What is Ming Ge photography?

Many years ago, I had a film camera and hung it around my neck like a baby every day.

In those years, film was very expensive, and developing film was more expensive, so I had a large box of film that I had never developed.

In those years, the so-called photographer was very popular, actually referring to people who could use cameras. In those days, few people would have spare money to study how to take clear photos with one film after another.

Cameras are all for eating, and as a hobby, it will be considered a strange choice.

The freeze-frame image of that year was a piece of paper, and every household had several heavy photo albums. In fact, the photos of that year have faded by now, and the film can no longer be developed.

Climbing up a barren hillside with my camera on my back to shoot the sunrise and sunset, waiting in the photo studio for a long time before receiving the newly-dried photos with temperature, it feels like repeating the moment of pressing the shutter.

Many years ago, I got a small card machine and put it in my trouser pocket every day. Later, it died miserably and was murdered by the washing machine in my trouser pocket. Since that year, all the images have been digitized and stuffed into that small memory card. At that time, the memory card was only 128mb. I crammed photos into my computer every day, so I took them for three years. With the crash of my computer hard disk, there was no trace.

I shot and shot all the way, and my old camera retired with 200,000 shutter times, in exchange for less and less available space on the computer hard disk. And photos, also become worthless. The camera is still a recording tool, and the picture can't be poked so accurately.

I poked at the chair to sort out piles of photos, closed my eyes and put out those old slides in my head. If you can't drive, you will fly into a rage. Each picture is also marked with time and place. These pictures that have never been deliberately recorded may be the most precious photos I have taken in my life.

As time goes on, these pictures become more and more clear, as if they are within reach and far apart. The face in the picture has long been blurred, but the feeling is so vivid. The whole story is the same as the camera parameters. The huge amount of information makes me unable to eat again and again, and then I can't sleep all night.

Broken bicycles, old streets, old street vendors, the moon.

The high roof of the town, drizzle, friends passing by on motorcycles, purple fireworks.

Rooms I've never been to, pool tables, cell phones.

Broken wooden houses in the fields, clear water, birds singing.

That brand-new big bed, an unfinished house.

A kiss after waking up.

And you.

For so long, the most beautiful picture, the saddest memory, the sharpest knife, the best you I have ever seen. It's all engraved in my mind, year after year, day after day, over and over again. I am too familiar to tell my own story, and I can't tell the ending of what happened at all.

Then there are wine bottles, motorcycles, and that broken guitar.

When the engine echoed, I thought about how crazy I was. When I was bleeding profusely, I grew up inexplicably.

Some seemingly beautiful lives worth living now look so filthy that they are stripped of those things that they don't give up and thrown aside. The rest of the pictures are forged and rendered over and over again, so beautiful that I don't want to believe it is true. At this time, I felt a heartbreaking pain.

Unfortunately, it has never been allowed to choose when to open these things, and anything related to it may become a fuse, then erupt and then wreak havoc. An old song, a bottle of red wine, a star, even if it is a normal rainy day.

Finally dawn, these pictures will be brought to the dream and strung together into a movie to reproduce the last time.

Essay, on 20 14.

So today, send me a meaningful photo.

Let's tell the story about it again.