Jan 11, 2021
Something about Chinatown
Where I fell in love with Photography
The first roll of film I ever shot I went to Chinatown. I was living on the Upper West Side going to a school I didn’t particularly fit in at or like, and any chance I got, I would take the subway downtown to escape. Most times I would find myself just sitting in a coffee shop — particularly when the weather was cold. Then, I was given my camera.
It was my mother’s Canon AE-1 from the 80s; a basic 35 mm staple. I was given the camera and all her lenses, two rolls of film and the manual the camera came with. I was given no instruction on how to use the camera, no prior discussion of ISO or aperture or f-stop — I had never heard those terms before—and was told to shoot and try different “settings”, make note of them, and see what came out in a way I liked.
I had always been interested in photography and cinematography, editing and directing, but never bothered to take a class or pick up a camera (other than the cheap miniature digital cameras I made home movies on as a kid). More than anything, though, I had always liked the uncertainty that comes with trying something new creatively.
The first roll I shot was black and white, ilford 400 ISO film. Some of the photos came out, most didn’t.
However, I remember initially being drawn to Chinatown. Maybe it’s because of all the different signs; maybe the neon lights or the open restaurant windows with food and meat hanging; maybe it was all of the different outdoor markets and the myriad of different options out in the open. Maybe it’s how everything in Chinatown is so accessible to the eye, so out in the open, like it’s asking to be captured.
Maybe it’s the personality. There’s something comforting about how much Chinatown has to offer. It’s always alive and buzzing and emotional. Sometimes I think Manhattan’s Chinatown is what made me fall in love with photography. Some of my favorite photos to this day were taken in Chinatown, and I continue to return to take more.
And there’s something to be said about photographing Chinatown in black and white, seeing all the bustling energy and vibrant color isolate and become still. It’s poetic. It takes the beauty of a neighborhood and focuses on the obvious beauty overlooked amidst all the wonder and distractions.
I’ve tried to shoot Chinatown in color, but I keep coming back to black and white because, to me, photographs are about the moment and feeling, and the absence of color when capturing Chinatown best depicts the feeling of love and admiration I have for the neighborhood.
The sad truth is, I don’t think I still have most of the digital copies of that first roll I shot in Chinatown. At the time — and as I continued to progress in my photography— I wanted to hide those photographs. I was ashamed of them and their imperfections. That was always my issue with creative endeavors: I always became hung up on perfection or beauty looking a certain way.
I don’t spend as much time trying to make a photograph look “beautiful” or “perfect” anymore. I don’t think any photographers do. As my work and skills and understanding has grown, so has my mentality about photography. I relish in the messy or imperfect shots because sometimes there is so much beauty and personality within them, it shows through the imperfect. Photography is about many things, but one in particular stands out as a matter of continued importance: Photography is about learning to let go. To let go of fears, of boundaries, of strict rules or ideas, to let go of space or time, everything, and absorb the moment and capture the feeling of that moment — or a small detail perhaps overlooked — through the lense.
So, thank you, Chinatown, for helping my fall in love with what I love.
