MMS 173 Assignment 1: Knowing Where I'm At (Part 2)
MMS 173 Assignment 1: Knowing Where I'm At (Part 2)
Growth is rarely immediate; no artist and no scholar has ever begun at their peak. I reviewed the assessments my peers have written about our fellow photographers, and it allowed me to see their work through a more open and nuanced lens. Reading them had its own effects on my initial impressions. There were perspectives that stood out and made me reconsider how I viewed certain pieces.
Some have already shown strong command over the material, their work structured and purposeful, while others are still finding their footing. A lot of the images felt intentional, while others captured raw emotion in a way that felt almost unintentional yet deeply effective. A handful of students seem to be operating at a level far beyond the average, showing an understanding that feels natural, as if they have already been refining their skills long before stepping into this course (I wanted to choose more than one piece from the people I chose to assess, because they were so good).
Quite a few works felt rushed, incomplete, or disconnected from the assignment’s intent. We would all be surprised with how the coming weeks will determine just how much we can learn and unlearn things. I am excited to see a difference in the way we produce our craft.
Time, memory, and perspective. The Burj Khalifa, captured by Mary Danielle Florendo, is a structure that many want to see, but is something she has grown up with, almost blending into the background of heir daily life. And yet, there is still a desire to capture it, again and again, as if each shot preserves a new piece of the past.
From a compositional standpoint, the use of lighting is a key strength. The decision to lower the exposure and brightness was a smart choice, allowing the vibrancy of the night to stand out without being overexposed. Night photography often comes with annoyances, but this adjustment ensures that the contrast between the illuminated tower, the dark sky, and the fountain’s movement remains balanced. The framing likely follows the rule of thirds, ensuring that the Burj Khalifa remains the focal point while still allowing space for surrounding elements to contribute to the atmosphere.
What makes this photograph speak to me is the acknowledgment that life is ever-changing, that the things we see every day might not always be within reach. This is where photography transcends being just a visual record—we are privileged in the sense that we are able to grasp the luxury of holdingonto moments, to remind ourselves of what was once familiar, even when it no longer is.
Looking at this, I am reminded of my own experiences with places I have visited and those I have yet to see. I find comfort in returning to a place and knowing it is still there, unchanged, even as everything else moves forward. There is a kind of peace in constance and permanence, in knowing that some things will always remain. But at the same time, I also understand that embracing change is just as necessary. The world shifts around us, and we must confront it, not only with the things we know but also with the willingness to unlearn, to adapt, and to see the familiar in new ways.
If I were to take this shot, I might experiment with different focal lengths, perhaps a wider shot to encapsulate more of the city's energy or a close-up to highlight intricate details of the tower’s reflection. However, the sentiment behind it lingers, proving that even the most repeated sights can still hold new meaning each time we choose to see them.
I see a strong connection between the way Ayessa Mendoza articulated her vision and the way I approach my own creative process. She did not just capture an image, she built a narrative around it. This warrants layers about the photographer and the subject itself.
This approach aligns with how we tend to come up with written or spoken accounts of what we create and leave space for better explanations of them. Sometimes the image speaks for itself, other times we also give it meaning.
One of the strongest aspects of the image is the way motion is frozen. The splash of water in a crisp, almost tangible way speaks to excellent timing. The interplay of warm and cool tones adds contrast, separating the subject from the environment.
As for composition techniques, the photograph likely utilizes the rule of thirds, ensuring that the subject is positioned in a way that naturally draws the viewer's eye. There is also a strong sense of storytelling embedded in the framing, which is what drew me to choosing her photo in the first place. Placing the child in an expansive sea creates a feeling of wonder and scale, reinforcing the emotional weight behind the title, The Boy Who Believed. The biblical reference elevated the image into something more introspective and profound.
That said, she is aware of some technical limitations, particularly regarding depth. While the background blur was adjusted in post-processing, achieving a natural depth of field in-camera with a prime lens or a lower aperture setting would have been ideal. However, the effort put into overcoming this challenge through editing is commendable, and the result still manages to separate the subject from the background effectively.
If I were to take this shot, I might experiment with a lower angle to make the child appear even more heroic against the backdrop of the sea, though I know her intentions were to make it seem as if the boy was walking on water. I might also explore a slightly wider frame to add more of the surrounding elements for context.
This photograph by Jeorgina Raihana Ebora is seemingly intimate. The depiction of elements is simple yet effective, with the interplay of light and shadow serving as the central focus. The choice of time: late afternoon, just after waking from a nap, imbues the image with a quiet, almost nostalgic quality. The warm hues of the setting sun contrast beautifully with the harsher shadows, creating a natural chiaroscuro effect that adds depth to an otherwise ordinary space.
Compositionally, the image benefits from the contrast between light and darkness, which naturally guides the eye across the frame. The use of natural lighting as the primary compositional tool elevates the shot, making it feel intentional despite its spontaneous nature. However, the cluttered desk introduces an element of visual noise that, while unplanned, also contributes to the authenticity of the moment; it reflects a lived-in space, making the image more relatable.
What adds another layer of meaning to this image is the sense of familiarity. She is a mutual of mine, and I remember seeing her desk often in her posts. It is part of her routine, a constant presence in the background of her daily life. Yet here, in this particular moment, it takes on a new significance. It is no longer just a functional space, but it is a place marked by light, by time, by the transition, carrying an emotional attachment, an importance that may not have been as apparent in other contexts.
