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Photography, poetry, and musings by Emily Ung.

Posts in Kodak Portra 400
#19 – Bright Blue.

Nikon F90 | Kodak Portra 400

Another set of film photographs I took back in September – on a day I journeyed from university to Carriageworks in Eveleigh for Sydney Contemporary, Australasia’s international art fair.

It was my first time at Sydney Contemporary, but it certainly lived up to my expectations. It was mind-blowingly amazing – perpetually getting lost among complex and conceptual pieces. (I didn’t take any film photographs of the artworks, but you can catch a glimpse of them here)

Nikon F90 | Kodak Portra 400

Nikon F90 | Kodak Portra 400

Nikon F90 | Kodak Portra 400

Nikon F90 | Kodak Portra 400

Nikon F90 | Kodak Portra 400

Nikon F90 | Kodak Portra 400

Nikon F90 | Kodak Portra 400

Nikon F90 | Kodak Portra 400

Nikon F90 | Kodak Portra 400

Nikon F90 | Kodak Portra 400

Whole

I like long walks –

And your company

Was an extension of me. 

 

 

With love,

Emily.

#18 – (Dis)integrate.

Nikon F90 | Kodak Portra 400

(Dis)intergrate

I wish to melt into a puddle

Of my blood, sweat and tears;

To wash away my sin with your guilt

(Or lack thereof); To rid myself

Of doubt and fear.

 

Because – at this point and

In this very moment –

I have fueled more hate and distaste

Than love and life

In my being, and the only way

To relieve me is the one thing

I am unknown to.

 

My shortcomings fill

This tall tunnel I stand in

And my disappointment stares

Me in the face and dares

To tear apart all I stand for.

Even in this lack of light

I see my failures with clarity –

And nothing scares me more

Because I don’t know what I stand for

Anymore.

 

 

With love,

Emily.

#17 – Postcards.

Nikon F90 | Kodak Portra 400

To

To write a postcard is to say,

“I miss you,”

In every possible way –

I wish you had stayed.

Nikon F90 | Fujifilm Superia 400

Nikon F90 | Fujifilm Superia 400

Nikon F90 | Fujifilm Superia 400

Nikon F90 | Fujifilm Superia 400

Nikon F90 | Fujifilm Superia 400

Nikon F90 | Fujifilm Superia 400

Nikon F90 | Fujifilm Superia 400

Nikon F90 | Fujifilm Superia 400

Nikon F90 | Fujifilm Superia 400

Nikon F90 | Fujifilm Superia 400

Nikon F90 | Fujifilm Superia 400

Nikon F90 | Fujifilm Superia 400

From

Postcards –

Soft light and faded memories –

Perfect in the way they remind me.

 

With love,

Emily.

#16 – Nooks and Crannies.

Nikon F90 | Kodak Portra 400

Apart from spending my days sipping coffee in a café – either studying or people watching or procrastinating my time away (and by that I mean writing) – I often have days to myself where I visit an art gallery/museum.

Nikon F90 | Kodak Portra 400

I deeply love all forms of art and appreciate its value in illuminating issues and challenging perspectives. I believe that art plays an important role in society – whether you recognise or appreciate it, or not – and has had a paramount importance in my life since my younger years (I wanted to grow up to be an artist). Art has a gut wrenching and compelling quality that is capable of making me stop in my footsteps to admire its glory in totality – its aesthetic, its concept and its message. A question I always ask is, “how did the artist do/make this?” I find myself so intrigued by their work and it has me constantly wondering about their practice.

Nikon F90 | Kodak Portra 400

I think the habit of asking myself that question is attributed to having taken visual arts as a subject in high school – which I loved and excelled in. The study of art theory encompassed the aspect of ‘artist practice’ – all the little technicalities involved – which we were taught to analyse and consciously incorporate into our own art making as well. I loved making art because it challenged me – pushed me outside my comfort zone and taught me a lot about myself. (More of that next time.)

Nikon F90 | Kodak Portra 400

Nikon F90 | Kodak Portra 400

Anyway, on the days I pace along gallery walls, I try to pack more into my itinerary. With my camera I will walk through city streets and lanes, snapping at interesting things and new perspectives. However, while I love taking photos, I’ve slowly refrained from constantly having my camera in hand when I’m in an art gallery or museum – I just feel that it distracts me from my purpose of being there. (I'm secretly happy when photography is not allowed in an exhibition.)

