Monday, January 23, 2017


I found an old note I wanted to post on my blog.

I was 22 back then, when I worked in NY fashion photo industry as an intern / slave.
I was also a student at Parsons School for kids who can't do math but Design.

I was 22. Fresh out of year two Parsons.
I thought "boy I'm gonna be a great designer and do interior design and secure a great job!"
Then I met a freak, I mean, a GREAT photographer.

My life got twisted ever since. I started to associate with freaks. I started meeting amazing photographers and worked for them. I became a great designer but I fuck*ng quit like it meant nothing. I became a Photographer.

This is a story of me, when I was fresh (btw, I wrote this... like 2013 or 2014...) outta Parsons school for designers year-two. A summer vacation that ended in internship NOT in design.


Step 1 to Good-bye white-collared job, ur fucked forever.
Thanks I really appreciate it, btw.


I was already working in the industry while being in school.
Not so sure if I can consider it being “working” as I was not being paid. Although, my work was being paid for, but not to me.

The industry hesitated on my progress each day.
Photos needed to be made.
I was retouching 7-page stories and a centerfold one day. Cover too. For a million dollar shoot.
Fashion photo retouching was a well paid job but the industry was shady. Interns go running around unpaid. Me? I was one of them.

I graduated interning the first week.
Then I started making phone ca
lls, arranging lefts and rights.
Walked the dog every day. Talked the bitch all day.

First month ended and I was the studio manager. Making phone calls still.
Arranging crews, go on some recruits.
Army was made under me.
I had them running for me for my boss and for my boss’s clients.

I was running in the city.
Bitch calls 2am, I’m there.

Take a taxi anytime anywhere.
Shoes here, models there, hairs-n-make-up ready in 15.
Shoot starts.

Need some coffee. An extra hot venti extra shot extra pump extra latte.
Add a Chai to that, with all the extras elsewhere.

Cat escapes.
Nightmare starts. Crews goin’ looking everywhere, model there prop here make-up in the back yard.
That’s the Queen I worked for.

Second month ended.
I had a replacement.

School starting, I had to let go.
Took a summer course, took a weekend off.

Life was 7 days, 12 hours every day.

Old people coming back, new people passing by.

3rd month ended, and I was back to desk. School started, and I had to let it go. 

May my days in the industry forever shine in memory.
Those were the days when Gansevoort still had Flaurent restaurant. 


about: NY, NY 2006. 
written: 2013 or 2014 in Singapore



Those were the days. 

It has been a decade. Decade later. 
I cry sometimes (not really) looking back. How shiny it was. 

I wish we never age. Like photography. I'm gonna die one day, like dreaming to DMT. Snap snap. 

I went to Flaurent sometimes. I couldn't really afford but my boss (name hidden) went to bug Flaurent (the owner) frequently.
One by one, people left. 

I remember the last day of this, last day of that. Last day of this, last day of that. 

I need to go take some pictures. ;)

2017, Los Angeles

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