The first days of human life

If there is one lesson in life that continues to get hammered into my daily existence, it's that life will unravel on its own time and on its own terms.

Lex J. Lee entered my life a little earlier than expected. In fact, the Saturday he was born, my wife and I had plans to get things ready for the baby and had dinner reservations for Sunday.

Labor kicked in, and off we went to the hospital. I frantically installed a baby car seat while my wife packed a few items for her hospital bag. I also grabbed some of my camera gear, because I had planned to document the birth of my son. I wondered if I could stay calm and shoot in what is supposed to be an emotion-laden moment.

Once we got to the hospital, we were told the baby was coming that day. After that, it was a whole bunch of waiting until go time. I guess every case is different, but for the most part, I think there is a whole lot of waiting for most people. Luckily, there were plenty of college football games to watch on tv.

12 hours later, the little guy was fist-pumping and out of the womb. I wanted to document the birth of a child, but at some point, the delivering doctor and nurse made me be a more active participant in the process. Did I miss some shots, yes. Do I regret it, no.

Labor was a fascinating process, albeit a bloody one. I will spare you the gory details, but it was a pretty interesting and amazing experience. To think that I witnessed not just the birth of my child but in some sense the way every single person throughout the entire course of human history (minus C-section babies) enters the world was mind-boggling.

When I saw my son for the first time, I didn't know what to think. I looked at him. He cried. I snapped some pictures. He opened one of his eyes. I took some more pictures. I wasn't sure exactly what to think or do. My mind was racing with thoughts that refused to be organized. So I just started counting his fingers and toes. I guess I thought that was what I was supposed to do. Once I got to ten toes and fingers, I was stuck again. I realized what was happening and decided right then and there to cast off all preconceived notions of what a parent is supposed to do and what I've been brainwashed to believe the birth of a child is supposed to be like. I was going to experience this my way. And for me, a big part of that is photography.

Because I went into the delivery room knowing that I wanted to shoot this in black and white, I constantly scanned my surroundings for compositions with contrast. Oddly enough, when I think back to the birth of my child, black and white images play back in my head.

But since we live in a color world, I had to take a few images to reflect that as well.

Welcome to the world, Lex. You will grow up to know the sound of a camera's shutter like the beat of your own heart. For that I apologize in advance, but should you be interested in photography(during the downtime of your training for the NFL), Daddy has a DSLR waiting for you.

Hopes? Expectations? Fears? I suppose there is a lot of nervous energy swirling around, but more than anything, I just hope my son grows up healthy and I don't mess this kid up too much.

Been a little busy lately...

I try to update this blog at least once a week, but my new friend has me running around in circles without much sleep lately.

The mix of excitement and exhaustion is similar to the last days of a long trip to Vegas, but there is no end in sight this time. 

Double down, always.

I documented the birth of my son, but at some point, I had to actively participate in the process rather than hang back and shoot. I saw the birth of my child as another test of my growth in photography. In an emotion-filled moment, would I be able to properly photograph the process? You be the judge. More to come...

photography versus food

Over the course of the past ten years, the food industry has experienced a seismic shift. Foodies have become a part of mainstream culture, and a new class of celebrity chefs has arisen from the back of cramped kitchens to your living room screen in HD.

It got me thinking if there will ever be a similar surge for photography. The advent of much improved and more affordable DSLR equipment has done much to bring photography into the hands of amateurs, but I don't think photography will ever be as important or interesting to the masses as food. Every industry will always have its superstars, but whether those elite representatives become stalwarts of pop culture is a little more telling about an industry's place in society. I don't think we'll ever see a Photography Network, but that might be a good thing. The very thought of the equivalent of a "Rachel Ray" in photography is enough to unsettle my stomach for the rest of the day.

Food is an essential need. Even the most expensive food essentially serves to quench a primal hunger, albeit in an inefficient way. Photography and its enjoyment might feel like a need to some, but it really is something beyond the confines of essentials like food, water, clothing, and shelter. It may just be that simple. For the most part, the average person is only interested in photography to the extent that it allows them to document their weddings and capture the growth of their children.