This reminds me of how meaning can shift depending on perspective. It is a reminder that even the most routine aspects of life hold a kind of beauty when we pause to really see them.
If I were to take this shot, I might experiment with framing—perhaps adjusting the angle slightly to emphasize the light patterns more dramatically or using a shallower depth of field to soften the distractions. However, there is something poetic about capturing a moment exactly as it is. The beauty of this image lies in its honesty, in how it transforms a glance into something worth keeping.
This photograph by Ckiah Keil Balubal could be interpreted in a way where artistry is not bound by equipment or location, but rather by the willingness to experiment. The choice to work within a tiny room with minimal resources speaks to the photographer’s ability to embrace limitations and turn them into strengths. The use of three red Carolinas as a backdrop may be simple, but it becomes a defining element, adding vibrancy and intentionality to the composition.
Beyond composition, the true power of this image lies in its message. Photography, at its best, challenges perceptions, sparks conversations, and redefines norms. This piece does just that. The collaboration with a former classmate to create something meaningful shows that photography is as much about connection as it is about technical skill. The deliberate exploration of beauty outside the confines of gender constructs adds weight to the visual impact, making the image not just aesthetically compelling but socially significant.
But what draws me in the most is how this image speaks to me personally. I love taking self-portraits, always have. Not because I knew the right way to take them, but because I simply wanted to create. Even without proper knowledge, even with nothing but a camera and an idea, I still pressed the shutter. All I had were my vision and my means to actualize it. And somehow, that was always enough.
That is why this photograph resonates so deeply with me. It captures the essence of what it means to work with what you have rather than wait for the perfect circumstances. The photographer’s choice to construct a makeshift studio in a small room mirrors my own experiences. It reminds me that, in the reality of things, we make it all possible. The subjects and compositions will always be there, but how we act upon them is entirely up to us.
If I were the photographer, I might experiment further with different shadow placements or introduce an additional light source to sculpt the subject’s features in an even more dynamic way. But beyond technical aspects, I would not change the core of the image. Its power lies in its authenticity, in the way it captures not just a subject but a moment of realization.
Ma Francesca Santiago showed how an image can withdraw from its physical elements to evoke a deeper sense of history. The composition is rich with textures: aged wood, intricate furniture, and the elegant chandelier, all working together to transport the viewer to a different time. The choice of framing ensures that the chandelier becomes the focal point, reinforcing the sense of grandeur and "high social status" that the photographer describes. The warm, muted tones enhance this vintage atmosphere, creating an almost dreamlike quality that invites the viewer to be in the moment.
One of the strongest aspects of this photograph is how it is a reflection of cultural heritage. The old-world charm of the setting reminds us of the legacy of Filipino ancestral houses tells a story of a bygone era. The photographer’s ability to recognize and appreciate these details adds preservation of finding beauty in the past and making it resonate in the present.
This image speaks to me, because history has always played a significant role in my life, shaping how I see myself and the world around me. With my mixed ethnic background, I have had the privilege of being tied to many cultures, yet I have always identified first as Filipina. No matter where I travel, I instinctively search for something that reminds me of home—whether it be a restaurant, a familiar accent, or even the way people carry themselves. There is a kind of luxury unique to Filipinos, not in material wealth, but in how we interpret love as consideration. Our architecture, much like our traditions, reflects this: homes designed not just for grandeur, but for warmth and comfort, built with whatever resources were available at the time.
If I were to take this photo myself, I might experiment with different angles to further emphasize the chandelier’s grandeur or play with lighting to create an even stronger contrast between shadow and warmth. However, the essence of the image is already well established; it is to preserve, to evoke, and to remind us of the beauty in our shared history.
The pictures we choose to analyze, much like the ones we take ourselves, often reflect something about us and what we value, what moves us, and how we see the world. I have come to realize that my approach to photography leans more toward the subjective, rather than objective. While composition, elements, and principles all hold undeniable significance, I find myself drawn more to intention and motive.
Why would you do this? Or that? And what for? The "how" can always be learned, but the passion will always innately come from you. It cannot be forced nor taught.
Photography, to me, is a reflection of identity, a silent dialogue. As someone of mixed heritage, I often find myself searching for the ways in which my cultures intertwine. The Japanese side of me values subtlety, restraint, in what is left unsaid—the philosophy of "wabi-sabi", where flaws and transience are embraced. Meanwhile, my Filipina identity finds richness in warmth and connection. These two perspectives shape how I make sense of the world and, in turn, how I take photographs.
This is perhaps why I gravitate toward self-portraits—I see them as a means of self-exploration. In Japan, there is an appreciation for quiet observation, for moments of stillness that reveal deeper truths. In the Philippines, there is a love for vibrancy, for capturing life as it is.
That is not to say technique is unimportant. The "how" of photography—the angles, the lighting, the post-processing—can always be learned, and it is an area I know I must improve upon. Because, at the end of the day, a perfect image without meaning is empty, but an imperfect image with soul can speak volumes.
If I were to assess myself in comparison to my peers, I would say that my strength lies in my ability to tell a story and evoke a sense of presence in my images. However, I also recognize where I fall short. I know how to create meaning, but I sometimes lack the precision to translate my vision exactly as I imagine it.
Moving forward, I want to be more intentional with my growth. I want to study the technical aspects of photography more rigorously, not to confine my creativity, but to expand it. I want to find where I stand between two cultures. And in that in-between space, I hope to create images that feel true to who I am and make others feel the same way.