It was nearing the end of autumn when I first flew to the west. Trees bore cherry red and yellow ochre leaves. Skies reflected a mellow blue. Nights seemed cold. The knowledge of my impending departure prompted me, on most late evenings after work, to walk around the neighbourhood and shoot the autumnal scenes. And thus, with some lovely pictures of dusk, I returned home.

Long gone were the charming colours when I next flew to the west. Upon unlocking the door to the house where I was to sojourn, I was taken aback by the amount of filth that had accumulated and, perhaps, aided breeding of pests. The sight of a mop, albeit cobwebbed, partly succoured my fastidiousness. Without a moment’s break since I crossed the threshold of the insect-ridden house, I began to scrub the living room, kitchen, and bathroom. Yet, there was an inherent odour which the incessant pumping of the air-fresheners failed to extinguish. The contents in the refrigerator were rotting. The water in the bath-tub would not drown instantly. It was sickening!

After three hours of cleaning the living space as much as the available resources allowed, I acknowledged that no amount of rigorous rubbing would eliminate the dirt, for the house was germ-infested due to an extended time of neglect.

***

One Friday evening, I sauntered downtown after work. The streets were lined with vintage cars of such striking paints that I fell head over heels in love with the myriad colours at the same time; purple and beige ceased to be dearest as I feasted my eyes on a rare blue, a certain magenta, and the candy orange coated on the antiquated chassis that belonged to a cohort who—judging from the exhibits—took great care of their possessions.

A Bisque doll head with aquamarine eyes seen from a display window drew me into an antique shop where, after a few minutes of speculation, I asked the store manager if I could photograph the objects in his gallery. Not only was he kind enough to reply in the affirmative but he removed the two identical doll heads (on which my gaze inadvertently remained fixed) from the shelf, and laid them on a bare wooden table, for ease of shooting.

When walking back, a nearly deserted train station outlined by arched lamp-posts engaged my lens for a very long time. Looking back, I now perceive that that summer evening indeed presented before me subjects I had not captured before: classic cars, antique dolls, and a train station.