When I was in Seoul, I wanted to take a photo of the photos shown in a photo studio. Then a man on a motorbike came into the frame and stopped, waiting for the lights to change. I didn’t to want him in the picture but the shutter was already triggered and since the composition somehow worked to me, I decided to keep the photo.
I don’t like to take photographs of people. There’s a part of me, the Indigenous one, which still believes that by taking a photo of someone you steal part of their soul. Think about it. The man that drove past me won’t be the same ever again after the photo was taken, but in the photo he’ll be permanently wearing a helmet, driving a motorbike. The old man in the photo on the background might have already passes away and his photo will still be hanging there. We will all die and leave only pieces of our soul hanging off photos until they also fade away slowly. If we’re lucky, those photos will show us in our best light, if we’re unlucky, they’ll show us in our lowest. In that sense, there’s something really disturbing about people so affect to photographing homeless people (e.g. see Street Photography: Exploitative vs Respect)
Why so many people like to do “street photography”? I don’t know. I know that for me is not much of a choice: I don’t have enough resources to do much other styles of photography. I don’t have access to a studio; I have a couple of tripods but no external flash, no reflectors, no special equipment, a hide, access to wilderness spot to do wildlife photo… In fact, taking all into account, I don’t do more than the original Kodak Brownie owners did: take snapshots of the vistas during my travels. Because you want to prolong the feeling and emotions of being in a foreign place, because you want to share with loved ones and, now, the whole world, what you discovered in the other side of the world. We are all discoverers of places and people that have existed long before we met them and long before we’ll leave them.
While taking photos in Seoul, I put myself in a funny situation. All of a sudden I felt like all those Asian tourists (Japanese, Korean, Chinese, take your pick) we mock for carrying a camera and snapping photos all the time of all they see. And then, it was my turn: I was the naive tourist taking photos of store windows, cars, food stalls. And the locals were looking right back at me, both an exotic view myself, taking photos of, let’s say, some very ordinary photo studio window shop.
Some days ago I came back from a trip to South Korea, in total about a little more than four weeks; the first part of the travel was for business and the second for pleasure. I’m not very good at telling stories of my travels. When people ask me to tell them about them my mind usually goes blank, I guess part of the problem is that I don’t see much point of telling what I’ve done, most of the time, but that’s not to say I didn’t enjoy the trip or lived many experiences, but somehow it’s difficult for me to translate impressions and memories into a personal narrative. A similar story goes for the photographs I take during my trips. I usually take photos of graffiti, or odd objects I found fallen on the ground, or torn posters, of shadows forming lines, or power lines and light poles. Even I have to admit those images don’t make for great slideshows, neither travel albums.
And yet, I have many wonderful memories from my travel to South Korea. I loved my time there. I loved the people and I loved the places I visited. I learned a lot about Korea and wish I could learn more about the country, the language and their people. So, I’ll try to write some of my memories from my travel to Korea here, maybe someone else will find them interesting, while I get to extend a little bit of the joy I feel for having been fortunate enough to get to know such a fascinating country.