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color comparison: piece by bruce nauman in museum of contemporary art vs long exposure of city lights; chicago, il | 08.02.2016
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from the day that inspired this narrative i wrote:
Chicago, Summer ‘16
Waking up in the city, on any floor higher than the third or fourth, has a very distinct feeling to me. Something about the atmosphere just...transfixes me. The contrast of the honey glow from the sunrise against the bright white hotel linens and minimalistic interior decor. The unfamiliar sight of bold red letters reading 6:00 AM at my bedside. The lack of drowsiness and dread normally present if I were ever awake at this hour. The view of the buildings, partially faded through the layer of glass I observed it from; the landscape in front of me like an exhibit in an aquarium or zoo, and me watching awestruck through the viewing tank. I had just been on an airplane for a solid two hours the day before; literally up in the clouds, soaring through nothing and above everything. Who knew that being on the twenty-second floor of your everyday Hyatt hotel could feel like being on top of the world? Though I spent a lot of my days at my small home in the mountains using my thoughts to project myself anywhere else but there, it was moments like these that made me grateful to have a rural hometown; taking on an urban perspective became much more compelling. I sat on the edge of the bed, one that was incredibly comfortable and worthy of hours of slumber, but oddly enough, the last thing on my mind was the desire to sleep. This was my second day in Chicago, for the second summer in a row now. Not that it was a tradition or anything, more like a pleasant coincidence of consecutive trips; last year my aunt was visiting from the Philippines and after she stayed with us for a while, we had to drive her up to Chicago where she would reside for a month, for business purposes. And this year, my dad’s annual statistician’s conference also happened to take place in the Windy City. After the news of this second visit was broke to me early in the summer, I spent the duration of those first two months still anchored in my small hometown, amidst the breathing trees and flowering plants in rich soil, but my mind was longing for the lofty buildings and crowded concrete. When the end of July came and we boarded the plane, the short flight almost felt more like a drive going back home - as if for the past year, actually being home was being on vacation. Being in Chicago bears a sense of belonging for me, one that I can’t seem to really pinpoint. The minimal days I have spent here, admiring the architecture, taking advantage of the culture and of course the food, have been enough for me to develop a deep-seated love for not just the city, but this city in particular. I don’t know what it was exactly that grasped my attention; my affinity seemed to have developed from a series of ‘love at first sight’ moments. It was the very first drive through the city, in 2015; my hair was shorter and I still had braces wired to my teeth and a different pair of glasses, which gleamed against each passing light. It was when I looked across the horizon and did not see mountains, but instead of seeing empty space; instead of seeing an absence of familiarity, I saw the frame fill with possibility and substance I took interest in. It was each time a famous monument or tourist hotspot introduced itself to me, most of them conveniently placed within walking distance of each other. It was waking up alone in the king sized bed of my godmother’s apartment, on around the twentieth floor, to the satisfying glow of a city view from a large window, framed by exposed brick. It was the white noise of cars and people and existence - not as discordant as that of New York City - perceived by my ears like birds singing in the early morning. It was that atmosphere, that feeling, that struck me as momentous. Chicago was a totally new sensory experience for me that I wanted to welcome again. Everything just felt so fitting. A year later, my attraction remained; I inhaled the Illinois air once again and it felt like taking the first breath after waking up. I guess it wasn’t necessarily ‘love at first sight’ moments that I was experiencing - that seemed a bit too clichéd - it was more like ‘comfort at first sight.’ I drew parallels between this year and the year before; new instances ignited past emotions. The first drive through the city, in 2016, as soon as we’ve concluded at the airport; my hair was long and I was dressed in all black. Recognizing all the landmarks I had met before. Seeing this world through my sister’s fresh eyes, this being my second trip here but her first. As I sat in the hotel, I took in my surroundings and embraced the essence of it all. This was only day two of the five I would be spending in Chicago, but it wasn’t just another day. My family surprisingly did not have a plan for what today would consist of. No step-by-step itinerary, no strict schedule; that was more than alright, because there was only one thing that mattered to me that was set in stone. Today my enthusiasm for this city was combining with an enthusiasm of a greater degree. Not only did my dreams and potential future live here in Chicago, but so did my friend Connor. We were ‘friends’ as in one of my best friends had known him for some years, and through that mutual friend we were ‘acquainted’ with each other and thus emerged our friendship. We communicated solely through texting, social media, and phone calls, but were good friends nonetheless. The moment I found out I’d be stopping by the city again, plans were set into motion, and as the period between the present and the time when we would meet gradually got shorter, my excitement heightened. This just became another incentive for me to visit Chicago again. One month faded into one week and then into one day. It was surreal getting up and finally being able to think, “today is the day.” The morning of the fateful day was a self-established rush; I found myself continuously sprinting between the bathroom and the vanity mirror by the window as I got ready. For a moment, I forgot about the beauty of my environment and had to focus on myself. My fully-dressed parents stood there, watching me in my frantic state, waiting as patiently as they could. I was feeling so much stress and pressure, despite how I had claimed this place was an oasis of contentment and ease. Exiting the hotel, that underlying feeling that I had forgotten something was weighing on me. I prepped myself with pessimistic warnings: something’s going to go wrong. The universe is going to throw a curveball at you; this will not be as fulfilling as you’ve made it out to be. This made for a restless bus ride. My concept of time was inconsistent: was time moving too fast or too slow? At around 11:15 Central Time, we arrived in front of The Bean. I