Evie Cheung

photographer // brooklyn

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FOUR DAYS IN MEDELLIN

I had two goals in mind for this trip:

1. Take at least one photo a day that I am actually decently proud of

2. Read a goddamn book

It’s a little strange being surrounded by lots of fellow travelers, particularly a large amount of young men, snorting lines every night and paying for hookers. It’s slightly hilarious, the weird hostel brotherhood that forms and them being so aggressive about sharing their drugs—“This is really good shit, you guys have to try it. My god, I didn’t even know what good was til I came down here. And it’s just so fucking cheap!” But apart from it being hilarious, it's also really sad.

But I didn’t come down here for the cocaine or to escape the harsh reality of a full-time job in New York. I came to see the world—a part of it that I’ve never step foot on. This is my first time in South America, and marks the sixth continent that I have traveled to (wahoo!). And I feel incredibly lucky to be here.

I haven’t really felt much like meeting or hanging around people, especially other Americans (surprise, surprise), but I’ve somehow found myself always with people, with a beer in hand and chatting about previous and future travels. I must be the most easily distracted person ever, cheers to being a highly functional ADHD. And I’ve really had no desire to do this, but it just comes with the territory of staying at a nice hostel with a large amount of foreigners.

But today has been dedicated to sitting and reading and nothing more. The most I’ve talked to anyone today is to say “safe travels” and “Can I please have a cappuccino?” I leave tonight for Barranquilla, where the second biggest Carnaval in the world takes place starting on Saturday.

Medellin has been really amazing. It’s a gorgeous city—with parts of it seemingly set in the middle of the rainforest. And then areas that are so hectic and overrun with corruption still. A balance that any major city has. There’s the hills and the valleys, with the main part of the city being surrounded by lush mountains. I’m staying in the pretty yuppie district of El Poblado but have ventured out quite a bit to the city center and the outskirts, where a lot of the markets are, and where coming across another foreigner is quite rare.

My two favorite places have been Plaza Minorista, a market with hundreds and hundreds of different vendors (and no foreigners!), and Comuna 13, a previously extremely violent and dangerous neighborhood during Pablo Escobar’s reign.

Perhaps the most awesome thing about Medellin is the fact that the government really invests in its people. 38% of the government’s budget is spent on education and social programs. To combat drug use and violence, there has been a large movement to create cultural programs, especially for young people—from things like painting and joining the national orchestra.

Imagine if we did that in the states.

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For the weekend dreamers.

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A little creative inspiration for your evening...

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This morning's snow commute | 6 January 2015

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dec 31: beginnings

On December 1, I began this project to get back into photography, gain a sense of clarity into my work, and hopefully create something that I was proud of. And if I’m being completely honest, a part of me started this because I knew that my then-boyfriend would be busy recording a new album for most of December. Ironically enough, as I was writing my first real post, he called me to say hello, interrupting a low point that I had hit while writing. I hadn’t told him about this project, which is strange, because I seemed to have told everyone else. I had just come home from shooting, tired and exasperated, and it was only Day 1. We talked for a bit, and I misunderstood something that he said (surprise, surprise) and got upset. He became angry and we got into the fight that would ultimately end our relationship that night. 

That was December 1. And I don’t know if it was meant to be symbolic in any way; it seems silly to think so. But thirty days later, it makes complete sense. I couldn’t have done this project if we were still together—because a huge part of it would have been because of him and not for me. And in all honesty, it is fucking ridiculous how much of my creative work has depended on other people. In the past year, I have rarely picked up my camera if I wasn’t shooting an event that I was making money off of. I didn’t go out to take photographs unless someone else suggested that it was a good idea or if I had someone to shoot with. 

But after that night, I took all of my anger and sadness and fear and and threw it into my work. I marched miles with thousands of protesters for the lives of Eric Garner and Mike Brown, went shooting by myself through the snow in Chinatown, visited my favorite photographer Sebastiao Salgado’s exhibit at ICP, bough a new-age Polaroid, asked complete strangers if I could take their picture, and got kicked out of several places for taking photos even after they told me not to. 

