I love this photo. The person on the left took a photo of the two men. After taking the photo, she showed them the photo and they all gathered around her LCD screen to look at the photo that had just been taken.
When I first started taking photographs, I learned with a Pentax K1000 film SLR. There was no instant feedback. In fact, if I didn’t shoot an entire roll of film in a day, it could be a week or longer before I knew whether I had taken any good photos. Now that we have instant feedback, we take a photo and then check to see how it turned out and often decide immediately whether it is worth keeping.
An unintended side effect, however, is that we gather around our cameras to see how good, or not good, we looked in the photo. Community built on LCD screens? Maybe.
It’s not really fair. Buddha, above, has an advantage in the meditation game: he’s a statue.
I’ve tried it. I’ve tried finding a still, small, quiet space in the world to sit still, quietly, and make myself small in the grand scheme of the world. I’ve tried praying, meditating, contemplating, but I have a great deal of difficulty. I can’t shut off me. If I were concrete, if I had been formed somewhere by an artisan or a concrete mold and there were no thoughts going on inside my head, I might be better at sitting still and finding a quiet place to think about life, about the things that really matter.
Either way, Buddha always has the advantage.
The technique here is to turn the camera upside-down and rest the bottom of the camera on the ceiling of the vehicle in which you’re riding. The camera is inverted. Your camera will turn everything back right-side-up afterwards.
This way, I always get the ceiling reflection and the people in the train.
This was shot on an airport transfer train of the Kuala Lumpur International Airport.
I remember being this age. I thought I knew everything. I knew that I knew more than everyone else, at least. I felt like the world was waiting for me. My boys, my friends, were the only thing that was important to me.
Man…I knew nothing back then.
I never thought I’d miss the sky. I grew up in rural Saskatchewan, and I was never short of blue sky. Even in the winters, we’d have more hours of clear, cold blue sky than most people get in a really nice summer. When I moved to British Columbia, the Vancouver area, I gave up a lot of that blue sky. But when it wasn’t raining, the sky was blue. Azure. At times, almost sapphire.
Then I moved to Jakarta. There are moments when the sky is blue. Sometimes, when I’m outside swimming I can look up and see a little spot of blue, between the gray-brown-white-ish clouds. The geography of Jakarta lends itself to a sort of mixing bowl effect. When you add together the ingredients of twenty-some million people, millions of cars and motorcycles, a lack of good sanitation, and a low-lying city surrounded by hills, you get a nearly complete lack of blue sky.
When I visited Palu, there were kilometers in every direction of blue sky. Spectacular. Totally amazing. I miss blue sky.