i might have been more prepared except i was on the toilet during the time the taxi arrived and you carted your bags down the steps one by one. i wasn't hiding; it's well documented that i have digestive problems. you called my name for me to help with the final large bag and i nearly tripped down the steps as the neighbouring bosal workers looked on passively.

i came inside and took three pictures of myself; maybe they could tell me something later. i then spent the next 10 minutes photographing the spaces that had changed, or would change. a brimming ashtray on the window sill. an odd number of toothbrushes. a drastically drained shoe cupboard. two dirty wine glasses and a half empty bottle of gin. the last mundane text message.

still, the apartment didn't look as empty as it did last time. was it 4 months ago? that was probably the shock, of coming home to it. this i had seen coming, this i had seen unfolding. this, i had perhaps in part desired. yet like most men i had been filing and restricting access to my emotions, and so the night before when i unlocked a drawer with the words 'i'm going to miss you so much' i found tears in there and a pain pulsed deep inside my brain. i am, going to miss you, so much.

i thought you'd react more, you say. do you mean like in may when i came home to a half empty apartment and jumped on the wall and and flung light casings and curled and rocked in ball of forced tears on the floor? well that was before, that was in the afternoon, that was sober, that was before the deadening. but i dont say any of this. i do say, what do you mean? are you just saying this for a reaction?

i thought you'd react more, i'm thinking. i thought you might fight for my love as i slipped away. try things. at least fucking find me a doctor to look at the cracked red skin on my penis that makes sex painful and gradually unconsidered. you say you haven't been happy. with me? with you. oh.

your eyes are gleaming red and laserlike when mine open from a brief shallowing of consciousness. i'm preaching. we have to try, all couples go through this, we have to begin a postive cycle again. yeah but no. i know i can't answer your questions definitively. i could be using you. my mind sometimes drifts in sex. i'm not sure if i really love you anyway. questions with existences that nullify their obvious hesitations.

so does this mean you're not going? going where? to the movie with her. oh come on! are you serious? i flip emphatically to face away and mumble of the ridiculousness, intending to go back to sleep although by now i'm wide awake. but then you tell of your dreams and i remember of your spirit. powerful and unfamiliar. before the deadening i had more questions. i had rawness and excitement for our differences. ok, i say, i won't go.

photo: hasisi
updates on adventures with film stock: soon

a very important thing happened. i am tempted to led it slide. to protect sensitivities. to leave it to memory. but i won't.

my father came to visit me recently. it's had only been four and a half months since we were together last. tight embraces under a stretching perth sun. "i'm going to make it a priority", he said then, about coming here. props to you pops. you made it. he stepped off the bus to my morning eyes and the embrace felt so continuous it was eerie, in a nice way. sitting down in our flat i felt like he'd just driven up to from bridgetown, to my old flat near hyde park. "a cup of coffee?" "yep. love a cuppa."

the ten days played their song. amidst our companionship i witnessed my father uncover what i hoped he would find here. escape. delight. optimism fed by new experience. i cherish his smile, the one on the bus as he left to the airport. i saw it through another pair of morning eyes. it spoke holidays' unfaultering motto. happy to come, happy to go, it said.

what i uncovered was something else. something that seems to have been working away in my subconscious all this while. there's a shift taking place. a shift in family. a shift in who is centrally important to me. a new player. i'm calling it the wife idea. actually it felt kind of good to know this.

members: ben du ross, ben acree, robert johnson (not THE robert johnson), jackson eaton
honorary member: hasisi
instruments: two string child size guitar, korean drum, xylophone, ukulele, recorder, tamborine, line 6, melodian, drum machine
honorary instruments: guitar, keyboard, drumkit
sound: noise/avant/experimental/punk/folk/rock
songs: mayo, expedient expatriate experience, bad wizard, tracey make me a sandwich, do you want to see my bbq?
honorary songs: blue moon, needle in the camel's eye

so if you're in the area...

