Lucida
I found beautiful bright room for me
all photograph by Ran Moon
Twitter@hityard
Lucida
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점점 더 가까이
More and more closer.
점점 더 가까이
More and more closer.
점점 더 가까이
More and more closer.
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Yellow Symptoms
Yellow Symptoms
Yellow Symptoms
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Give me a your red chair
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2014,4월, 매화꽃이 떨어지던 날.
글을 쓰고 있는 현재 오후 일곱시 십분. 카페 이층에는 아직 아무도 없다. 현상한 필름을 스캔해서 보니 봄이 가고 있다. 
왜 촬영을 하는 동안에는 마음 속 소리에 집중하지 않고 조급한지 모르겠다. 촬영본을 보고 붙이는 이름들이나 글은 허상이다. 그 때, 그 순간 가지고 있는 생각과 감정 온도 체온등을 담아야 하는데. 
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WISH_BONE
가슴뼈를 반으로 쪼개 더 긴 쪽.
No filter,only resizing
Model by KSY
WISH_BONE
가슴뼈를 반으로 쪼개 더 긴 쪽.
No filter,only resizing
Model by KSY
WISH_BONE
가슴뼈를 반으로 쪼개 더 긴 쪽.
No filter,only resizing
Model by KSY
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흥미로운 걸 봤다. 이 이야기를 너무 하고 싶었지만 할 수가 없었다. 세간의 눈도 있고 대상에 대한 오해도 받기 싫었다. 무엇이든 쓸 수 있는 모임에 들었다. 함부로 보지 않고, 쓰지 않고, 판단하지 않는다. 
결정적으로 재하.
그 이름이 내가 이 글을 쓰게 만들었다. 모든게 짜여진 각본의 한 자락처럼 일상이 텅 빈 순간 다가왔다. 나를 사진 찍게 하는 ‘무언가’를 재하는 잘 알고 있었다. 그리고 그 욕망을 실천하고 있었다. 
어젯밤 티비를 켰을 때 결말만 남은 클로저가 방영되고 있었다. 핑크색 가발을 뒤집어쓴 앨리스가 스트립쇼를 하는 장면이었다. 래리가 끊임없이 앨리스에게 진짜 이름을 물어보고 있었다. 하드를 뒤져 핑크색 머리를 한 향이를 찾았다.
처음에 향이를 만났을 때, 그 애는 반쯤 물이 빠진 노란머리를 하고 있었다. 교정기를 끼고 땀을 흘리며 반쪽은 남자, 반쪽은 여자것으로 된 옷을 힘들게 꿰매고 있었다. 객관적으로 눈,코,입이 또렷한 미인은 아니다. 그래도 작은 얼굴, 긴 목과 팔다리, 가는 발목을 가지고 있었다. 자세히 말하면 빗장뼈가 있는 부분을 따라 척추가 곧아서 자세가 좋다. 차가운 바닥에 어깨를 움츠리고 누웠을 때도 여유롭게 몸을 움직인다. 비복근과 아킬레스건까지가 길고 얇다.  가장 마음에 든 것은 수수하고 조용하고 말수가 없는 것. 
그 아이를 이성적으로 좋아한다거나 그런 것은 아니다. 그냥 그 골격과 표정, 몸이 좋다. 다시 만나 사진을 찍게 되었을 때, 앨리스처럼 짙은 핑크머리에 까만 눈썹과 빨간 아이메이크업을 했다. 향이 말고도 두 명의 여자애가 있었다. 모두 매력적이었지만 한 번 더 돌아보게 되는 건 앨리스뿐이었다. 사진에 찍힌다는 사실을 인지하는 순간 몸은 긴장하게 되는데 향이는 전혀 긴장하지 않았다. 
물론 그 날의 분위기나 상대방의 상태에 따라 늘 달라진다. 한 사람이 늘 똑같이 영감을 주는 뮤즈가 될 거라는 기대는 진작에 버렸다. 내가 누군가를 어떤 모습으로 상상하든 곧 오염됐다. 좋지도 싫지도 않은 의미로. 
내겐 다시 찍고 싶은 사람이 가장 좋은 모델이다. 
어찌 됐든 향이는 좋은 모델이다, 다시 찍고 싶으니.
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Before you go out.
Before you go out.
Before you go out.
Before you go out.
Before you go out.
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a-bittersweet-life:

