Seoul. My Mother was a child there, and her youth was once the present day. What did that young girl see? Which cast-off glances, what sounds and shifts in the breeze would prove formative, shape the color of her thoughts for a lifetime? Eighteenth century German poet Georg Philipp Friedrich Freiherr von Hardenberg wrote, in response to the question of the real direction of our lives: "I am always going home, always to my father's house." Where is that mythical place, and when do we shape it? When was it real?
There is a certain variety of morning sunlight I absolutely treasure. I do so because it's similar to the sunlight which wafted in to the Downey apartment. All I can remember is how I felt looking at it, a sense of comfort in those hard warm shadows, the knowledge that loving parents were nearby; in the next room cooking, painting, laughing, talking. Playing piano. I will always favor second-story windows which face a canopy of deciduous tree leaves, for no other reason besides the fact there was one when I was small. It was the first window I can remember. The early days of life, the first outlines, which we spend a lifetime filling in.
Seoul, as you may know, was built up very quickly in the Eighties, at which point my mother and her family would already have left the country, in search of a more stable life elsewhere; the city I photographed in the last days of 2011 was no doubt a very different one from what she experienced. Walking past the outdoor markets, the hilltop housing, the downtown park, monuments and elementary schools which have stood the test of time, the flavor of a nation in a mechanic's busy stall… what of these did she see? What was ordinary? Certainly there are echoes still, today.
I was casting about for memories I don't have. But which I cherish anyway. It is our nature.
These images are less about technical brilliance than echoes, the glance of a waking dream. As with every image on this site, these are all 35mm analogue, with no digital alterations.
Enjoy!
There is a certain variety of morning sunlight I absolutely treasure. I do so because it's similar to the sunlight which wafted in to the Downey apartment. All I can remember is how I felt looking at it, a sense of comfort in those hard warm shadows, the knowledge that loving parents were nearby; in the next room cooking, painting, laughing, talking. Playing piano. I will always favor second-story windows which face a canopy of deciduous tree leaves, for no other reason besides the fact there was one when I was small. It was the first window I can remember. The early days of life, the first outlines, which we spend a lifetime filling in.
Seoul, as you may know, was built up very quickly in the Eighties, at which point my mother and her family would already have left the country, in search of a more stable life elsewhere; the city I photographed in the last days of 2011 was no doubt a very different one from what she experienced. Walking past the outdoor markets, the hilltop housing, the downtown park, monuments and elementary schools which have stood the test of time, the flavor of a nation in a mechanic's busy stall… what of these did she see? What was ordinary? Certainly there are echoes still, today.
I was casting about for memories I don't have. But which I cherish anyway. It is our nature.
These images are less about technical brilliance than echoes, the glance of a waking dream. As with every image on this site, these are all 35mm analogue, with no digital alterations.
Enjoy!