Lately, I have started to wonder what success in photography looks like. There is certainly something to the notion that success in life is in part due to being in the right place at the right time. We can put ourselves in the right place, but timing is a bit more complicated. With photography, my end goal has always been to be the best photographer that I can be. Where that leads still largely remains an open frame, but I am certainly enjoying the journey. That big wave may never come, but for the moment, I just like being out on the cool surf under the warm sun.

Engagement Session: Cecilia & Yiaway - Washington, DC

Boy meets girl. That's how the story always begins. Two people on a collision course for one another, one day simply realize that destiny. Love is simultaneously complicated and simple, but there is no denying it is a beautiful thing.

I have always found it amusing to be around for the start of a relationship. As a 26 year old graduate student living a no frills life in a Cambridge dormitory, I had a front row seat to the first pages of Cecilia and Yiaway's story. A few more chapters have been written since those days, and this past weekend I was honored to make a small contribution to their story from behind the lens.

I have a dream.

A ring marks the site of Yiaway's proposal to Cecilia.

Cecilia and Yiaway both have public service deeply rooted in their core.

I can't resist a setting sun as an opportunity to compose a silhouette.

Bon voyage. Pack lots of Snickers.

Photographer versus Videographer

[Patience. The clip takes a few seconds to start.]

I've experienced my fair share of annoying videographers while shooting weddings, so I can somewhat empathize.

Something about this incident smells like a hoax to me, especially because the video guy taping the whole ordeal is left alone. Any Russian speakers want to translate what is being said on the clip?

The head photographer is most likely an amateur, because the posing and selection of background is pretty suspect. He is also dressed a bit casually for a professional, but I always try to look beyond those things. There are far more important indicators of professionalism beyond the way one dresses.

the end of summer

Perhaps it is all the years spent in school, but September always seems to bring an air of new beginnings. Summers are surely fun, but a fresh start is always reason for excitement. Good or bad, the past is just the past. Thankfully, the end of summer also means the end of a bad (but catchy) song about California girls on heavy rotation. Still not sure why Snoop Dogg is on that track.

In some sense, a new beginning is a lot like holding a pair of aces. Excitement brews within. Potential is a thrilling prospect, but nothing is a sure winner in life. Lofty expectations that are unmet can become an even bigger curse in their own right. Each hand has to be played out until the end. And if we are lucky, win or lose, we will be dealt another hand.

Another page turned, another page bursting with new hopes and fears waiting to be written. But for a moment, the page remains blank.

Often it is hard to turn that freshly minted page without taking one more look back. Like the slightly longer last shower of summer, where all the bits of fun, hope, disappointment, and sorrow are washed away without bias and spiral slowly down the drain, thoughts marinate for a few moments longer before entering the recesses of the complicated human mind. Despite our greatest desires and attempts, the past cannot be edited, deleted, or rewritten.

The past should be processed but not held onto, a delicate balance that might only be attainable in theory. In reality, people swing towards the extremes. Some refuse to loosen their tightly clenched grip on the past. It consumes them. Others live a relatively mindless existence, sealing their destiny to repeat the mistakes of the past. If there are lessons to be learned, they should be learned. However, dwelling too long can ultimately hinder the purpose of lessons learned- to apply them to the future.

What lies ahead awaits. And for now, a moment of reflection keeps tomorrow at bay.

beginning or end?

Not every story has a happy ending. That's just life.

All you can do is try to smile and hope it's just the end of a paragraph or chapter.

The rest of the book is waiting to be written.

Washington DC Under Moonlight

Living so close to the nation's capital, there is a tendency to overlook what the little city has to offer. For years I ignored the "touristy" spots until friends rolled through, but recently, I have come to enjoy the unique aspects of DC on a more regular basis.

