Category — CYKim

In black and white, our present and the past are captured on a plain sheet of paper. Swirls of nostalgias, memories, and moments are all blended into a mixture of life in a photograph. Last Tuesday, I attended a seminar called “Meeting the Artist” at Macaulay Honors College. From there, Howard Greenberg, a freelance photographer and an owner of the famous photo gallery in Manhattan, opened my eyes to see the new world of photography. From his passionate speech, I was able to see how meaningful my life can be by pursuing my own dreams.

Howard Greenberg’s life has been dramatically changed since he took his first look of the world through the lens. With the rhythmic shutter sounds made by thousands of snapshots that he has taken in his life, he was constantly driven by his own motivation and passion. “I was hungry,” he said. Because he was hungry, he did not hesitate when the time of making decisions came. After his first encounter with photography, Mr. Greenberg instantly changed his dream to become a photographer. After finding his own interest in business, he decided to run a photo gallery. His life was full of risks, but he was a man of action. I was inspired by his determination and confidence the most.

I always thought photography was obscure. Whenever my photographer friends started to talk about angles, light exposure, and contrast, I simply wanted to escape from these professional, heavy terms. I was more drawn to painting because I thought it allowed me to directly convey my thought and express my imagination or fantasy on canvas. From that perspective, photography had a limit: I had to use existing objects, people and places to express my own self and thoughts. However, Mr. Greenberg redefined and even broke my initial definition of photography.  While I was hearing all the behind stories about each photograph that he brought, I felt taking a photo means more than just documenting an idea or a moment. Through each person’s facial expression, the contrast of light and irony of the setting, an excellent photograph can make us relive that very moment in our lives. “Capturing the moment, that’s all what it is, really.” After listening to Mr. Greenberg’s handy tip, now photography isn’t that intimidating to me. To be honest with you, I’m little hungry to learn more about it.

“Wow, Renee! You are absolutely going to love Frankie and Lena. They are just adorable!” A few months after my arrival in America, I met a friend who had long, silky blond hair with icy blue eyes. Elise resembled the all-American girl to me. One day, she invited me over to her house. It was the first chance of encountering a typical American family. Since I couldn’t understand what she was saying for most of the times, I assumed Frankie and Lena to be Elise’s chubby, petite younger brother and sister.

“Frankie! Are you home?” Elise shouted out as we entered the living room. From the kitchen, Mrs. Johnson -I predicted and I was right- ran into me in the speed of light with her arms widely extended. I barely had a time to GASP. ‘Ah, I think… she’s trying to hug me?! We just met five seconds ago, and she’s trying to hug me?’ Two seconds later, I found myself became a giant baby in her arms. She hugged and kissed me, and poured out all the adjectives that I have never heard about myself before: lovely, sweet, and yes, of course, adorable. I was embarrassed, but at the same time, equally amused. When Mrs. Johnson finally let go of me, the only thing in my head was the thoughts on how I would escape from that embarrassing moment.

In the backyard, there stood Frankie who was wearing a sky blue apron with small white polka dots. More than his outfit, I was rather shocked to find out Frankie was in his 40s. “Renee, this is Frankie. He’s my dad. And this is Lena, she’s my adorable mother.”

I was stunned. To begin with Korean culture, it is almost forbidden to call one’s parents’ names in public. Whenever I had to state them for any reason, I was required to put “ja” right after each word to show my respect toward them. Besides that point, how could you describe your parents adorable to your friend? It was totally against Korean society’s ethical belief and also, excessively disrespectful. Furthermore, I’ve never seen any Korean father wearing a sky blue apron with white polka dots in my entire life.

Five years have passed since I had the first glimpse of American culture. Still, I never dare to call my parents by their first names. However, there is a change though. Whenever I visit Korea, my Korean friends would prefer keeping their personal space from me because of my newly acquired “huggable personality.” But, seriously, doesn’t it make you happy?

The image was taken from http://rlv.zcache.com/all_american_girl_poster-p228684324339989277tdcp_400.jpg

Growing up as a daughter of Korean immigrants, my life was a consecutive challenges of coping myself into “a whole new world” called America. Especially, waking up in the middle of New York City everyday initiated and fulfilled my life with diverse cultural metamorphosis.

Most of my cultural encounters took place in school.  One day, my sophomore English teacher had a heated discussion with students about student discipline and punishment. He abruptly asked me what do they do in Korean schools. I instantly read his intention, but simply tried to avoid it. He did not show any sign of retreat, so I just stated, “Teachers can exert more authority over children in terms of discipline in Asia.” Obviously, this answer did not satisfy my teacher. He was looking for a specific example.

What I said was true though; I simply generalized my answer to avoid my friends’ “what?” and “huh?” In the Asian culture that I grew up for fifteen years, physical punishment –such as spanking and hitting, but certainly not physically abusing- was allowed to discipline disrespectful students. However, when I was admitting that fact, I felt ashamed for some reason. After a while, I realized there is no need to be ashamed of my culture. Is physical punishment for children right or wrong? I still do not know. Still, one clear lesson that I have learned from that experience was culture is neither right nor wrong; it is just different from one to another.

The image was taken from:<http://www.anirudhsethireport.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/01/right_wrong.png>

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