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Words FLOW out of a cup of Pictures

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In the last few Street Photography workshops we had, in one of them I collaborated with a group of creative writers on Facebook called “FLOW” spearheaded by a friend Ime Morales, an extraordinary writer and single mom. We decided to bring along her posse to observe out field exercises on street photography and at some point react to what they see and write anything about their observations.

Ime sent me several short blurbs accompanied by images captured by the workshop participants.and here it goes:

“My inspiration for the following text came from Henri Cartier-Bresson himself when he said, “…you picture their lives, what they’re about to do, what they’ve done, where they’re going…” These are stories that arise out of the pictures, but are not necessarily about the pictures themselves. In that sense, it adds depth to the photograph by adding a layer of story, fiction or otherwise. It tells a separate reality, or an alternate fantasy, to further widen the depth of field and possibly demystify a little the captured moment.”

Tonight they will all end up in their beds. One of them will dream of a butterfly trapped inside a glass jar. One will awaken at 2:00 in the morning, make a cup of coffee, and stare out the window to watch the moon playing hide and seek with the stars.
Tonight they will all end up in their beds. One of them will dream of a butterfly trapped inside a glass jar. One will awaken at 2:00 in the morning, make a cup of coffee, and stare out the window to watch the moon playing hide and seek with the stars.Photo by Issa Baguisi
Tao rin naman ako ah. Pero kapag ganito ka, mahirap humanap ng respeto. Lalo na pag-ibig. Dati akala ko totoo na, kaya’t binigay ko na lahat. Pero yung mga kurot niya, palakas nang palakas. Ang mga hampas nag-papasa na. Hindi na pag-ibig yon, ‘no! Buti na lang mabilis ako tumakbo, kung hindi, andiyan na ‘ko nakalutang sa may estero. Photo by Guia Tumaneng
Tao rin naman ako ah. Pero kapag ganito ka, mahirap humanap ng respeto. Lalo na pag-ibig. Dati akala ko totoo na, kaya’t binigay ko na lahat. Pero yung mga kurot niya, palakas nang palakas. Ang mga hampas nag-papasa na. Hindi na pag-ibig yon, ‘no! Buti na lang mabilis ako tumakbo, kung hindi, andiyan na ‘ko nakalutang sa may estero. Photo by Guia Tomaneng

 

I don’t understand a lot of things. My mother is always saying that I have to work hard because we’re not rich. She says I need to study well so I’ll have a bright future. Pray to God every day, she says. I see people around me working very hard, going to school, but they remain in the same dirty shanty for years and years. Hard work is a lot of bullshit. Even those who pray go nowhere with their novenas.
I don’t understand a lot of things. My mother is always saying that I have to work hard because we’re not rich. She says I need to study well so I’ll have a bright future. Pray to God every day, she says. I see people around me working very hard, going to school, but they remain in the same dirty shanty for years and years. Hard work is a lot of bullshit. Even those who pray go nowhere with their novenas.poto by Herbert Lizares
The other day, an old Chinese lady bought a dragon balloon from me. She was preoccupied and did not notice that her wallet was sliding out of her bag. Of course, my instinct was to snatch it quickly—she wouldn’t have noticed anyway. But right there across the street was the image of the Mother, with her lovely, sad eyes staring right at me. I lost the moment and I called out to the lady, “Bag mo nakabukas!” Now I regret it. I wouldn’t be here today standing in the rain if I just ran with it.
The other day, an old Chinese lady bought a dragon balloon from me. She was preoccupied and did not notice that her wallet was sliding out of her bag. Of course, my instinct was to snatch it quickly—she wouldn’t have noticed anyway. But right there across the street was the image of the Mother, with her lovely, sad eyes staring right at me. I lost the moment and I called out to the lady, “Bag mo nakabukas!” Now I regret it. I wouldn’t be here today standing in the rain if I just ran with it.Photo by Nash Tysmans
I never thought I would end up as a cook. When I was a little boy, I dreamed of becoming a soldier. I came close to that, I think, when I worked as a security guard in a small condo in Pasay. But that girl in the laundromat--malandi! I am only a man, and so I lost my job when my employer found out what happened. Now I cook eggs day in and day out that sometimes the whites seem to blur into the yellows.
I never thought I would end up as a cook. When I was a little boy, I dreamed of becoming a soldier. I came close to that, I think, when I worked as a security guard in a small condo in Pasay. But that girl in the laundromat–malandi! I am only a man, and so I lost my job when my employer found out what happened. Now I cook eggs day in and day out that sometimes the whites seem to blur into the yellows. Photo by Issa Baguisi
Sometimes, when the afternoon starts to darken into night, I think about the time when I would be too old for this. Maybe my bones will be brittle, or my heartbeat weak, or—God forbid—cancer may be eating into my flesh. It scares me, these night time thoughts. The stale air coming in from the river makes it all the more chilling.
Sometimes, when the afternoon starts to darken into night, I think about the time when I would be too old for this. Maybe my bones will be brittle, or my heartbeat weak, or—God forbid—cancer may be eating into my flesh. It scares me, these night time thoughts. The stale air coming in from the river makes it all the more chilling.Photo by Herbert Lizares
She believes in miracles. Like the one about her prince charming walking through the dark iskinita one day to take her hand and tell her she’s beautiful. When she’s not playing these fantasies in her head, she is immersed in the reality of washing other people’s clothes for a living and of her weak mother, waiting for her to come home.
She believes in miracles. Like the one about her prince charming walking through the dark iskinita one day to take her hand and tell her she’s beautiful. When she’s not playing these fantasies in her head, she is immersed in the reality of washing other people’s clothes for a living and of her weak mother, waiting for her to come home.Photo by Issa Baguisi
In a few months, she is leaving the country to try and build a better life someplace else. She is bringing her dreams with her, and leaving behind painful memories from a recent break-up. She is also leaving behind her only child, a four-year old boy who thinks she is just going away to buy some biscuits. He doesn’t know that the next time he sees her, he will be sixteen.
In a few months, she is leaving the country to try and build a better life someplace else. She is bringing her dreams with her, and leaving behind painful memories from a recent break-up. She is also leaving behind her only child, a four-year old boy who thinks she is just going away to buy some biscuits. He doesn’t know that the next time he sees her, he will be sixteen.Photo by Guia Tomaneng
There is a secret that I keep even from my wife and children. I will take it to my grave. But sometimes, I dream about it and I go as far as sleeping downstairs in the couch so my wife wouldn’t hear me talk in my sleep, in case the words slip out of my mouth. It’s so dreadful I never even dared think about it in the presence of my shadow.
There is a secret that I keep even from my wife and children. I will take it to my grave. But sometimes, I dream about it and I go as far as sleeping downstairs in the couch so my wife wouldn’t hear me talk in my sleep, in case the words slip out of my mouth. It’s so dreadful I never even dared think about it in the presence of my shadow. Photo by Nash Tysmans