A highly symbolic city, the District of Columbia has been thoughtfully laid out, constructed, and dotted with memorials, monuments, museums, and government offices. Tax money keeps this place afloat, and I never thought that system was particularly fair to those Americans who live too far away to enjoy DC more than a couple times. That belief has helped temper my annoyance at the throngs of tourists who infest the city cyclically without fail. Especially during my years working downtown, I used to seethe at the sight of visitors clogging up the wrong side of the escalators at Metro stops and then subsequently packing the trains during rush hour. It is not fun to step out to lunch in the middle of a busy work day to find hoards of people who are out and about having fun. Never mind the pain of having to wear a suit during the ultra humid DC summers. Unplanned and unintended cruelty at its finest.

Washington DC has been photographed many times by tourists and professionals. I gave up some sleep in this attempt to put my own spin on a place that has been shot to death. I even waited for a clear night under a full moon (adds illumination). I don't believe in trying to be different for the sake of being different. That reminds me of the ironic expression of teenage angst as rebellion and in general counter cultural movements. A person wants to be a rebel, but if everyone else wants to be a rebel, where is the rebellion in that? I find the worst types of work to be produced by people who are trying too hard to be artsy which is sometimes synonymous with trying to be different.

There is no doubt that there is something different about artists. They are actually kind of weird and can even be a bit lazy. I don't believe there are many true artists in this world (even less great ones), and I have no illusions about myself. There are certainly lots of weird people masquerading as artists though. In the end, these strange cats churn out work that looks artificial and unoriginal and saddest of all, not genuine.

Just do you. I tell myself that many times a day. It took a while for me to figure out what "you" actually was. And every now and then, I'm still not certain, but I like that. It keeps me on my toes.

[Two-Headed Penny]

This last shot is my personal favorite. It is a soft reflection of the Washington Monument off one of the marble panels that make up the Vietnam Memorial.

Random Thoughts

I have aggressively pursued photography, and I feel comfortable with where I am right now. That being said, I am satisfied with my progress but am fully aware that I am very far from where I want to be.

One point that continues to get reinforced is that the average person cannot tell the difference between good and bad photography. Spend some time browsing photos and reading comments on facebook, photography forums, and blogs, and it will quickly become evident that the masses don't want toro. They want bad California rolls and imitation crab. There are lots of vendors too.

In general, photographers love talking smack about other photographers. I am ok with this from time to time, but photographers who have no idea what they are doing (who technically haven't even earned the right to call themselves photographers) also partake in this cherished pastime. And the internet has given them a pseudo-platform. Yawn. I love it when someone who has an entry-level DSLR (freshly removed from a box) lectures others on the finer points of photography.

One of my initial goals when starting off was to get good enough so that people could tell I was more than a hobbyist. I now realize that type of validation from the masses is easy to achieve and quite pointless. As cliched as it may sound, I only want to be the best that I can be. Simple. Meaningful. Technically an unreachable goal. Just the way I like it.

I will work on getting better images.

I will let my images speak for themselves.

Over the weekend, I followed a webcast of a rising star photographer who streamed live footage of herself shooting a wedding and discussing it before and after. It takes some serious cajones to do something like that. I don't think she is a master photographer, but she really knows how to market and sell. Not sure her photography alone is worth her $7500 base rate, but if you believe in selling someone an "experience," then I suppose it could be justified. It's always interesting to see someone do their thing, and I am grateful for people in the industry who like to share knowledge.

At present, I feel like I am in a bit of limbo. I've waited to launch a website for a number of reasons, and some of those reasons seem to be no longer valid. Without a website, I have no identity as a photographer. I cannot market myself properly or possibly at all. This must change. Soon.

Photography is an interesting field, and one with lots of landmines that need to be defused or stepped around altogether. If your foot is already on one, it probably makes sense to work on defusing it. Hopefully you learn how to stay out of bad situations in the future.

a 91 year old in 25 frames

My grandmother was born in 1919. That makes her 91 years old. She has led an incredible and interesting life, and I enjoy spending time with her and gleaning little snippets about her experiences. Life hasn't always been easy for her, but it is a great joy and inspiration to see her in good health and spirits.

