Wandering through the mists of time you found me... but for a moment
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| Lost in the mists Wandering through the mists of time you found me... but for a moment |
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Friday, April 11, 2003 The Photographer Cigarette smoke circled around the solitary lamp swinging alone on the ceiling, like a python smothering its prey. The light was sickly and bloodred, dim to the point of darkness. It cast a macabre illumination around the small claustrophobic room. The already small room was cluttered with negatives, undeveloped films, faded photographs, chemicals and other things one would associate with photography, seeming to crush the solitary man in the midst of this organised chaos. It didn't matter for the man who was working steadily. He was used to the tomb as he fancied it. After all he made it. The dim lighting and crowded atmosphere gave to him a sense of security, like being ensconsed in a cocoon. His refuge, his shelter. his lair. Humming a tuneless melody, his small rough hands flew over the prints and chemicals, his motions deft and sure. One two three and in goes the films, three four five and out comes the prints, six seven eight he hung them to dry on a string suspended over his head. Then it was back to one two three again, almost like clockwork. He never stopped, except once to wipe the sheen of sweat on his face. On and on his fingers flew as sweat dripped down. He would have very much liked to install air-conditioning, but decided against it as it wasn't really worth it. Anyway, the heat didn't bother him much. At last the string was crammed with photographs, like laundry hung to dry. Pausing, he dragged long on his smouldering cigarette while examining his newly washed photographs. Even in the dark, he could discern the beauty of the models he has photographed. This batch will be up to standard. Grunting at a job done, he eased his small compact frame around the mess of equipment and backed out of the cell. His living room was much larger than his improvised darkroom, spacious and chic. He had in his younger days got a top designer to model it in the Zen fashion, minimalistic and gorgeous. He grunted as he plumped himself down on a stylish chair. Those were the days of foolishness. It was his butt, not his eyes, that needed comfort. Grunting, he glowered at his pretentiousness. His cigarette was near gone, and he reached for a new one, lighting it again. To hell with the quacks, he needed to chain smoke. Had picked up the habit about 10 years ago, after a serious incident changed his life. For long moments, he sat there, spaced out, shifting his mass uncomfortably. His living room had glass walls, and he stared out at the raindrops which were starting to fall. Unconsciously, his mind switched to photography mode, considering illumination, angles, how to place models, special effects, heck even makeup. It was a habit formed from long years being a professional, something akin to his skin, just cannot take it away from him. Unexpected, he got off his aching butt and strode over to a glass cabinet. Not really knowing what he was doing, he reached in and fished out an album among stacks of others and returned to his uncomfortable chair. He had done it more out of whim than any real reason. Anyway, since he had already brought out an album, might as well examine it. The date scribbled on the album was 2002/3. Good, he thought. This was when he was just getting serious about his passion. Looking at these amatuerish pictures taken 10 years ago will deflate his ego. He was the best, he knew, but there was no need to get high and almighty. These photographs will remind him of his humble start. Flipping through the pages, he grunted again. The photographs were fading already, he better go develop again. After all, its been a decade. As he skimmed through the pictures, his mind provided a running commentary about the technical aspects as well as the subjects. Felicia, pretty nice gal.. lighting was a bit harsh, can illuminate her tanned skin better.. Mingzhen... the crazy beautiful "sister" he had, her porcelain skin was set off nicely by the deep blue... though a diffuse illumination will be good... Cheng Woon.. very dark and red... best to be wearing dark clothes to match his complexion... His deft fingers flipped quickly, his mind raced with technical details, cold and logical. The people here were long gone from his life and he didn't have much emotional ties with them anyway... On and on his eyes and fingers flew... Suddenly, they both stopped suddenly, as if his reflexes had frozen. He looked closer at the photograph which arrested him subconsciously. It was not an amazing shot, nor was the subject particularly striking. It was just a night shot of an average girl sitting contentedly on a patio chair. She was wearing a white shirt with a floral print. Just beside her was his camera bag back then. There was no reason in his mind why he should have paused at this unremarkable photograph. Silence ruled in his mind, as raindrops pattered outside. His heart started talking. At first it was a low whisper of images, then it graduated to a murmur of sounds, a babble of thoughts and then the walls of the dam broke. A tide of emotions swept through him, hammering at his cold logical mind, chiselling through his defences, reaching into the deepest part of his memories. They reached for the memories of this girl, locked away in a glass heart. They smashed the glass prison, destroying the hard, brittle crystal heart. Raindrops pittered pattered on the glass walls of his hall, accompanied by the silent melody of falling tears. posted by lost child | 7:40 AM |
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