Throughout the mid to late 1970s and upwards, Hiroshi Sugimoto packed up a folding 4x5 camera & tripod, surreptitiously entered matinees (and, one can only presume, evening film events) and documented the interior of movie theatres across the United States—invoking a classic procedure borrowed from Conceptual Art. He would open the shutter just before the “first light” hit the screen and close it after the credits finished rolling and before the house lights came on. Using this method he was able to invert the subject/object relationship of the movie theatre and use the film itself to illuminate the proscenium and interior. However—it’s more than that, isn’t it? There is also a social and political critique implicit to the gesture. The rendering of a “blank” movie screen carries with it a whole series of alternate implications that are highly relevant to a culture of consumption.  The unavoidable allusions of mass social programming and lack of content are implicit in the act. This content, largely unaddressed crtiically, is what lends the images their incredible power—along wtih the natural fascination of being made privy to the photography’s divine birthright—allowing us to see the normall invisible—to experience a finite collapse of time.
a-bittersweet-life:

Throughout the mid to late 1970s and upwards, Hiroshi Sugimoto packed up a folding 4x5 camera & tripod, surreptitiously entered matinees (and, one can only presume, evening film events) and documented the interior of movie theatres across the United States—invoking a classic procedure borrowed from Conceptual Art. He would open the shutter just before the “first light” hit the screen and close it after the credits finished rolling and before the house lights came on. Using this method he was able to invert the subject/object relationship of the movie theatre and use the film itself to illuminate the proscenium and interior. However—it’s more than that, isn’t it? There is also a social and political critique implicit to the gesture. The rendering of a “blank” movie screen carries with it a whole series of alternate implications that are highly relevant to a culture of consumption.  The unavoidable allusions of mass social programming and lack of content are implicit in the act. This content, largely unaddressed crtiically, is what lends the images their incredible power—along wtih the natural fascination of being made privy to the photography’s divine birthright—allowing us to see the normall invisible—to experience a finite collapse of time.
a-bittersweet-life:

Throughout the mid to late 1970s and upwards, Hiroshi Sugimoto packed up a folding 4x5 camera & tripod, surreptitiously entered matinees (and, one can only presume, evening film events) and documented the interior of movie theatres across the United States—invoking a classic procedure borrowed from Conceptual Art. He would open the shutter just before the “first light” hit the screen and close it after the credits finished rolling and before the house lights came on. Using this method he was able to invert the subject/object relationship of the movie theatre and use the film itself to illuminate the proscenium and interior. However—it’s more than that, isn’t it? There is also a social and political critique implicit to the gesture. The rendering of a “blank” movie screen carries with it a whole series of alternate implications that are highly relevant to a culture of consumption.  The unavoidable allusions of mass social programming and lack of content are implicit in the act. This content, largely unaddressed crtiically, is what lends the images their incredible power—along wtih the natural fascination of being made privy to the photography’s divine birthright—allowing us to see the normall invisible—to experience a finite collapse of time.
a-bittersweet-life:

Throughout the mid to late 1970s and upwards, Hiroshi Sugimoto packed up a folding 4x5 camera & tripod, surreptitiously entered matinees (and, one can only presume, evening film events) and documented the interior of movie theatres across the United States—invoking a classic procedure borrowed from Conceptual Art. He would open the shutter just before the “first light” hit the screen and close it after the credits finished rolling and before the house lights came on. Using this method he was able to invert the subject/object relationship of the movie theatre and use the film itself to illuminate the proscenium and interior. However—it’s more than that, isn’t it? There is also a social and political critique implicit to the gesture. The rendering of a “blank” movie screen carries with it a whole series of alternate implications that are highly relevant to a culture of consumption.  The unavoidable allusions of mass social programming and lack of content are implicit in the act. This content, largely unaddressed crtiically, is what lends the images their incredible power—along wtih the natural fascination of being made privy to the photography’s divine birthright—allowing us to see the normall invisible—to experience a finite collapse of time.
a-bittersweet-life:

Throughout the mid to late 1970s and upwards, Hiroshi Sugimoto packed up a folding 4x5 camera & tripod, surreptitiously entered matinees (and, one can only presume, evening film events) and documented the interior of movie theatres across the United States—invoking a classic procedure borrowed from Conceptual Art. He would open the shutter just before the “first light” hit the screen and close it after the credits finished rolling and before the house lights came on. Using this method he was able to invert the subject/object relationship of the movie theatre and use the film itself to illuminate the proscenium and interior. However—it’s more than that, isn’t it? There is also a social and political critique implicit to the gesture. The rendering of a “blank” movie screen carries with it a whole series of alternate implications that are highly relevant to a culture of consumption.  The unavoidable allusions of mass social programming and lack of content are implicit in the act. This content, largely unaddressed crtiically, is what lends the images their incredible power—along wtih the natural fascination of being made privy to the photography’s divine birthright—allowing us to see the normall invisible—to experience a finite collapse of time.
a-bittersweet-life:

