1970’s DECADE
DECADE OF ADVENTURE: Fresh and exciting, a decade of innocent encounters, whether temporal or spiritual, all powerful awakenings. A dance of light, faith, and form, converging in time, out of chaos into moments of delight and awe.
50-Years of Vision Quest
Today, everyone is a photographer! The digital world has liberated the gods of serendipity! Images, once restricted by the number of frames on a roll of film, are a dime-a-dozen in the ever-growing megabyte to gigabyte to terabyte storage capacity. Photography chronicles every second of our world today. This intense coverage is a collective consciousness that, I hate to say it, overshadows any single vision with unblinking proficiency and faceless anonymity.
The good, the bad and the ugly in this collective visual awakening are massive. The global landscape has changed forever with this universal language. Not a single location in the world is spared of a “selfie-maker,” and it makes me wonder what it means to be a photographer when the whole-world is photographing.
I think Andy Warhol got it wrong about the fifteen minutes of fame. For a photographer in today’s word, the fleeting mantle of glory is measured in nano-seconds.
What’s notable, however, is the number of young people embracing photography as their universal form for self-expression. They are tech-savvy; they use it to validate themselves with followers, virtual audiences and fans. After all these years, I realized theirs is not a creative quest but an expression of-the-moment— it’s the illumination of the moment. Powerful as it is, I’m glad I lived in an era that took me years to understand this.
So with DECADES, I will rediscover the aspiring moments of my 50-year vision quest. I will share them as blog pages to an excavation of a visual archeology site.
Art Dealer and Collector, Harry Lunn, toying at the International Center of Photography awards banquet in 1981. Considered as the founding father of the fine-art photography market, he championed photography as Art until his death in 1998.
Photography grew wings but also empowered my sense of independence. The creativity of the infinite began by being present, in-the-moment. The ’80s launched a new path, away from the established formulas of achievement, apart from the entrapment of professional success.
Two days out from St. John’s, Newfoundland American team rider David Weiss, skips across the Atlantic headed toward Falmouth England. This TAWR (Trans-Atlantic Windsurf Race) in the summer of 1999 was one of two ocean-crossing events organized by the lifestyle magazine I launched in 1993.
A LEAP, from the cliffs between Torbole and Riva on the northern shores of Lake Garda, Italy. This region of Italy is one of my favorites in the world. The wind breathed with mystical qualities. Exhales to the Padam Plains in the morning and inhales in the afternoon as the surrounding Alps heats up.
The ’90s was a decade that demanded faith, reliance on vision to survive. It was a daily ritual of jumping before knowing where to land. There were challenges of seemingly insurmountable difficulties, yet breathtaking solutions. It was an era of sink-or-swim, the most prolific decade of them all. It was miraculous, memorable, and empowering.
Exit polls came as we flew towards Boston. It was the morning of November 4th, 2003. For what seemed to be an eternity, it was just John Kerry and me in the forward cabin. Kerry ended a call with Bill Clinton, and it sounded like he was taking advice. “Why the hell is he talking to Clinton? They have no interest in having the White House tied up for possibly eight years!” I thought, When we got closer to Boston, more exit-polls came with a lead widening. We sat, immersed in silence, there was nothing to say in the awkward anticipation.
The 2000s was a decade of transformation, the dawning of Aquarius. High-Frequency alchemy, as when water turns to steam. An awakening to force a change. Ambition evaporates into (I hope) mindfulness. The willingness to embrace the unknown becomes the fruit of life.
As the sun sets on the rim of Crater Lake, Oregon, this 2018 moment marks the beginning of a new chapter after 50-years of my vision quest. Angling for serendipitous pictures no longer interested me. Witnessing a rare moment and capturing it with a high megapixel camera is the future.
A CATHARSIS CHINESE SMILE under the shadow of Potala Palace greeted me when I trekked into Tibet in late 2018. I wanted to understand the dynamics of the Chinese occupation. When the truth comes without words, the affirmation is intoxicating.
Looking back, it was beyond expectations. It was living in the moment instead of capturing the moment. It’s the flow, a divine dance — simply, it’s finding gratitude.
DECADE OF ADVENTURE: Fresh and exciting, a decade of innocent encounters, whether temporal or spiritual, all powerful awakenings. A dance of light, faith, and form, converging in time, out of chaos into moments of delight and awe.
