosphere, like it was telling a story that’s already finished, or, describing the process of something being finished.

There were, a total of over twenty photos.

Looking at the daily goings on on my wall, I’d answered to my friend, “No.”

not my photo still…

All of these aren’t mine, they’re all from my friends in Taipei.  My friend graduated from Chingwha University, and fell in love with photograph shortly thereafter.  (his lovely wife might have to say, not just fell in love with it, but becoming a FANATIC of it!”, the profile photo on his Facebook account was an old styled camera.  As I wrote this article, he was, traveling in Ireland, he carried along seven different—including his cell phone, eight total.  I’d gone back to the States from Taiwan twice, he’d developed these photos to me, he knew, I loved them.

Photography as a Sort of a Faith

This, is an age where everybody is a photographer: Facebook, the internet, plus those smart phones, images are, spreading out at any moment in time, copied, passed along.  Images exploded.  Images became like an entire different realm.  Two months ago, a friend mailed a book to me, “The Seven Methods in the Art of Photography” by Zhong-Yi Ruan.  The words on the covers said it so well, “Photography, is a faith,”, with the next line, “She chose to voice herself by the bright and the darkness”.

Yes, light.

God said, let there be light, then, there light is.

Light said, let there be images, then, there the images are.

Light expressed the styles of a small pebble-paved passageway to somewhere, the light spoke up on the leisure states of an afternoon, the light spoke on how a cat turned around, and looked back, and it’d also expressed the words that were found on the geishas’ makeup, the elderly man’s tiresome strides, as well as a traveler, standing, all alone, on the platform, waiting for a train too.

A platform that was like a tunnel, the signal lights, the lights on the trains dim, the frame was darkened, only the light that gathered at the end of the tunnels, is it the train, coming by?  Or, is it the light that’s up in the skies outside the tunnels?  Because of this chunk of light, we were able to recognize the components, the platform, the rails, the poles; and it’s also because of the light, we saw a man standing there, a platform, with one solitary being.

Light seems to be stating, look!  At the traveler.

That traveler isn’t me, it’s a me that’s very much like me.

I can, tell a story from that footage, from that darkened and lighted image, to pave the way to a journey, or maybe, write out an entire novel from it.  Written it, in the wind.

I’d, traveled along the light.

There must be light.  In modern art, a black cloth, a piece of white paper, can be called art, but not in photography.  Without light, there’s no photograph, and there’s no expressions, it’d become, an incomplete piece.  Without light, we’d, walked along, lost on the road.

You know what, I am, truly proud, of these photos on my walls, because with them, I’d, heard the stories, I’d touched, my own heart too; more importantly, they’d, made my home into an art gallery, or even, a fine arts museum.

not my photo…

So, this, is how important photo is, or rather, light is, in people’s lives, and, this man may not know how to take photos, but he surely knows how to appreciate fine art, and, anybody can appreciate fine art, even laypersons like you and I, because we all have our separate ways of defining beauty, and, nobody can take that away from any of us…

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