10.5 months on south korean shores
5.5 months living in busan, 5 months living in seoul.
10.5 months with the same girlfriend.
3.5 months co-habiting with girlfriend
10,340 photographs taken
2,914 photographs kept
9 months teaching english to children
0.5 months posing as an artist

in as far as teaching english can be consdered a 'real job', these are all personal records.
but of course, these numbers are just divining forks, leading me to the real gold, the subjectivity of change.

people do occasionally ask me 'why did you decide to come to korea?'. usually they are korean. usually they are puzzled. and as always there are short answers and long answers, shallow explanations and deeper analyses. the cross purposes response may be just to say, 'i was unhappy where i was. i wanted (no, needed) a change'. retrospectively, i can say the change worked, months ago in fact. i wanted to be happier, i got happier. i stepped out of the rut i was truly deeply entrenched in. but i wanted other things too, and to a certian degree i have obtained them. i wanted to explore and develop my creative interests. to chase the tail of my inner voice whispering 'life is about something else, something you're not doing', even if it meant going in circles. photography is the tool i chose and i know i have improved, ten thousand photos (thank fuck for digital) later. i've been experimenting and finding a style. i've even had an exhibition, an ultimately flimsy excuse to call myself an artist. laughable only because i am nagged by one thing - a sense of agency. i long to feel like i have an idea of what will look good or be interesting rather than just doing something and waiting to hear what other people say. i guess everyone's creative process is different but i have rarely been happy with mine. the exception might be the first few months in korea, when i was struggling and searching for the things i have now. when i was living in an apartment as naked as a hospital bed, surrounded by people i didn't like all that much. what is it about the apparent mutual exclusivity of creativity and stability? i guess that's why there are so few good pop songs.

freebies this year have included finding a woman whom i love and continue to love and continue to continue to grow in love for. this feels like a remarkable thing... but i'm hesistant to think too much about it. i think i might have gone wrong there before. of course any one who knows me knows this isn't really a freebie. human relationships are my passion. and as mr molina once said, 'there is love and work and lover's work.' i also found a job i dont mind doing all that much. teaching is important. children are good people to be around. but unfortunately i couldn't care less about the english language. but of course this isn't really a freebie either. i generally resent the fact that i'm tired every day and that i need to earn money at all. but that one's not going to go away soon.

these days i dream about blue oceans and green grasses. maybe it's just the end of winter but i think its more that im kind of coming full circle. i'm settled again, except with fewer friends. i'll be here till december i guess.

i'm sitting in a room. it's cold and it's white, and on the walls are 27 photographs that came from a camera with a shutter that i had released. by the door to this room sits a table. it's clear and it's round, and on this table are stacks of brochures and a purple paged book. inside are words such as "chukhahamneeda" (congratulations) and "jackson eaton's photographs are enigmatic and contradictory.... with the sleazy glamour of nan goldin and the digital snapshot of wolfgang tillmans" and "it is my desire to picture reality... as an oftentimes confusing mixture of warmth and dirtiness."

i'm still getting a kick out of it.

but in a few hours these walls will be empty and this table will be bare. during the past 11 days over 200 people have been here and a handful or two even decided they wanted to take one with them. in all the show has been a success, if only because it couldn't be anything but. regardless of response or sales, this exhibition delivered a critical fundamental shift in how i think about myself and what i do. snippets of my visual diary are on a wall and suddenly they are art. i was responsible for these images and so suddenly i am an artist. this leap of validation is so simple, yet so important. i feel like i've achieved what i set out to do when i left perth, and i feel happy.

as for what now - well, i hope the answer is 'everything'. i'm already plotting another show and brainstorming ideas for gaining exposure (more welcome, please). most importantly though, i know i won't stop taking pictures any time soon.

[you can see which ones i chose here http://www.flickr.com/photos/acksonjay/sets/72157594529278183/, and order prints here jackson@concrete.org.au]

so... it appears my sole new year's resolution of having an exhibition by the end of the year will come about 10 months early. no masters in fine art, no technical skills in photography, no real style to speak of. what do i have? a girlfriend training as a curator, a few weeks of notching up favours with said director, and a whack of good luck. it appears i have a chance at a break. a solo exhibition.

so... i'm fucking scared in addition to being fucking thrilled, obviously. i don't have any real confidence in this "art" stuff but true to my academically breastfed psyche, structure and the probability of evaluation will be food for my confidence. i expect it to grow. or die. either way i'll know something i don't know now and certainly didn't know this time last year, when i finally bought a new camera and otherwise things were generally confused and fucked up. roll on 2007.