And I cried. Fucking hell, I cried a ton. I don’t think I’ve ever cried more than I’ve cried this month. I cried before a huge networking event, our company holiday party, my own holiday party, and a ton of birthday parties. I cried on the phone with my best friend, in the back of cabs, while I was out shooting, alone at home in my bed, and on my friends’ shoulders. I cried because my relationship had ended, because I hated my photographs and I hated my writing and I hated New York’s transition into winter. But above all, I cried because I was sick of holding everything in and it was time to let things go. And only when I hit rock bottom could I then rebuild. And that felt damn good. 

I am pretty sure I failed in some way every single day. I went through a two-week period of not writing a single post. And I tried. I have about 10 drafts sitting here that I haven’t finished because I couldn’t get past the fifth sentence. And I have over 1000 photographs that I didn’t publish. 

I don’t know if I achieved any of the things that I wanted to accomplish this month. I haven’t created anything I’m particularly proud of. But I’m realizing that it’s okay. Even though I didn’t write every day, I always had my camera with me—sometimes two. Getting used to that eight extra pounds on my shoulder every day takes time. I also wrote small notes in my phone every day; my mind was constantly thinking of projects that I could do, ideas of photos that I could take, and places that I wanted to explore with a camera in hand. So I am one step closer. 

Creative process is difficult and it’s different for everyone. The hardest thing about this month has been to not pass judgment on everything that I’ve been creating—my photographs, writing, or even just general thinking. Knowing when to push yourself and when to be kind to yourself is a delicate balance.

And I’m still learning how to believe in myself. In many ways, it’s easier to put hope and energy into other people because if something goes wrong, it’s not your fault. Believing in yourself makes you liable and it means you can fail. And it’s terrifying to know that it’s solely in your control to fix it. But I’ve realized it’s time to take risk and responsibility. 

I have been so lucky to have amazing company along the way—old friends who pick up the phone no matter what hour, new friends who inspire me in brand new ways, people who have become mentors in just a few short weeks, and strangers who smile just to smile. I know I’ll think back on 2014 as the year that I made some of the best friends in one of the hardest cities to build a life in. It’s been good and I am incredibly grateful for that.

Happy New Year. It’s going to be a great one.

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dec 28: the two types of honesty

I can tell when people are lying. Because I’ve been a liar—for more than twenty years. I lied in middle school, high school, and college about what I really cared about. I dabbled in the possibility of taking a career in fashion or finance, because the magazines I read extolled artificial beauty and lionized a superficial lifestyle. I learned the best places to be seen on a Friday night in L.A. and where you wouldn’t be caught dead on a Wednesday evening in Manhattan. I pretended to like the men I dated and think they were great because they looked good on paper, with Masters degrees in international business and a salary twice the amount of mine. Because that’s what I was taught to value and I couldn’t see anything outside of my tiny bubble of privilege. It’s not fun to care; it requires non-hedonistic thought and emotion. It means we run the risk and possibility of being hurt. And in our capitalist/consumerist society, we are largely taught to care about ourselves—and ourselves only. 

But somewhere between frivolously dancing at a table with the best bottle service at one of the most prestigious Hollywood clubs on a Monday and studying my textbooks to finish a degree in Psychology that I didn’t believe in, I realized I didn’t give a fuck about anything that I was doing. That was the first step. The only problem was that I didn’t know how to get back to what I did care about. 

The way I see it, there are two types of honesty. The first is honesty with other people—your friends, family, significant others, and people you interact with on a day to day basis. This means telling the truth in an external way (i.e. being clear with your intentions and following through with the appropriate actions). The second is honesty with yourself, which, for me, has proved to be the more difficult of the two. 

It’s taken me 22 years to stop lying to other people. Because we’re taught to lie to each other; if you’re upset or tell someone your real feelings, you’re seen as weak. Instead, you drink copious amounts of alcohol or acquire a prescription for Prozac. If you’re nervous, you self-medicate with Xanax. If you’re not over someone, you go fuck someone else. If you don’t like your job, you work through it and pretend you do. It’s crazy. And I am tired of it all. If I am not fine, I won’t tell you I’m fine. It doesn’t mean I’m putting anything on you, I’m just telling you the truth. 

