photos, Visual Journal

Post-New York Blues

September—I’m on the L train into the city and I haven’t written in a while. I’ve been reading a lot of James Baldwin, New York’s black literary hero. I’ve been living in Brooklyn for these past weeks, staying in a townhouse in Carroll’s Garden and then in a warehouse loft in Williamsburg. I love it all: the trash-lined sidewalks, the thick air, the cicadas buzzing in the trees. New York has always been somewhere on the vaguely familiar side of my soul’s navigation—I think I lived here in my past life. In a hippie life, I soaked in the fountain at Washington Square Park and spent my days crawling up and downtown across the islands. I sing aloud as I walk here. I walk with conviction and shove past people like I always know where I’m going—even if I don’t. I didn’t think the end of summer would cling on to the sticky summer heat. And as the muggy nights dull into muggier days, it dawns on me I don’t know New York at all. Yet, here I am melting on the subway platform, waiting for another F train to take me back down to Brooklyn.

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—Tyler

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photos, Visual Journal

Psychadelic Furs @ Santa Monica Pier

 

To further my experience in the field of public media, I joined KCRW’s summer marketing internship at the beginning of May. If you aren’t from Southern California, KCRW is Santa Monica NPR, broadcast around the Greater Los Angeles area as 89.9fm. Along with clerical work and selling merch and memberships at events all over the city, I write blog posts as well as take photos for the nonprofit organization.

Here is a gallery of photos I took for KCRW while covering the Psychadelic Furs/Day Wave Twilight Series concert on July 21. With the stunning scenery of the stage set up and the vibrancy of their performances, it wasn’t hard to capture the marvel of both acts.

KCRW Presents Psychadelic Furs, Day Wave 7/21/2016

—Tyler

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Visual Journal

Gray-Scales

I’m always astonished whenever I unearth a roll of mystery film, aging away on my desk underneath a pyramid of cameras. When I developed this particular roll of expired black & white film, I became elated that the exposures were decorated with grainy undertones and natural vignettes. The organic manipulation (which many aspire to achieve through filters) and element of surprise always inspires me to go back to shooting film. Enjoy!

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—Tyler

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photos, Visual Journal

Walkabout

Taking a photograph sometimes feels like peering out the window.

One of the particular things I miss about living in Boston is walking everywhere and being present in the moment. Sometimes driving can feel too much like a spaceship, transporting me from time and space in a matter of light-seconds. I’m either too busy changing freeways or missing my turn to capture the streets firsthand, and the light always changes by the time I have my camera ready to fire. Therefore, whenever I have a moment to step out of the driver’s seat, I go on photo walks and relieve some creative tension.

These particular exposures were taken during my April visit to Boston, where I annoyed some geese and aimlessly strolled from Allston to Harvard with my analogue Canon point-and-shoot.

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The only thing that makes me feel less hallow is smoke in my lungs, Bathroom @ Refuge

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Golden Flower, painted by me and friends outside of Jack and Brandon’s old apartment sophomore year

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From the Harvard Yard

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Black Lives Matter, St. Paul Church, Mt Auburn St

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View from the Cambridge esplanade

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Three Geese by the Charles, Memorial Dr esplanade

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Shadows on the Pedestrian Bridge, a self-timer selfie boof

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Tree silhouettes back on the Storrow Dr. esplanade

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Golden Hour silhouette

Some tunes for your next walkabout.

– Tyler

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photos, Visual Journal

Yawkey Way, Opening Day

[4/13/15] Every Monday, from 12-3p, I’d pray that my Photojournalism professor wouldn’t call for a Spot News assignment. I’d walk down into the basement of the Communication building, and clench my fingers in a please. The dreaded Spot News assignment had been looming over my head for the past semester, where most days were too frigid to hold my exposed finger on the shutter release.

Our 3-hour seminar was more like PJ bootcamp; it was both physically and mentally demanding, and disciplined us into the standard grade of the industry. The course is taught by a strict photojournalism professional, who, with heavy words, taught me how to sharpen my eye and the craft. The Spot News was his special project and my worst fear. The directions were to capture a front-page newsworthy image, write a detailed caption, and edit it, all under an hour. So when I walked into class on the second to last day of the semester, I had to wait in anticipation until the last hour when he told us to get out there and find the story. Our destination was opening day at Fenway, just a couple blocks down the street from campus.

I walked around Fenway park for thirty minutes, snapping everything around me in a rushed panic. These are the results:

that moment when I missed Tom Brady walking into the clubhouse....

that moment when I missed Tom Brady walking into the clubhouse….

I almost turned this picture in, but I failed to grab the subject's name.

I almost turned this picture in, but I failed to grab the subject’s name.

Landsdowne St.

Landsdowne St.

Couple indulging a pre-game hot dog. This picture almost won my assignment but it lacked an opening day detail.

Couple indulging a pre-game hot dog. This picture almost won my assignment but it lacked an opening day detail.

Programs for sale! This would've been a good picture for a profile, but it lacked any news relevancy.

Programs for sale! This would’ve been a good picture for a profile, but it lacked any news relevancy.

Masked keyboardist banging the tunes in Fenway Park. It was impossible to ask him any questions or grab his info and also you could see my reflection in the mirror. So I didn't turn this one in either.

Masked keyboardist banging the tunes in Fenway Park. It was impossible to ask him any questions or grab his info and also you could see my reflection in the mirror. So I didn’t turn this one in either.

This busker allowed me to take his picture in exchange for me to run and grab him a bottle of water. He gave me $2 and I walked into the McDonald's down the street, where I found the picture I liked the most.

This busker allowed me to take his picture in exchange for me to run and grab him a bottle of water. He gave me $2 and I walked into the McDonald’s down the street, where I found the picture I liked the most. I decided not to turn this photo in, because of my ethical responsibility.

Huzzah! I walk into McDonald's to buy the busker a bottle of water, and these smiling folks are celebrating Opening Day. McDonald's doesn't dress up like this for every Red Sox game, and the employees are jovial and even the manager pokes his head to join in the excitement of Opening Day. This is what felt like the most detailed, when even in the work place everyone's spirits are lifted.

Huzzah! I walk into McDonald’s to buy the busker a bottle of water, and these smiling folks are celebrating Opening Day. McDonald’s doesn’t dress up like this for every Red Sox game, and the employees are jovial and even the manager pokes his head to join in the excitement of Opening Day. This is what felt like the most detailed, when even in the work place everyone’s spirits are lifted.

I turned in the last photo, and got my ass kicked with a bad grade. It was a learning experience that only months after I could look back on and cherish with a fondness.

– TB

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Visual Journal

Bedroom Portraits

PUSH PLAY

I starting putting shit up on my walls when I was 11 and realized my mom would never let me chop my hair off. My four bedroom walls became the only appearance I could express in my externalized portrayal of angst and internalized confusion. My four bedroom walls were where the creation first exploded. When the walls soaked up all the tears and screams and howls of my pubescent rollercoaster, my four bedroom walls told the story of my own personal history and culture.

This mini-documentary series expresses the chronology of my bedroom–and the girl living in it.

The old Mickey Mouse stencil still dances inside of my eyelids every night. He dances the same dance I used to rattle when I was a bambina. Rattling for hours and hours until finally, I surrender to sleep.

– TB

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