Nikon F90 | Kodak Portra 400

Nikon F90 | Kodak Portra 400

These film photos were taken on a fine day in August when I went to see Aleks Denko’s exhibition “My Fellow Aus-Tra-Aliens” at the Museum of Contemporary Art Australia – situated in The Rocks, Sydney. 

Nikon F90 | Kodak Portra 400

I felt like this was the epitome of my dreams getting mocked at (thumbs up for the curating of the exhibition).

But I loved his satirical humour and social commentary that was carried consistently throughout the exhibition.

Nikon F90 | Kodak Portra 400

Nikon F90 | Kodak Portra 400

Nikon F90 | Kodak Portra 400

Ended off the day with my first escape room experience and quality time with friends.

Looking forward to celebrating the end of exams and assignments with food, friends and fun (plenty of fun) – and of course, getting to do more writing and photography!

 

With love,

Emily.

#15 – Tormented.

Nikon F90 | Kodak Portra 400

Sometimes when I’m reading, I come across certain words or sentences, lines or paragraphs or stanzas that particularly move me. I often find myself in those moments where I really feel what an author or poet is trying to convey, and the emotion his or her words embody. It’s these magical moments that strike me as so sublime and uncanny – that a total stranger can put into words the thoughts I am unable to articulate. It’s an amazing way of affirming that your personal experiences and emotions aren’t all that taboo, and that you really aren’t alone (cliché as that may be). And that, to me, is so special – especially if said printed words on paper can move me to tears.

It’s not often that my own writing has that effect on me – because the process of composing requires time and thought, and already taps into my emotional chambers. However, with that said, this poem just doesn’t stop making my face wrinkle and my throat tighten. As with all my writing and poetry, I have to read it aloud because rhyme and rhythm are elements that I deem as essential. I imagine if I were to perform this piece, I would gradually pick up pace as I speak;

 

Tormented

I remember the first time

I caught a glimpse of you from the corner of my eye.

I was feeling nervous, and so scared,

But in my mind I thought to myself,

“Hey, he’s cute.”

 

Right there was where I stood,

Like a statue, but right at you –

On the opposite side of the counter.

I wish I wasn’t there, but I was relieved at the same time.

 

Right there was where we ate;

In those seats was where we sat,

Where we watched and where we laughed and

Where we leaned.

 

Right there was where we walked,

Where we sat down and where we talked –

That was where I couldn’t stop myself from falling;

Over and over.

 

Right there was where we hooked arms,

Where we held hands and where we were calm;

Where we shared everything,

Including our food.

 

Right there was where we took that photo,

Where we never wanted to let go.

Where we celebrated and where we made plans together

For the future.

 

Right there was where we lied under the stars –

Where we drank and where you parked your car.

Where I was convinced by your crocodile tears, those that

I couldn’t bear.

 

Right there was where I felt safe –

Where I was myself, and where I didn’t have to put on a fake face.

Where I took risks knowing that I

Would be ok.

 

Right there was where I was scared –

Where I feared for my life and where I cried tears.

Where I sat at a window seat and swallowed my sobs as I

Held onto faith.

 

Right there was where I was delusional –

Where I saw all sorts of illusions and where I was in denial.

Where I thought to myself, “Maybe

I still have a chance.”

 

Right there was where I slowed down –

Where I tried to hide and where I fell to the ground.

Where I felt my lungs deflate, and thought,

“Is this fate?”

 

Right there was where I stood out from the crowd –

Where I was on my knees and where I cried my eyes out.

Where I was sprawled between an illuminated orange road sign and

A glass wall.

 

Right there was where I wished we had never met – ever.

Where I hoped to wake up with amnesia,

Where I tired to eradicate those memories that made me,

Thinking, “if only.”

 

Right here is where I feel myself disintegrate –

Where my thoughts consume me and drive me crazy.

Where my optimism is beyond me, and I wonder,

“Is this ‘me’?”

 

Right now, you could still find me

On the street or in your memory –

Where we whispered secrets, and where there

Was no animosity.

 

Right now, I could be anywhere – I am somewhere

At the beginning, the middle, or the end;

Where I cannot recognise my surroundings, and I wish I wasn’t here,

But at the same time I am relieved (not really).

 

I thought I would be ok

But my stomach knots and churns and

I genuinely feel sick – because this

Is where it hurts the most.

 

With love,

Emily.