I don’t know what has changed in the last year. I’m sure it has something to do with with living in New York; this city takes all of your insecurities and throws them back in your face with the cruelest intentions. Everyone lies here. You can’t control it, but you can control how you hold yourself. And you can either prescribe yourself a daily dose of your drug of choice to get through the week or you can learn to pick yourself back up on your own. And I’m in the process of learning how to do just that.

At 23 (almost 24), I’m finally starting to be honest with myself, figuring out what I inherently care about versus what I’ve been taught to. Most of the time, it’s difficult to filter through my actual feelings. I grew up in a family in which open communication was looked down upon and any sort of display of emotion was shunned. I was yelled at whenever I cried and made to feel like it was my fault when I was physically ill. It’s an amazing process when you are finally given a space to validate your own emotions. Even more amazing is when you are able to build and create that space for yourself…

Photos taken yesterday in Chinatown.

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dec 15 - 18: finally a new lens!

I've been doing a terrible job at writing in this...but happy that it's because I've been doing a ton of shooting since I finally got a new lens. And now I can take awesome portraits. Wahoo. Excited.

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dec 11, 12, 13, 14: perspective (in four parts)

pt. 1: through someone else's smile

Before Thursday night, I had never met anyone from Uzbekistan before. I had ordered an Uber to get home from our company holiday party and was picked up by Sanat, pictured below in a photo I took from the backseat.

There are few people I come across that smile as much as Sanat did. Even in this photo, you can tell that he has a huge grin on his face — though we were stuck in terrible traffic across the Williamsburg Bridge and it was past midnight, a terrible hour for any normal person to be working. 

We talked as much as we could through the language barrier. He told me how he had somehow acquired a green card through the U.S. immigration system lottery and how he had worked very hard to move his entire family to America. They now resided in Washington Heights and he wouldn't stop talking about how much he enjoys living there (a neighborhood that most people I know can't even point to on a map of Manhattan). Sanat loves New York and the energy that comes with it. His wife despises it and wants them to move back to Uzbekistan. 

It's so easy to forget that you live in a bubble when you are surrounded by people who are just like you—who work at the same company, are of the same generation, had the privilege of attending similar colleges and who have common goals. 

But it's amazing to think about the experiences of every individual living in this city and how different they could be. And many times, they are things that you would never experience yourself. 

pt. 2: from the other side

Taken from Greenpoint, Brooklyn. With the slightest glimpse of the Manhattan skyline. 

How different the two boroughs are.

pt. 3: challenging what you have and don't have

On Saturday, tens of thousands of people showed up and marched in Millions March NYC. It was impressive to see the level of energy and unity among everyone, across racial, ethnic and cultural lines; people were marching because they identified the cause not just as an issue of race, but of an issue of humanity. 

It was amazing to see people questioning their own privilege — something we should all remember to do.

pt. 4: on judgment from where you stand

Recently, a conversation at work in the kitchen was imprinted in my mind; two of my coworkers were talking about how disgusting the open air markets and street meat in Thailand were. Their comments were degrading not just to the culture, but to the Thai people themselves—describing them as modern-day barbarians (implication: non-human), uncivilized because of the way they eat and live. 

I couldn't help but wonder, what exactly would Thai people say about the way that Americans eat and live?

Sundays are my favorite day to visit Chinatown. Although especially crowded during the day with lines for dim sum and hot pot, the night is filled with local Cantonese people buying ingredients to cook for the week. 

I intentionally took these photos in a Chinatown market today to depict items you wouldn't see in a "typical" American supermarket. But isn't this American too? Chinese Americans have been in the states for centuries, though many times, are still considered outsiders. And these things are still seen as exotic — or more often than not, "disgusting."

And now, reading what I wrote, it makes me think about what exactly it means to be a New Yorker, an American, a Chinese American, but above all — what does it mean to be human?

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dec 10: no time for fair-weather

When I left work today, the snow was falling at a steady pace. When many think of snow in New York, they think of Central Park being blanketed in a glistening layer of white or ice skating at Rockefeller Plaza. For some reason though, the first thing I thought was that there would be nothing more beautiful than Chinatown in the snow. A place so normally hectic and crowded would be balanced by the surreal quiet of snowfall. And that it was. 

I had dinner alone tonight and it was wonderful. I checked out a new wine bar that opened up right next to me; it was lovely. Everyone should check out Miusa if the have the chance. The owner and staff are amazing and the food is incredible, especially for the price.

