Diamonds in the Rough
Photographing Dongmyo Flea Market
Dongmyo flea market is a special place. Each time I go, I leave with a little less money than when I started. I have a ritual for it, too.
That ritual tends to come at the expense of photography, unfortunately. Well trained by generations of antiques and vintage dealers, I know that the best things disappear early.
My pattern is as follows, search first and photograph second. I’ve found wonderful things this way and I have been belied by photos I know I should have taken. During the first part, I have to actively ignore the teasing from the strong morning light as it cuts through the alleys.
That’s okay, though. Not every photograph must be taken. Though I know that the early light I am missing could make some lovely photos, I do my best to resist the temptation to split my focus.
That is the precise lesson I have been trying to embrace lately. It all comes down to balance. I must choose between the hunt and the photos. Choosing both will fail both. We must focus one at a time.
The other night a friend asked me about my focus on balance. I told them, it is not easy for me to let things go. Some people can do things halfway and be content with that, but I know myself too well. Two deliberate paths are needed. One path for this, one path for that.
One loop to look, followed by one loop to photography. That is my correct order. Once I have acquired the things I was meant to find, my eye can relax into the comfort of the space. I can begin to hunt for light.
Shifting into photography, a box of watches catches my eye. I remind myself of the watch I lost a while ago. I see some exact duplicates, but I don’t buy one. Dongmyo offers to us nearly anything that your heart may desire.
These old markets in Korea have a long history. The sales in this part of town go back centuries. During the period shortly after the Korean war, there are fantastic stories of American soldiers finding things from off the base for sale in the market. Nobody quite knew how they made their way there.
Before that, there are accounts going back into the earlier days of how the Joseon government set up various state enterprises and licenses to businesses in the area. My guess is that the flea market area was a bit past that, and, well, beyond those state enterprises as well.
These days, prices have been rising along with prices everywhere else. Older folks will tell you about what a few coins would have bought in the past. Yet, hardly anyone passes around coins as a means of purchase.
The fashion is great. Things can still be found at stolen prices, if you’re willing to look. Items from the 80s to 00s mix in with newer things. And there’s a good crowd of folks who treat attending like their own fashion show.
Admittedly, I am not the biggest fan of in-your-face street photography. Of course, I have seen amazing shots done like that, and the history of photojournalism is richer because of folks who are brave to shoot in such a manner. Props to them.
Unless I ask, I try to shy away from faces. Yet, at a place like Dongmyo, I find myself focused on a subject beyond the individual. Places like this encourage us to take it all in, either with our eyes or with photos.
A man walks down the street with a stylish hat that he probably bought here some other day. It fits him well, and he blends into the surroundings.
The market’s used wares could be everything we are wearing, everything we own at any given point. In this way, places like Dongmyo are a testament to our own reality. On the floor, I can see a partial reflection of life.
A seller on one side sells nicely curated clothes while a seller on the other side is clearly selling the contents of various abandoned home cleanups. I fish what looks like a Mandarin badge out of the bottom of a pot. It’s wet.
“How much for the wet fabric?” I ask. The man looks at me a bit strange and tells me a fair price. I can’t tell if it is real or ripped off a costume. Time and research will tell.
Dripping with who knows what, I clean my hands carefully as soon as I can. I sigh relief when I finally wash off the grime of who knows how many years, standing water and a bit of rush.
The dream of the hunt is often broken by inconvenient instances of that fleshy memory. A friend pulls a nice sweatshirt out of a thrift pile. It has a red stain on it.
“Is it blood?” he wonders. We both decided it was, he put it back. Too bad, it was a great piece of vintage wear.
Sometimes the meat grinder that returns to us the things that other people have left behind does not do enough to erase the previous owners. So it goes. As unappetizing as it all sounds, it is not long after arriving that my stomach begins to remind me that I need fuel of some sort.
Further down, I find myself a steaming tray of egg bread. The smell and subtle glow of its heat in the winter are attractive. Not able to resist, I hand over some paper money in exchange for the winter delicacy.
It’s a famous market food from Korea that was having a moment in the past two years. A perfect cold weather treat, it is somewhere in between a hard-boiled egg and a pastry. The savory egg meets sponge cake is a perfect taste for the market, and is eaten out of a cup while walking around.
Through the aisles, the changing fashion of the times is apparent. People who look like kids to me haggle over digital cameras and point-and-shoots that were on the dollar table 10 years ago. Yesterday’s fashionable pieces of home decor are practically given away as minimalism yet clings to life.
Places like this are special. It reacts faster than anything else to the demands of the present. The near true free market pricing of items without price tags ring true to the adage, “something is worth what somebody will pay for it.”
What irony then, to remind myself I bought the Samsung camera here for $50 about a year ago. These days, those little ccd digicams are having a moment. Maybe they were having a moment then, too.
People say they look more like film, but I am not sure that I buy that. Do you think so?
The joy of the Samsung for me is its size. It is so small that I can tuck it into my coat and zip it up. I can pull it out when I want and slide it back in otherwise. I learned the hard way last year that nobody will barter well with you, if you have a TLR hanging around your neck.
Ironically, that slipping back and forth does not quite take my to breaking my ritual. More often than not, the camera is ready and I will pass up the shot, if I’m still hunting.
There’s so much discussion about photography on social media these days. To be honest, I love it. The images that people have been taking keep getting better and I find myself more and more impressed. Yet, I also find myself less and less interested in one-off images.
Stories and sessions are growing in importance to me. How should I understand that as a photographer? “What can and should influence our photography?” I wonder, too.
One thing I have been seeing a lot lately is about how we should consume various forms of non-photographic, even non-visual content as inspiration for photography. I agree. Let’s take a picture of a feeling or a sound.
Between the salty taste of an egg baked into a sponge bread and a little piece of fabric looking up at me, I find myself wondering how can I communicate those feelings in an image. The wider ritual of the market not only serves my vintage needs but it pays off in the images, too.
Noticing the passing of time and recycling of all our belongings leads to photographing a pile of broken and repaired wrist watches. Taking in the fashion pops up the contrast of a man wearing clothes similar to being sold on the hanger.
The bread demands its own photograph, in high contrast to highlight its spongelike texture showcasing the top half with its gleaning egg. Can you taste the image, yet?
Alas, what photograph then could do justice to fishing out a piece of fabric from a pot and the bewilderment of the seller that I wanted to buy that piece of wet fabric? I am not sure. Maybe in a future article, I can make that clear.
