Europe, Part 1: Paris, France

Analog images from the first stop on our honeymoon: The City of Light.

Sept. 29-Oct. 3, 2016. 

Unreal City

Manila feels at times, simultaneously, like a post-apocalyptic New York, a Latin-infused Bangkok, and a less topographically diverse Rio de Janeiro (there are no elegant beaches gently caressing the ghettos). It is sprawling and diverse and economically stratified, with most of the stratification falling on the extreme lower end of the scale.

And the years of colonialism (Spanish, American) seem to have taken a toll on the cultural identity of the city. Almost all of the signs and advertisements are in English, not Tagalog, and it takes genuine legwork to find an authentic Filipino restaurant with traditional Filipino cuisine, while Spanish, Korean, and American establishments abound. Both in Manila and its extremities, American pop music dominates the musical landscape. One of the main modes of public transportation, Jeepneys, are decorous, Mad Max-ish, modified contraptions created from the bones of American military jeeps left in Manila after the Second World War. It is a melting pot that seems to have boiled over long ago, leaving a thick, seething, almost impermeable crust over a deep, rich, native cultural identity.

And while wading through this thick, seething crust, it is impossible not to see the confounding cultural impact of America's imperialist economic influence throughout the city. There's a 7-11 on every other corner, and no shortage of Subways, Pizza Huts, Hilton's, or MacDonald's.

And it's impossible not to remember that this is the nation we chose to experiment on. This is the petri dish where we cultured and grew our neo-imperialist foreign policies. This is where we discovered that American culture, not American military power is the single most dominant weapon in our national arsenal. This is the nation we conquered and then released, under the guise of democratic freedom, with the intent of economic domination through finance, business, and pop culture.

Perfect Sunsets

Photography, at its best, is an exploration into the essence of a thing. Photography, at its worst, is false advertising.

What do you see in this image? How do you imagine the scene just outside the frame? What do you feel? And, most importantly, what do you want to feel?

Would you believe that there are thousands of tourists standing on the beach just behind my camera, all jockeying, selfie sticks and tripods in hand, for the same perfect sunset shot? How would you possibly know that almost all of us, myself very much included, upon arriving at this unbelievably beautiful scene, after a frustrating day of traveling, were extremely disappointed, truly bummed by the overwhelming amounts of other tourists on the scene? That we were disappointed because all we saw were paradisiacal pictures like this beforehand, like the saturated, idyllic shots we all posted on our iPhones shortly after, all geotagged and hashtagged "Boracay", without any of the crowds or clutter, but with plenty of perfect sunsets, smiling faces, and turquoise waters?

In this digital age of instant gratification, are we fascinated by the sun setting over the tropical horizon? Or are we fascinated by the idea of others knowing that we are fascinated by the sun setting over the tropical horizon? Is this even close to the the truth, to the complexity of our daily human experience? Do we mention the clamoring, jostling crowds and the smell of piss and garbage in the interior streets? Do we mention the five-year-olds sleeping alone in the shadows of a 711 overflowing with wealthy tourists, with us, splurging on booze and candy and tobacco? Do we attempt to share the wide array of disappointments, uncertainties, and fear that riddle our lives? Are our feeds attempting to tell the whole story? And if not, why not? And if not, what are we trying to sell? And who exactly are we trying to sell it to? And why are we even trying to sell it in the first place?

Photography, at its best, is an exploration into the essence of a thing. Photography, at its worst, is false advertising.