might have just been waking up at this time if I was home, but not here; the city was awake and loud with color and life. As the bus stopped with a hiss and we stepped off, the relentless sun greeted us unwelcomely. I was drawn to the massive, shining Bean immediately, not out of fascination, but because my instincts took me towards the nearest shade I could find. I stared up at the distorted reflections of dozens of tourists nestled under the sculpture with me and saw patterned visuals, warped and metallic, imagining what alluring photographs they would make. My camera was at hand; normally I would be using it, but waiting there under the scorching sun, my anxiety was absolutely overwhelming, washing out any other current thoughts or impulses. Suddenly, I needed space. I needed time. I needed to take a reality check. I made a brisk walk to the nearby bathrooms and I felt like a nervous young tourist; it made me uneasy, I wanted - needed to feel happy, comfortable, at home. In the bathroom, the swift wave of cooler air was a relief; I set my bag on the sparkling black linoleum, glad no one else was occupying the space with me. I made those last-minute touches that slipped my mind in the hotel. I went to the bathroom, sprayed on some perfume, and fixed my hair, which today was tame but still just as thick; pulling some of it back with a hair tie. I took the brisk walk back to The Bean in a more collected fashion, immediately planting myself in the shade of the park’s trees, where I could sit and ensure that my hair wouldn’t get too frizzy. Connor wouldn’t be there for quite some time, but just in case, I had to keep my eyes peeled, looking around and checking everything in the surrounding area. Every boy in the dense mass of people held the possibility of being him. I had never been this antsy while waiting for anything. I unpacked my bag, pulling out the few presents I had for him, before putting them back in one at a time. Bundle of Pokémon cards. T-shirt. CD (The Strokes, Angles). Stickers. Card. Balling up my long-sleeved button up, which served a questionable purpose in this heat, thinking, thinking, can’t stop thinking. I can’t believe I’m here. I can’t believe this is actually happening. This situation is so surreal. How will I know when he’s here? What will it be like when we meet? At some point my sister went off on her own; she was spending her day at the Art Institute, on her own excursion. I was still deep in my thoughts, imagining them as a pool to swim through to combat the humid weather. I don’t remember the exact moment, I don’t remember the exact thought that ran through my mind, but my attention was caught - with a pinch, a slight alert. There he was. I saw him. In the distance. I saw him, with my eyes; a physical three-dimensional being, walking right in front of me. At first it was just another guy that I happened to lay my eyes on, but there were features that were too distinguishable for me to not recognize: light greenish blond hair, quarter sleeve baseball shirt and jeans, skateboard on his back. There was a delay in how my mind registered who that was, but before I could even think about it I found words leaving my mouth, “Is that him? Oh my god! That’s him, right there! OH MY GOD,” and my parents had no response, obviously they didn’t care as much. I watched him walk over to the other side of the grassy expanse, looking down at his phone - probably texting me - before he sat on an opposing ledge, back facing me. 11:33, I received the text: “I’m here”. I quelled the urge to just run over to him, what was once hundreds of miles away was now just a couple of feet. I’m not usually one for phone calls, but I was on the phone in an instant, and not even waiting for him to pick up or say a word, I said, “I SEE YOU. TURN AROUND,” he turned, but not in the right direction; “no completely around, turn all the way around,” and when I said that, he did accordingly, and that was the moment we were both seeing each other for the first time. In a dreamlike haze, we exchanged waves and after what might have been the fastest goodbye possible, my feet were ahead of the rest of my body and I ran towards him for a hug. Letting out an enthusiastic “Connor!”; we met in the middle, “I have something for you,” I laughed, handing him a card with the same words printed on the front (and “you’re holding it” on the inside). This wasn’t a particularly phenomenal embrace, but in this instant, as Connor laughed in response, everything was alright and nothing mattered. ‘Comfort at first sight’; this was that again. Usually, when I highly anticipate any event, it decides to veer away from my expectations and I end up disappointed. It was not often that my anxiety was answered with solace. It was August 1st, 2016, and the long, impending countdown in my head was now over. There I was, getting lunch and sitting in the park with a friend that I never thought I would ever meet. On this day, I was allowed to roam the city streets, alone with someone who was technically a stranger. I had no idea where we were going or how to get around, nor was I sure of what we were doing and what I wanted to do, but all I knew was that I was in Chicago and I was welcome here. The bustling streets didn’t feel unfamiliar. The pulsating crowds of city goers didn’t intimidate me. The guy by my side, who I had never spent time with before in my life, did not make me feel uncomfortable. Colossal structures towered over me and I did not feel small. It wasn’t just another day. But it was as if...I was home and I was just spending another regular day here, hanging out with a friend that I had known for years. The uncertain path we took, which included us nearly getting lost, felt almost routine. Somehow - whether it was over the span of these two years I had visited or in the matter of the hours passed as I was with Connor - a city so foreign to me genuinely became my favorite place to be. I now know that it is possible to fall in love with something you have only met twice. And that it is also possible to experience an entire lifetime of friendship within the period of meeting someone for the first time. In this city, I experienced some firsts that I knew would not be lasts. I hoped I could come back and pick up where I left off once again, the feelings I felt being far too significant and impactful to abandon here in this time and place. I will always remember this occasion; these days in Chicago, Illinois in the summer of ‘16. Last year, I had left part of my heart in Chicago and finally, we had reunited.
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essentials | 07.22.2016
#photography#photographs#photoset#summer photography#mine#sony alpha 58#dslr#aesthetic#amateur photography
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summer haze | 07.20.2016
#mine#photography#photographs#photoset#abstract photography#amateur photography#sony alpha 58#dslr#aesthetic
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