And I am so glad I went alone. I would not have had these amazing conversations that I had tonight if I had been with someone else. 

The weather has been so shit lately that it's reminded me that things will not always be peachy, especially when pursuing something you're passionate about. In fact, it's really difficult to shoot in the cold and snow. And it's even more difficult to stick with what you love every day. But I am so glad that I did it today.

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day 9: elsewhere

I haven't checked my Tumblr messages in ages and I had this anonymous message sitting at the top of my inbox: 

I just returned home after 13 months doing whatever I felt like...now, I'm back. And working again. And I want to meet strangers and have conversations about life...but my friends here are living in a different world they all moved to while I was gone. Wanna be pen pals?

Yes, I would love to be pen pals, whoever and wherever you are. Trying to explain your experiences while in another place to someone when you return is next to impossible. How do you sum up the vibrant new experiences and eccentricity of the people you meet? It's like you have moved to a different world as well, one that you'll never return from. It's a bit safer to assume that no one will understand, but that your journey has been your own special world. Because no matter how hard you try, a part of you will always be elsewhere. That's the best I can sum it up.

I was just digging through photographs I took during my last solo trip in May to Prague, Budapest, Vienna and Berlin — trying to find any common thread between them. Besides the standard touristy shots, I noticed that I had countless photos of markets. Though these places are easily photogenic, I've always wanted to dig deeper and portray the energy and life behind each and every item and small local store. Markets represent such a clear point in time and history that can be seen through the items being sold and the stories of the people who work and frequent the stalls.

It amazes me how many small businesses revolve around a daily trip to the market. These were photos taken in Budapest in the Central Market. 

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day 7 / 8: balance, pt. 1

There's three things that most people wish they had more of — time, energy, and money. And they all tend to be largely dependent on each other. It's a bit of a give and take and finding the correct balance is something that takes a very long time — and even then, that balance shifts. 

It's a week into my month-long personal project and I'm realizing more and more how silly it was for me to not realize how much work this was. The problem with posting three photos a day is that they have to go together in a way that makes sense; there has to be somewhat of a cohesive theme. Otherwise it just looked like a jumbled up mess, which is very suiting of my personality, but not so for the viewer. 

I am exhausted as I am writing this — physically and emotionally. I've been falling asleep in the middle of writing these posts the past few nights. I feel like my creative drive is shot. The past week has encouraged me to dig deeper into many mistakes I have made and painful experiences that I've been trying so hard to avoid. But I've also been reflective in the best ways to be kind to myself during this time, which is a huge step for me. And that's all I can really ask for. 

These photos were taken this past Saturday at the 1896 in Bushwick, shooting for Zero Party.

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day 6 (late): holidaze

Finally threw my first holiday party ever last night! Which explains me not posting yesterday...Tested out my new Fujifilm Instax 210 Polaroid-like camera. Probably had too much fun with it...

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day 5: changing faces

Anyone who has been in the Bedford Avenue stop in Williamsburg and has taken a few seconds to glance around has probably noticed this written on the wall, near the staircase of the SE exit. I don't know exactly why it was written, but I don't think it's too far off to assume that it has something to do with the drastic change in political climate of Williamsburg.

I am guilty of being a part of the gentrifying population in some ways—I can afford to pay the higher rent of Williamsburg and I like a lot of the cute restaurants and artisanal coffee shops. Though I am still very much liberal-minded and believe in equal rights, no matter what race or socioeconomic background. So where is the line?

Now think about the first image juxtaposed with the other two — these photos were taken in Chinatown. There were several waves of immigration from southern China and Hong Kong that created this ethnic enclave and tight-knit cultural community amidst a city of sprawling diversity.

It's interesting to think about how in both of these situations, the demographic makeup changed and generated a lot of hate and backlash — but for different reasons. Or are they similar?

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day 4: breathing together

When are we going to start treating human beings like human beings?

Over the past few months, the two places that I call home have erupted into protests that have taken over international headlines, week over week. In Hong Kong, peaceful demonstrations of the umbrella revolution are asking China for one thing — for the people of Hong Kong to be able to elect their government by democratic popular vote. Here, in New York, are protests regarding the ridiculous rulings of the cases of Michael Brown and Eric Garner. 

