The oddest thing about finding people is the eventual realization that they were always there. Far from home, it always strikes me that what’s encountered or learned did not await my arrival with any anticipation. That external “it” isn’t seeking to perform for me. It’ll hardly notice my passing, and will continue according to it’s own desire.

What a photograph can do that nothing else can is stop everything. The few senses that we understand are under constant assault every waking moment of our lives. Modern life is this. I’m watching 16 moto-tuk drivers crowd on the thin sidewalk of Sothearos Boulevard, all within four feet of one another and within two of the non-stop two-way traffic of the street. Suffocating exhaust fills the air and colors it grey. Street vendors squeeze through the few spaces, hawking hammocks and food and keepsakes and books and “dates”. Cars and motorbikes honk at one another constantly to alert each to the other’s imminent proximity. Small children play in the street barefoot, and an avalanche of school-age children pours from the gate of the secondary school, all dressed in blue and white. The drivers, in the center of all this, are placid, bored. When dissected, any of our lives contain equivalent (routine) barrages.

If there is a god, and if she did make all of this, and all of us, then all the world’s adornments only serve to mask her signature. A photograph is just a paper-thin slice of existence filtered through an opinion and aesthetic: a simple heart, hand, and eye in agreement. Yet the process allows the expression of something new from something very old. A photograph may not be the truth, but it also may be as close to it as we’ll get.

Photography, then, is my search for god.

“Masters” (working title)

90 minutes
documentary

“Masters” will introduce audiences to a select group of aging Cambodian master musicians / performers (3 to 5)—whose artforms have been virtually wiped out during the Khmer Rouge’s takeover of Cambodia. We’ll hear these musicians / performers speak in their own words about their lives in Cambodia - their tragedy, their perseverance and their passage—pre and post genocide. We will go to work and class with these masters, visit their modest homes and hang out in their neighborhoods. This is a rare opportunity to walk into a land that audiences don’t often see.

Just underneath the telling of these universally human stories we will also experience the centuries old music and craft that these master musicians / performers have been practicing for decades and are currently passing on to a younger generation of Cambodians. The music, instruments and all that encompasses will be deftly woven into the narrative. It will add layers to the documentary and will serve as a bed underneath. But the top layer will always be the life stories of the masters.

The narrative of the film will spin this uniquely Cambodian tale forward by identifying a compelling and expressive student or students (1 to 3) who embody the energy, charisma, hope and ultimately, the inspiration that lies in the future for Cambodia. This aspect of “Masters” will serve as a crucial plot point that will aid in taking us out of the film.

“Masters” aim is to capture the incredible staying power of the heartfelt stories, music and performances of these unique, important Cambodians. The film will bask in the (bitter) sweetness of Cambodian life today, experiencing beautiful sunshine coming through leaves, soaking up the history of these musicians in the act of recollecting. Having seen many hard times and passed through trials and tribulations (that many in the USA have little understanding for) these people persevered and continue to shine like diamonds.

One might ask, “Why should I care?” Imagine the world knew nothing of Charlie Parker’s bebop, Mikhail Baryshnikov’s modern dance, or Frida Kahlo and her distinctive style inspired by Mexican folk art. Our cumulative cultural balance sheet would suffer a deeply significant loss. All of the world’s culture feeds our collective humanity.

Some might say, “I know this story already”. We maintain that many do not know this story at all. And if they do, they certainly don’t know it the way we will tell it.

Our driving force is to bring these iconic individuals and their universally human stories to the world’s attention. “Masters” will ultimately inspire audiences through the telling of these engrossing stories while at the same time weaving in the embrace of beautiful music and performance.

We will never know exactly what was lost in the tragedies of the Cambodian past. But we do know what remains, and it deserves to be lifted up.

—Dwayne Shaw, Phnom Penh

Like as if it was the most natural thing in the world, the survivor of genocide drives us through a countryside painted in primary colors as the men in the backseat doze fitfully. The road is uneven, and rough in places, and walls of red dust sometimes swallow the horizon when large trucks approach. Arn, Seyma and I cover our faces with our scarves to guard against breathing it in. What strikes me as funny is that it tastes far better than the smog of Phnom Penh, yet I rarely see such filtration there. If anything, the city dwellers seem to embrace the pollution as a badge of honor; proof that they’ve somehow transcended their probably-recent provincial roots. Not much here that predates the seventies.

And then it’s night, and as Arn drives the others to a local hotel in Kampot, the villagers emerge from the dark of the road—evening sounds of the jungle growing in volume—to ask if I’m really planning to sleep on the roof of Arn’s house. The story has quickly spread throughout this tiny town, and they say that it’s much better to sleep inside. They say all this in a sign language, and I smile as a loud breeze rolls down the mountain as a response for me. Of course I will. I’ve never seen so many stars in my life, and tonight I can fall asleep counting them.

Fires burning, humans settling in for the night as the sun slowly sets over the always-near horizon; endless plains in all directions with a cyan cutout of a mountain in the distance. Warm, moist air. A buffalo soaking herself in a rice paddy and now the smell of smoke again. The world exhales—she unwraps herself from the tension of a daylong fight with the sun. So many beautiful, naked children. The sunset’s a tornado of color.

Every western influence is grotesque here. Packaged goods and the trash they engender have no place, end up strewn about the road in every village center. In a land devoid of marketing and billboards, every advert (gaudy, toxic colors) seems to go unnoticed or is positioned haphazardly. Photographs of ex-leaders are faded.

The trees grow taller as we continue northwest. Things get ancient. I keep wanting to stop the car and ask Mauricio to assemble the 4x5.

