From the nearby mountain of Suthep to the one-mile-square Old City walls, Chiang Mai is filled with temples.
I record everything at first. The traffic. The mud. Tourist stalls. Crunching gravel slicing high on makeshift concrete mixers. Honking horns. Competing karaoke cover bands. Everything is novel, and I soak it in.
As is my way, I began close to my new home base, wandering in slow concentric circles. I like to be on the edge of the familiar—as far out as I can, just as far as that last thread of connection will take me. One foot knows the way home. The other itches for un-trod ground.
Slowly, as the initial glut of colour and sound begins to receed, my filming becomes more conscious. More paced. I start waiting. Listening.
I’m here in search of something. What, exactly, I’m in the process of unraveling. I’ve brought my camera, my most prized possession—not for its metal and pixels, but for its process. When I don’t understand my world, the camera is where I turn to make sense of things. The simple act of composition helps me to slow down and listen. The weight of the camera as a physical and psychological presence forces me to be attentive to the rhythms of a place, to its heartbeat. As I do, things start to come into focus.
This time is a bit different. I’m feeling unsettled for some reason. Every other trip like this, I’ve had some kind of guide. It could be a project for which I’m filming, a local fixer, a common cultural base or something as simple as a Lonely Planet book. These guides create a safe zone, a picture frame within which the rest of the action can take place. Here in Nepal I have no guide. The action can happen in any direction, across a culture I don’t yet understand. And that’s already played itself out.
The karaoke bars and blaring horns are the first tip. I unintentionally landed in the midst of a tourist ghetto to start my trip. Thamel is a small corner of Kathmandu, and admittedly it’s more a reflection of western consumption than of anything Nepali. Hospitality and friendliness still shine through, but the place has an ugly social veneer, westerners rabidly feeding at the trough of exotic trinkets. Manipulative and degrading human behaviour are on display in locals and visitors alike.
The more serious discovery is that I’m afraid. I’ve put myself so far to the edge of my abilities that I’m overwhelmed, and I’m using my camera to cope. Instead of using it to create something beautiful, I’ve been using it as a shield against the powerful emotions bubbling up in the chaos. I’m observing without the deeper human connection that I’m truly here to participate in.
Filming is a solitary experience. That’s what drew me to it. The camera is a way to process complex experiences into a series of micro-moments. I can be surrounded by a crowd of thousands, yet behind the camera I have a quiet corner all to myself. I’m an observer rather than a participant. And on this trip it means I’m on a different journey than many of the travellers I’m bumping into. We chat in coffee shops and share stories over dinner, and then go our separate ways. My slow, observational pace means shared itineraries are incompatible. Travelling solo, with my camera, has led to a certain kind of isolation that is colouring my experience.
It makes me wonder about the wisdom of bringing my camera. The slow meditative process is wonderful for enabling absorption of the deeper elements of what I’m seeing. Yet by its very presence it’s changing my experience. A twist in my stomach makes me wonder if I’m missing what I would otherwise see if the camera were not here.
At the same time it’s unlocked doors. Outside the dusty corners of Thamel, people are genuinely curious and often pleased to have the lens turned in their direction. It creates a conversation and a friendly exchange, one of the things that I find sacred about filmmaking. The camera opens doors that are otherwise closed to outsiders.
And it’s given me something to share back with you. The sonic landscape of the place, the visual texture, the emotional tapestry is impossible to communicate using only the fragile lattice of language. Moving images can in a small way transport you to see with not only your eyes but your heart what I’m seeing as I travel.
I came to Nepal wanting to listen. Within the first few days, not only what I’m listening for, but my way of listening is in question. It’s is a place that changes you, people say. I think that’s at least in part because people come here to be changed. There’s something to it, though. There’s a feeling to this place that’s both ancient and friendly that interrupts my expectations. Inside the stone walls and bright colours is a heartbeat, something special and unique. And I want to keep listening.
I’m continuing to publish thoughts from Nepal while I’m back in Vancouver. Thanks for everyone’s concern re: the recent trekking tragedy in the Annapurna region. My thoughts and best wishes go out to those who’ve been affected.
I have so many stories to tell.
About the time I lost my way to Chhomrong. About the family that stops for tea and poetry, three generations reliving the grandfather’s journey. About the change the altitude & mountains force on those who climb it. For now I’ll let the pictures say what they can about my trek into the Annapurna Sanctuary.
The first few days were spent in Kathmandu. It’s a smoky, dusty, smelly group of old cities, a place growing in on itself and over its own history. It’s a fascinating mish-mash of culture, tourism, poverty and growth.
