Painting with Light

Literally and figuratively

Photography in the ’60s was very involving to say the least and extremely interactive; between the photographer, the camera, and the subject and made more complicated by the adage “whatever the angle is, there is a better one.” Every session, every event, excited one’s passion, and it was as rewarding as it was exhausting.

Because photography could be quite expensive especially for an unemployed student, the choices in the medium were dictated more by circumstance. That being said I stuck to black and white photography, rationalizing to myself that it was more dramatic but also it was affordable and technically the limit of my photo processing know-how. But indeed black and white photography had a drama all its own.

That the photographer has to balance a range of gray scales by manipulating the aperture and speed of the camera in relation to the ASA of the film, and emphasizing an area in the subject by factoring the depth of field, is enough to turn the photographer’s perception completely inward and remain there at all times. Without becoming aware of how it actually happens, the photographer becomes an observer — detached from his subject, living in a mental construct of calculations and angles, painting life with light, and unintentionally ceasing to be a participant in the life around him. This is how I found myself in “My Black and White World.”

A lonely world you might say, but it was a satisfying world; it was artistically rewarding, passion-consuming, insight-driven, and most of all you could not feel the ‘hurts’ in life because you were detached from it. But one could still say I have the benefit of observing it, and pretend to experience the ‘hurts’ vicariously — a photographer’s neat make-believe life that comes with its own perks, a sort of untouchability, unreachableness, a shielded world. And having embarked on a life of celibacy, this shield served as barrier enough for insulation from the beating arrows of love and the consequential complications of romantic involvement.

The unfolding drama, a nation in turmoil, a history being written daily from the center Manila and expanding to the rest of the islands in the ’60s and early ’70s was every photographer’s dream scenario. I happened to be in the periphery of this dream, nibbling as it were at the fringes as I ran around making sure not to be caught in the tempest.

In the tempest, in front of Philippine Congress as I focused with a telephoto lens on the student leaders making their speeches, I was surprised to recognize old faces from grade school, classmates, in fact, leading the charge. And as it later turned out, not so surprisingly, they were all protégés of a friend Prof. Charlie A, the ‘godfather’ as it were of student activism in the Catholic Schools, and who was also a professor at their college then. In the crowd were more friends and acquaintances, everyone milling around feeling good to be there and exchanging stories and pleasantries. A new world was being born, and was unfolding, full of excitement, expectation, and promise. A world I started documenting for a couple of years, taking me to so many places, under some very strange circumstances. I met very interesting people, encountered dramatic events, saw the seedy side of life as well as the uplifting and the inspiring.

The stage was set, the players ready, the action began, click, click, click., an avocation came to life.

Painting with light with a camera produces images that in turn show light inside to awaken what is originally there, challenging a response to the unfolding Now. A symbiotic, iterative relationship between the world and the beholder, incessantly producing reconstructed reality on paper. When viewed by the beholder, it again reproduces reconstructed images within. And the process starts all over, in an eternal cycle called Life.

Paint me a picture, paint me a life, mister photographer, pretty please.

Luke Abaya ‘11’19’08