INDULGING DEFIANCE: Photography gave me wings but also a sense of boundless creativity. This was a decade of independence, anti-establishment. It was a decade that avoided entrapment, both stylistic and accomplishment,. an era of exploration and renaissance.
SINK OR SWIM: The ’90s were filled with risk and perils. A decade of demanding faith and vision. Jumping before knowing where to land. A decade filled with challenges, difficulties and yet breathtaking miracles.
HEAT’S ON: A decade of transformation. The dawning of the age of Aquarius. Water turning to steam. Fruition from the quest was liberating. It was a decade that exchanged ambition for the magic of the unknown.
GRATITUDE: A decade beyond expectation. I learned to live in the moment instead of capturing the moment. . . simply, being present to welcome the moment.
This work-in-progress is the unveiling of a fifty-year visual-journey by photographer John Chao. You’re signing up for future updates, events, and offerings. We guard your privacy and maintain your exclusive ad-free subscription. Unsubscribe at any time with a click of a button. Thank you!
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-Continued from Published
Bob Gilka, the Director of Photography at National Geographic Magazine seem to resent me for sleeping with the enemy. He was not about to further my career. He saw me as a rule-breaker. Someone unbefitting to his proven talents even though I graduated from the very top of his associated institutions. He never gave me a single assignment, voluntarily, that is. Thirty years later, his assistant sought me out at a gathering and told me he was near death.
I embraced her, asked her to wish him my best and to tell him how much I’ve admired and looked up to him. Her eyes glassed; in a tender, almost apologetic voice, she said. “Thank you, John, I know it will mean a lot to Mr. Gilka to hear this coming from you.”
Gilka was an ego-driven drill sergeant whose magazine was his oligarchy. The reputation and mystique behind the magazine suited him well. My first encounter with the man was in his office. Like all aspiring photographers, we made our way to be ordained. On his door, the sign said, Wipe Your Knees Before Entering.
“You need to work for a newspaper!” was his response after viewing my portfolio. Sheepishly told him I was offered a job in a Kansas newspaper but turned-it-down because I didn’t want to leave NYC. Before I could finish, he yelled: “Who Clarkson!?”
Surprised by the outburst, I timidly said, “Yes!” He stared at me for an eternity. I swear I saw smoke sputter out of his head. He hissed, “NOW, IF THAT IS TRUE! You have to be the dumbest jack-ass ever walked into my office!”
With his doubting eyes, he glared at me as if he’d caught me in a lie. “Do you know how many photographers would give their right arm to be at the Capital-Journal?!” My sheepishness must have confirmed his suspicions. Not being a student of journalism, I was unaware of the extensive network this drill-sergeant uses to gather his Geographic talents. Colleges, newspapers across the country, the bastion of the Missouri Workshop, were all part of his well-established web. That morning, I was utterly unaware; Topeka Capital-Journal was the pinnacle of his recruitment network. Anyone hired there would not have gone unnoticed, and anyone declining a job there is a liar. “Well, get the hell out there and come back after you have some newspaper experience.” (I swear I’ve got a bruise on my rear to prove it ;-).
So I called Rich Clarkson and asked if the job offer was still good.
A FEW YEARS LATER, I sat in the same office facing the same doubting face. Chief Editor, Bill Garrett insisted that he assign me to photograph an article I’d proposed on Taiwan. After weeks of delay, he reluctantly offered me a fraction of the day-rate compared to GEO and later made a stink about the Chinese receipts I submitted. I did not get more assignments from him even though the Taiwan article was credited to be “transformative.” I don’t know what that meant, but it was, the first time Geographic published blurred pictures. So when his assistant made the non-verbal apology, I was surprised and wished that I had the opportunity to sit and laugh with the old geezer some 30-years later.
I understand Bob Gilka; we had mutual friends. I will always be grateful to him. Firstly, in helping me realize what newspaper work means. Secondly, in affirming my conviction NOT to wear corporate success as a form of personal achievement. Throughout the years, I knew he was surprised to hear my name intertwined in conversations. I was the jack-ass that kept beating the drum but didn’t follow his path. I think, in the end, he would have applauded me for doing this. RIP
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