from anguk station exit #3 you should take your first left and walk through the shadow of the hyundai motors office tower, past the intersection of ediya coffee house, log in convenience store, little tom's pizza and the oldest practising childrens' doctor in seoul, heading the wrong way up the one way street that curves like a sleepy motorist, until you near the high school T-section and its entreprenurial pop-star gift stalls. it's best to walk at night when the circular lamps shine up through the street vendor steam like runway lights, or in the morning, when quietness is appreciated best. there you take a tricky little back alley skirting the bad boys school. it's a flat topped four-apartment one-story building, but its tucked behind a couple of tradional houses, concealing its true ugliness beautifully. we're number two.

don't worry about letting the cold air in, it battles the mouldy wall smell well. no shoes inside, unless you're dashing for the light switch or an item left behind on the kitchen table. you'll notice its quite roomy for a korean apartment, with ample floorspace to rock out in or play a naughty game of twister. the desk, the fridge and the table are all roadside finds. the bed and hangers were bought from the internet at auction prices. the washing machine is the most expensive thing in the place, not counting cameras and computers, of which there are 6 and 1, respectively. sorry we haven't bought or found a couch yet. enjoy eating off our crockery, it's all handcrafted by a local artist. a large selection of vintage men and women's fashions can be found in the two ceiling high hangers in the bedroom. please bear in mind that koreans almost always prefer new to used goods, so expect a second glance. for your ablutions we apologize for the fluctuating water temperature and oft rancid smell emitting from the drain. we have contacted the landlord, who is snottier than a childrens' ward, so don't expect any prompt improvements. kids are welcome to play with ultraman and the other japanese toys on display.

parking is unavailable, absolutely anywhere, unless you like fines or encounters with filthy rich gold-dealer men who senselessly blame you for the collision of their latest model cars into stationary objects and bribe police in order to make you pay them for repairs to amounts unsubstantial to them but clearly to you as a struggling student living out of home for the first time. we don't recommend it however. you will enivitably enjoy the view from the kitchen and bedroom window's of inwang mountain and slated rooftops on the right and city scapes and huge screen tvs on the left. it's much like playing supermario cart. only two blocks away is the spectacular changdoek palace and it's secret garden. tours are free on thursdays.

we trust you'll enjoy your stay as much as we enjoy living here. love, jackson & hasisi.

needless to say, it's my new favourite cafe

one master of the list and true friend of mine is a man named chirstopher john stokes of the standard line delivery system. less than 6 days ago chris and i were swallowing red rooster bacon fillet burgers at the perth international airport and telling secrets, wishing that this us hanging out thing happened more regularly. this man fills me with compadreship and the insight into a heart that can see past the bullshit of our everyday existence. today is his birthday. send him a comment and perhaps ask him his list secrets.

as for what i've been up to since i returned to the magical land of korea:

1. experiencing the second coldest winter of my life (the #1 spot going to montreal 2000/01).
2. locking lips with a beautiful lady i know on a semi-permanent basis.
3. finding a quirky little apartment to rent in the art gallery district of seoul. the landlord looked like a korean godfather and would sporatically burst into angry high tones. he told sisi and i we looked like brother and sister as he showed us into a spacious but filthy villa apartment, the evening sun streaming in like a fanta fountain.
4. bubbling with excitement for a new home. we move in monday. simmering with fear for a new job. i start monday.
5. conquering one of my greatest fears by driving a tipsy sisi from hongdae to haebangchon. it was 3am but there was still more traffic than perth's peakhour. and it was raining. and the steering wheels on the wrong side. i was so proud of myself.
6. hanging out in a soon to be opened art gallery where sisi works. weve been pulling up vinyl floor tiles, shifting the collection, cleaning, and eating samgyeopsal with the director and his wife. he's a great artist and offered for me to join his drawing class.
7. missing the beautiful people i know who reside in that sleepy town latitudes below. i'm thankful to have experienced their warmthful embraces and vibrant minds.

He doesn't want her anymore.
He's got a renovated old house now.

It's filled with what he's let himself call his own,
records
books
photographs,
and furniture belonging to his overseas son.

There's hairs in the shower recess now.
There's dirty dishes in the sink.
There's a new history in these walls.
There's more of him than you think.

And when his son comes to town
he doesn't take him to Chooks.