The Ascent Begins
I was glad to get up into the mountains. Life is very different up here. Everything to sustain life is carried by another living thing. The trek is hard, thousands of metres of vertical—over 6,800m total once you count the ups and downs. It’s one of the most physically difficult things I’ve ever accomplished, in no small part because of the heavy camera I carried to take these images.
Into the Green
The lower reaches of the trek are all green, verdant jungle. Rhododendron gives way to bamboo which fades into other shades of green. Strange birds and insects chirp alongside the constant rush of the Modi Khola. Everywhere is water, the trail snaking its way through and around its etchings in the rock.
Climbing into Clouds
The alpine only makes its appearance above 3500 metres, the jungle clinging high to the valley walls. As you ascend, green slowly disappears into horizons of blue, black and orange.
Turning the Corner
And then the mountains appear. Approaching Machhapuchhre Base Camp (the last stop before the top), you turn a corner into the final ascent to ABC.
The Final Climb
My last climb was late in the day, shrouded in fog through the alpine valley that leads up to the Camp. I could see nothing of what was about to open up around me. I went for a cold sleep and awoke for sunrise, and the result was truly breathtaking.
Small in a Big World
Getting up to Annapurna Base Camp is a kind of pilgrimage. It’s long slog through jungle and rough trails. For me, doubly so: I was solo with a heavy pack, alone on the trail without a guide, porter or familiar friends. Arriving at the top is hard to express. In everyone it induces a kind of silent awe, sitting amongst a sanctuary that reminds us of our smallness.
Friends Along the Way
One of the surprising highlights for me was just how many friends I made on the trek. I’m a quiet person, more likely to observe at first than to join in. This experience was different. After several hours of focused concentration on the trail, the downtime in the lodges became openly social, meeting new friends and sharing stories. I met some fascinating people along the way, some of whose stories I hope to tell.
Blue and Gold
The last day before the descent was spent wandering up to the glacier and taking in the immensity and scale of the mountain peaks that surround us. We came up 4000m, and yet the peaks around stretch twice that height. They feel close enough to touch. When a helicopter comes to rescue someone from altitude sickness, the scale of the place becomes apparent as he flies away for several minutes without reaching the mountain walls.
The place is magnificent and attractive in a mysterious and quiet way. I don’t want to leave. Eventually the body has to give into the punishment of the same steps in reverse, and I step back into the green and away from the mountaintops.
The Last Stop
The final night for many is in Jhinu, the hotsprings below Chhomrong. It’s the first chance for physical relaxation after a gruelling descent. Trekkers, porters, guides and hosts alike all join in the post-accomplishment party. This particular dance party broke out at dinner and continued late into the night.
A desktop wallpaper of the Kigali Airport, on approach.
After a shoot earlier in the year for the newly opened downtown Robert Lee YMCA, I was brought back to re-work the brand imagery for a further three of the YMCA’s family centres in Greater Vancouver.
After a shoot earlier in the year for the newly opened downtown Robert Lee YMCA, I was brought back to re-work the brand imagery for a further three of the YMCA’s family centres in Greater Vancouver. The deadline was tight (aren’t they all?). Over 5000 images shot over the last two days in time for a dozen selects, processed and ready for release tonight. Here are a few of my favourites.
What I love about shooting for the YMCA is there is such a great community vibe. Each of the centres has its own flavour & feel, and at each place the volunteers and members are more than willing to jump in and help out. Everyone featured in these photos (and for the previous RLY shoot) is someone who is part of the YMCA community in some way. There are no professional models. While this poses some problems in terms of getting advertising-ready images out of the shoot, it also lends an authentic feel to the images. I love how these turned out, and I’m looking forward to more upcoming work with the YMCA in the new year.
A fresh wallpaper for a crisp month. Click the image to download the full-size file.
What does it take to create a visual story that moves people? Vision in Motion is an eBook written to answer that question. Using images from real-world productions, we talk some about the equipment, process & technique required to put your vision in motion.
I’ve been itching to tell everyone about this for months… and the day’s finally here! I’ve written an eBook for readers interested in stepping into the world of motion picture storytelling. The full title is Vision in Motion: A Photographer’s Introduction to Digital Video, and it’s available for $5 from Craft and Vision (Just $4 if you use the discount code MOTION4 before June 27th).
Though targeted at photographers, the eBook is for anyone who’s interested in the world of motion picture storytelling. With the explosion of video-capable stills cameras, many are considering dipping their toes into moving images. But while there are many resources out there on how to operate a video camera, what does it take to create a visual story that moves people? We talk some about gear, but mostly about process. What is story? How do you build a story? How do you connect images together to build towards a climax? What are the differences between composing a shot for a still image vs. motion?
It’s tough to pack all that into one eBook, but feedback so far has been positive. It’s gotten people excited to give video a try and get started with motion pictures storytelling. Go check it out!