My grandmother is a North Korean refugee who currently resides in South Korea, as are many Koreans of her generation. In the mid 1940s, the Soviet-backed Communist government started to seize personal property, so many people just decided to sell what they had and headed south. My family was one of them. My grandmother's account of escaping the North with three children is very sobering. I can visualize her walking in the darkness carrying her youngest, an 8 month old, on her back, and holding the hands of her other two small children. Hiding during the day, sleeping in stables, moving at night, paying guides, bribing border guards, the story of my grandmother's escape is something that I can hardly relate to, but it is an undeniable part of my family history. An arduous trek like that doesn't come without its share of losses, and my grandmother quietly recounted the last time she saw her younger brother. Somewhere between Pyongyang and Seoul, she lost her brother. For a while she had hope that he might be alive somewhere despite first-hand accounts of his death.

Through these images I hope to share a different type of refugee experience. While there may always be an innately human longing for "home" in all of us, I find the plight of refugees who long for a home that no longer exists particularly tragic. However, surviving and adapting successfully is a beautiful part of a refugee's story. As I learned more about my grandmother's story, it was hard for me not to sit in awe. How could such a small 91 year old woman have experienced and endured so much?

As an American, I relate more to the Jersey Shore than anything happening on the Korean peninsula, but I still like to understand my past and pay respect to the threads of history that are a part of my fabric. As I embarked on this photography project, I knew it would be hard to separate my personal emotion and respect for my grandmother from a clear critique of these images, but I have tried my best to select my favorite 25 frames.

On a rooftop in the heart of downtown Seoul, my grandmother has been pushing the green movement long before it was fashionable to do so.

I used to work for a humanitarian aid organization, and during my travels, I was able to bring back a stone from where my grandmother's home used to be in Pyongyang. She touches the stone each night before she goes to bed and sleeps with it under her pillow. It is the closest she will ever get to seeing her home again.

[On the Road]

When she woke up from her nap, I was pleasantly surprised to hear my grandmother suggest that we head out to get her hair done. My grandmother has been very adamant about not using canes to get around, but at the equally stubborn behest of those around her, she has started to utilize the canes once in a while. It is hard to fault my grandmother for her stubbornness and pride, because it is probably that resiliency which allowed her to carry on through the adversity in her life. Now I know where I get it from. You call it stubborn, we call it resilient.

[Waiting at the Hair Salon]

The hair dresser had stepped out for a bit, so we decided to head back home.

Narrow streets litter the landscape of Seoul, but if there is room for a truck, there should always be room for a 91 year old woman.

[Back on the Road]

To my unborn child, my grandmother wanted to share the following:

1. Study hard

2. Grow up to be strong

I found the order of this a bit interesting, and I pressed her to say more to my kid. She responded that she would like to see my son one day before she says more. I hope they both get that chance.

---

I don't know how many more times I will get to see my grandmother, but I feel fortunate to have spent quality time with her thus far. Though I have many memories, the following prose will always capture my favorite moment.

Sleeping next to my grandmother is priceless.


She lays out a blanket and pillow for me in her room. While visiting, jet lag often keeps me from sleeping well at night, so I will glance over at the rhythmic rise and fall of her little frame. I find it strangely therapeutic.


At the end of one of my humanitarian aid monitoring trips, I brought my grandmother a bottle of Pyongyang soju, a traditional Korean liquor from her hometown. My grandmother does not drink, but she poured me a shot. I returned the favor. She carefully lifted her cup, and I followed. She softly cried out, 'as I think of my home....' and then downed the contents. Her face immediately scrunched up due to the strength of the alcohol.


I will never forget my grandmother's face in that moment, the picture of unquenchable yearning. I was able to momentarily feel that longing she had for a home that she could never return to, a home she has not seen in over 50 years. I quietly listened to her dwindling hope that maybe, just maybe, despite word-of-mouth reports to the contrary, her younger brother was alive somewhere in the North. I will never know this kind of sorrow. But I unfortunately live with the knowledge that my grandmother's hometown no longer exists, as it was obliterated during the War.


The night gently wraps us like a blanket. I close my eyes and listen. I synchronize my breaths to hers. When she gently exhales, she breathes as if to push life into my still and quiet body.


I dare not breathe too deeply in fear of taking more than she is capable of giving and as not to disturb this delicate balance of tranquility.


This is peace.


This is life.