Cumulus packs stack on the horizon. The sun dips, the air cools. The gamut of color reflected in the water of the rice paddies is unfair.

A lone volleyball net in a patch of dirt. A ludicrously wrong orange hummer. All our lives on the other side of the world and the frequency with which we talk about our women. It’s the third day of our nationwide scout and my heart is already exhausted.

The camera was always a part of the search. The tool itself, whether in hand or on a tripod, was a weightless organizing factor. Something my fingers could figure. Certainly, the rectangle, or square, that the viewfinder presented was a participant in the sensation, but the object itself—the banal machine—that is the camera could never fully explain away the interior clarity and quiet its company brought.

From an early age I’d had an awareness of the cacophonous simultaneity of the workings of my own body. The rumble and rage of blood pushing rapidly through veins; the force of oxygen distribution with each inhalation; thunderstorms of electrical brain activity. At night, just before sleep, this involuntary awareness would overtake me and I’d feel the stark contrast of the inner velocity with the outer stillness, like feeling overfull with torrent. This represents my first attempt at description of this. Were I to draw it, I’d violently scribble a continuous line within a contour that it would never break.

It comes to mind because I’m now attempting to describe what it means to work, and when I’m working, everything becomes so wonderfully simple. All the knots of adult life fall away, and answers are wonderfully easy to come by. In truth, they’re everpresent, but the camera isn’t always. Once, it was.

What an odd thing to need, to think. What luck, to find it.

The first metric I created, at 16, was an expectation that if my work were to succeed, it would have to change the world. Anything short of this and the photograph had no use. I had no idea what motivated anyone else with a camera then, and the persistence of this standard into the present is an oddity I don’t typically mention. I do now with an eye towards the situation at hand, and the way that everything seems to have found its place. Myself included.

…crunch time.

Presently, the Kickstarter site tells the tale of the VRF’s best week yet - by a long stretch. This surge follows the creation of a $20,000 challenge grant by “the Friends of Cambodian Living Arts”. If the VRF hits (or breaks) the $50,000 mark within the next 15 days, they’ll pledge 20K towards our cause. This also means that between right now and October 3rd, every dollar pledged to the VRF is doubled.

Partnering with Kickstarter to secure the shoot funding for “Masters” was bold already, and this will be the team’s most decisive two weeks. Early signs are terrific: we were just reblogged in the Huffington Post, and hosted an effective media event immediately after the strong success of “Art From The Heart”. But even in the wake of these achievements, now is no time for the VRF’s friends or followers to slouch - there’s still much to be done.

Far more than just a way for corporate bodies to conditionally defer their donation processes, match grants can be a nonprofit’s dream. This summer City Harvest raised $20,000 in a match grant provided by anonymous donors in a fresh way: for every “fan” on Facebook, another dollar would be pledged to their account.

In the fulfillment of their challenge they found a powerful way to provide news and volunteer opportunities to the NYC community and beef up their budget. Typically a challenge grant presents a compelling reward behind a demanding requirement, and indeed, ours is no different.

The moment is filled with portent, as so many before it. Join us in meeting this challenge with the same decisiveness and clarity of vision we’re going to employ in Cambodia.

This past Thursday, the Foundation enjoyed the company of almost 300 artists, editors, curators, producers, collectors, artist representatives, appreciators, supporters, and smiling faces. As has been reported elsewhere, Matthew, Dwayne and I have been devoting the very best of ourselves to building out and installing a show worthy of the the fantastic art that was donated to us. Our objective, as always, was to present something unprecedented. This is what motivates us, this is what we do best, and this is what we’ll do for Cambodian Living Arts.

And, frankly, the response from everyone that came out has been just off the charts.

Putting on a successful event like this just doesn’t happen because three men bend their backs to it, though. So many noteworthy people and organizations were involved in making this a success and I have to take a second to shout them all out. Calumet Photographic very generously donated the space to us, all the folks at the shop were a delight to work with, and it all flows from the man at the top, John Dessereau. Brooklyn Lager provided the expected (fantastic beer), and I’m quite proud to say that none other than Benjamin Hudson himself made an appearance at the event. I’d imagine his social calendar is normally quite booked. [Heart Art Productions[(http://iheartartproductions.com/)—the dynamic duo of Audrie Lawrence and Celeste Holt-Walters - beautifully curated the show, graciously dealt with all the inevitable last-second complications, and came up with a design for the space that was truly innovative. Every time ROOT Capture or DriveIn Studios would send a truck through with equipment or supplies, the gear would arrive on time and perfect. This has as much to do with their collective professionalism as it does the overall excellence of our man on the inside, Kip McQueen. Volumes have been written elsewhere on the man’s qualities. All I’ll say in this space is what I’ve said of him for the past decade: I love him. I’ve made every attempt to thoughtfully thank all the contributing artists through every stage of the process, and I probably tossed out a fair share more at the opening. It can never be said enough times: without quality art, there is no quality show. We’re blessed, aware of it, and constantly working to be worthy of it. Contributing photographers: thank you, thank you. To the wonderful team of volunteers that made the event as seamless as it was: I bow deeply.

And then we have the ticketholders. That super-special class of folks that went to Kickstarter, pledged $75 (or more), and came out to support the Foundation. You wonderful, amazing group of people are the absolute heart and soul of us. I say this without exaggeration or hesitation. You will always be dear to us.

We’ve still got so much more to do in the little time that remains between now and when our fundraising window closes. And once we succeed, the climb only gets steeper. So much about the future is unknown. But, right now, we can take a moment and look through the photographs of the show (by Amanda Adams-Louis) and enjoy the radiated warmth and beauty of the night. We put our hearts out for you, and you, you filled them, truly.