I marched tonight and took these photos because I will not tolerate living in a society that treats any human being as a second-class citizen. The amount of people that turned up in Foley Square was amazing. We marched and shut down traffic through Soho, the wealthiest parts of Tribeca, and onto West Side Highway. Others, I would find out later, shut down Brooklyn Bridge, the Staten Island Ferry Terminal, and Barclays Center. I started the march in Foley with my good friend Alison, but lost her within half an hour. I marched for another 2 hours. I ended up a good way up West Side Highway, while later I saw that she had posted a photo of her at the Staten Island Ferry Terminal. The movement, energy and organization of these protests was incredible. And it's only going to get bigger. 

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day 3: by process of elimination

First and foremost, to all my friends, friends of friends, allies and good people of New York who are marching in the Eric Garner / Mike Brown protests, you are truly amazing. Stay safe.

I have a gift and a curse. I love a lot and I want to live a lot. I'm interested in a lot of things and I feel many things very intensely. I want to do everything and be involved in as many aspects of life as possible. 

The problem lies in the fact that I am extremely disorganized. I am driven but terribly messy when it comes to following through on everything that I want to do. Living in New York, a city with infinite choice and competition, has brought out both sides, making it difficult to decide exactly just what I want. 

I've been told that figuring out what you dislike is just as important at discovering what you love. This can be applied to many aspects of life, whether it's your career, dating life, and for me, currently, my photography.

Some people know what they want. But I am the little girl who doesn't listen, the one who touches the stove even when she's been warned it will leave her with a first-degree burn. Because I need to experience and know for myself with every inch of my being that what I am doing is a mistake. And only then, by process of elimination, can I figure out what it is I truly love.

These photos were taken at the Women of Music Holiday Party at Le Poisson Rouge.  Definitely a fun event. I was hired to shoot the step & repeat...aka my worst nightmare. But a good experience. Met lots of great people. The only thing that kept bothering me was that I wasn't out on the streets with the protests...wish I could have been in two places at once. 

Here a few shots from the night:

1. Brooklyn legend Verité on stage performing "Echo" 2. One of the backrooms of Le Poisson Rouge 3. Motopony, from Seattle, on the step & repeat

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december 2: origins

Not the best of days, for reasons that I'll write about eventually. It's amazing that once you are fully honest with yourself and ready to explore what the exact reasons and origins of your feelings are, more often than not, it will take you back to rock bottom. But then, the only way you can go is up. And then, you are allowed to rebuild. 

Equally amazing is that the root of your behavior, thought patterns and insecurities are largely determined by the first few years of your life. 

These photos were taken the day after Thanksgiving. My parents and I had gone out to one of our favorite Chinese restaurants. Because we're all lousy cooks and we all hate traditional Thanksgiving food.

I'm not much of a writer, so I'll leave it to my very talented sister, Erica. Below the photos is an excerpt from her most recent poem, "i learned about in chem 123," which is quite fitting if you take a read. You can check out more of her work here. 

calorimetry is the method of measuring a reaction’s heat energy. this energy is known as enthalpy.

in the winter, it becomes this and a mother who never listens. a mother who takes the first sip within a heartbeat because my father’s noodles remind her of hong kong— which reminds her of cantonese chatter & faux-leather-upholstered kowloon taxis. these thoughts warm her insides like fireworks to the sky’s underbelly.

my mother smiles something vibrant when my father scolds her for burning her tongue. she radiates with laughter, and reels him in.

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december 1: thinking in photographs

I told him I had ten dollars and asked if he could please write a poem about if I should pursue what I truly love. He then asked me what it was and I said photography; he asked what exactly I love about photography. I hesitated; I didn't expect him to ask. I had just wanted him to write and to give me an answer. It's difficult to put the feeling I have when I have a camera in my hands into words. But I told him it's because I think in photographs. I look at life as a series of moving images. When I watch movies, I see them in stills. He stopped me after I said that and began typing. 

The poem was titled "Whether or not to leave." And here are the last few lines:

Make a plan Of how and when to execute with precision The love which needs to become into life

(poem by Lynn Gentry, lynngentryprose.com)