yesternights

I meant to start with a bang. I figured, how else could I launch a photo blog, but with photos? Unfortunately, I have yet to get my rolls from La Holga's maiden voyage developed, so that will have to wait until Wednesday or Thursday, provided any of those 36 pictures turn out okay. (If you wanted to know, I'm using a Holga 120GN with an external Holgon Strobe Flash and a Colorsplash Flash. My life happens at night; I need the extra lighting. And as of September/October 2007, an LC-A+, a Fisheye, and a golden Diana+.)

So why is this here?

It's here because I can remember days when I used to look at pictures and see stories within them. It could be anything, someone's face, a box of cookies, a picture of my high school's "Secret Garden," and I could find something in it to write about. And I would write, whether pseudopoetry, short essays, little stories, or similar prose. I liked the idea of that, and I miss the days of visual inspiration.

It's here because I want those days back, and I'm going to get them back, hopefully with the help of La Holga the Nameless, my new friend. (I tend to name my gadgets after musicians I love, but I have yet to think of someone worthy. My first iPod was named Maynard, my current iPod is Bowie, my iBook is Molko, and my Canon EOS 350D is Trent Reznor. Go figure.)

I like the total lack of control you get with a LOMO, the Holga most of all. You can talk about the difficult shutter speeds or the limited focus and aperture, but what I like most about it is that its viewfinder is pretty much useless and you have no idea what you're going to get when your prints arrive. You know what you're seeing, but you don't know what the hunk of plastic in your hands sees. Maybe, and most likely, what it sees is incredibly different from what you think is there.

I like the unpredictability. I like the spontaneity. I like the idea that most, if not all, of my first three rolls are probably going to be dark, underexposed crap, but I have seven more in the fridge that are waiting for me to try again. And again, and again. That's what I like.

I like that I can fail at this and it will be completely okay. I like that whatever beauty comes of it will not be because of me, but because of the cheap plastic object in my hands and the quirks in its 2500 peso mechanism. I like that it allows me to make mistakes, because these are things that I wouldn't feel comfortable with in all other aspects of my life. I don't have to be so high-strung with this little project, and that makes me happy.

As a reminder: all the words are mine unless otherwise specified, and all the photos definitely belong to me. I'm pretty sure they're not going to be that great, so you can't possibly want them, but all the same, ask first, and never forget to credit.

With that, I bid you welcome to my Yesternights and Nevers Again.



Kiss kiss,
Regina

When I ditched blogging a couple of months back, I thought I'd have a ridiculously hard time trying to wean myself off it. I got so used to sharing myself and my life with friends that it was starting to get pretty lonely.

I'd given up Lomography a while back as well. I got so into Lomo in 2007 because I was bored. I couldn't make music, I couldn't draw or paint, I couldn't couldn't couldn't write, and I just wanted to do something that I had no control over so I wouldn't have to agonize about the results and how awful they were. Lomo. You point, you shoot, you hope to God that there was enough light for a decent exposure, and if there wasn't, it wasn't your fault, it was the camera. And if you magically get a great shot, it was all you baby, all you. It was gratifying in an incredibly uninvolved way.

After a while, though, I realized that throwing caution to the wind and hoping for the best was getting old, so I picked up my SLR again and started making a greater effort to control my results. The funny thing is, after a while it ended up being more satisfying than Lomographic gratification. I could look at a good picture I'd taken and really, really know that it was good because I made it good, and not because I got lucky or because my camera's lens was coated with whatever and built to oversaturate.

The excitement I used to feel every time my developed rolls would arrive in the mail was replaced by an excitement to plug my SLR into Aperture and see what magic I could work to make good pictures a little better. Lomography was complete anarchy, digital was a disciplined freedom. I like having a bit of both every now and then.

And ever since I started doing Project 365 in January, I've been pretty much completely devoted to digital photography.

It's interesting, but in lieu of writing about my life for an audience, taking pictures is equally (if not even more) gratifying. I feel like it's safer than words.

To cut a long story short, I've been photoblogging daily on Tumblr. A piece of my life every single day; sometimes it makes sense, sometimes it doesn't, sometimes it's a picture of my boyfriend's band. They're obviously a little more abstract than text posts, but they're definitely me. And doing it is so fulfilling; it's such a wonderful learning process.

I can't believe I just used a My Chemical Romance lyric. Why.

Anyway, I haven't shot Lomo in a long, long time. In all likelihood, I won't be shooting Lomo for a long time. That ship has sailed. I still write, I still take pictures. I'm just not so sure I want to share any of it anymore because shit happened and nowadays, I'm afraid to put stuff up that isn't friendslocked to the people I really know.

You can delete me from your friends lists if you are so inclined. Thank you for reading my attempts at writing and enjoying my photographs. I'm on deviantART: yesternights. Take care.

Berchmans Hall, Ateneo de Manila University, October 2007
    When they told me you died, all I could think of were the things I forgot to tell you. The Biology homework wasn't as hard as you thought, and it's due next week, not this week. I've got all the answers written in my notebook so you can copy them.

    When they told me you died, all I could think of were the things I forgot to tell you. I liked that shirt you wore the other day. It made you look like a nice boy, and though that's probably not what you wanted for your reputation, I loved it. You looked like a boy to warm a mother's heart.

    When they told me you died, all I could think of were the things I forgot to tell you. That night it rained and I got drunk in your car and you held me was the best night of my life. I felt your touch on my skin, your fingers in my hair. I heard your sweet words. I wasn't that drunk.

    When they told me you died, all I could think of were the things I forgot to tell you. Like thank you, for all those times I cried my heart out about silly things and you didn't laugh at me or tell me that my concerns were petty and unimportant. They weren't, and you always knew.

    When they told me you died, all I could think of were the things I forgot to tell you. Like how you made me happy. Like how you and your words and your smile and your voice and your laugh and your everything were beautiful to me.

    When they told me you died, all I could think of were the things I forgot to tell you. Like I love you.

<3 at the Revolver Anniversary, Café SaGuijo, 8 September 2007

    I met Jason in December of 2005. My uncle asked me to review a couple of CDs for his music magazine, and having nothing better to do with my time, I agreed. Jason was the magazine's music editor, and he was the guy I got my CDs from. I was a fan of his bands, and being virtually shameless, I asked him for a pair of those big, white-rimmed sunglasses one of his bands wears in all their videos. We met up for coffee, he gave me my sunglasses, and we became friends.

( The story of my life. Cut for length. )