Throughout the mid to late 1970s and upwards, Hiroshi Sugimoto packed up a folding 4x5 camera & tripod, surreptitiously entered matinees (and, one can only presume, evening film events) and documented the interior of movie theatres across the United States—invoking a classic procedure borrowed from Conceptual Art. He would open the shutter just before the “first light” hit the screen and close it after the credits finished rolling and before the house lights came on. Using this method he was able to invert the subject/object relationship of the movie theatre and use the film itself to illuminate the proscenium and interior. However—it’s more than that, isn’t it? There is also a social and political critique implicit to the gesture. The rendering of a “blank” movie screen carries with it a whole series of alternate implications that are highly relevant to a culture of consumption.  The unavoidable allusions of mass social programming and lack of content are implicit in the act. This content, largely unaddressed crtiically, is what lends the images their incredible power—along wtih the natural fascination of being made privy to the photography’s divine birthright—allowing us to see the normall invisible—to experience a finite collapse of time.
a-bittersweet-life:

Throughout the mid to late 1970s and upwards, Hiroshi Sugimoto packed up a folding 4x5 camera & tripod, surreptitiously entered matinees (and, one can only presume, evening film events) and documented the interior of movie theatres across the United States—invoking a classic procedure borrowed from Conceptual Art. He would open the shutter just before the “first light” hit the screen and close it after the credits finished rolling and before the house lights came on. Using this method he was able to invert the subject/object relationship of the movie theatre and use the film itself to illuminate the proscenium and interior. However—it’s more than that, isn’t it? There is also a social and political critique implicit to the gesture. The rendering of a “blank” movie screen carries with it a whole series of alternate implications that are highly relevant to a culture of consumption.  The unavoidable allusions of mass social programming and lack of content are implicit in the act. This content, largely unaddressed crtiically, is what lends the images their incredible power—along wtih the natural fascination of being made privy to the photography’s divine birthright—allowing us to see the normall invisible—to experience a finite collapse of time.
a-bittersweet-life:

Throughout the mid to late 1970s and upwards, Hiroshi Sugimoto packed up a folding 4x5 camera & tripod, surreptitiously entered matinees (and, one can only presume, evening film events) and documented the interior of movie theatres across the United States—invoking a classic procedure borrowed from Conceptual Art. He would open the shutter just before the “first light” hit the screen and close it after the credits finished rolling and before the house lights came on. Using this method he was able to invert the subject/object relationship of the movie theatre and use the film itself to illuminate the proscenium and interior. However—it’s more than that, isn’t it? There is also a social and political critique implicit to the gesture. The rendering of a “blank” movie screen carries with it a whole series of alternate implications that are highly relevant to a culture of consumption.  The unavoidable allusions of mass social programming and lack of content are implicit in the act. This content, largely unaddressed crtiically, is what lends the images their incredible power—along wtih the natural fascination of being made privy to the photography’s divine birthright—allowing us to see the normall invisible—to experience a finite collapse of time.
a-bittersweet-life:

Throughout the mid to late 1970s and upwards, Hiroshi Sugimoto packed up a folding 4x5 camera & tripod, surreptitiously entered matinees (and, one can only presume, evening film events) and documented the interior of movie theatres across the United States—invoking a classic procedure borrowed from Conceptual Art. He would open the shutter just before the “first light” hit the screen and close it after the credits finished rolling and before the house lights came on. Using this method he was able to invert the subject/object relationship of the movie theatre and use the film itself to illuminate the proscenium and interior. However—it’s more than that, isn’t it? There is also a social and political critique implicit to the gesture. The rendering of a “blank” movie screen carries with it a whole series of alternate implications that are highly relevant to a culture of consumption.  The unavoidable allusions of mass social programming and lack of content are implicit in the act. This content, largely unaddressed crtiically, is what lends the images their incredible power—along wtih the natural fascination of being made privy to the photography’s divine birthright—allowing us to see the normall invisible—to experience a finite collapse of time.
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Back in the day.