The last time I was in Shanghai, a typhoon had just passed through. The energy was one of recovery, of a city getting back on its feet.
This time, it was different.
Just 48 hours, but the city had a quiet, confident hum.
And I found myself approaching it differently, too.
My instinct as a creator, honed over years, is to grab the camera, turn it on myself, and create energy. To narrate, to explain, to drive a story forward.
But I didn’t do that this time.
Instead, I found myself just… watching.
Capturing moments.
The steam rising from a food stall, the particular way the light hit a building, the flow of people moving through a square.
I was filming, but I wasn't performing.
I think there’s a shift happening, not just in me, but in what many of us are looking for. In a world of relentless energy and information, we are seeking out content that provides an escape.
A quiet window into another world.
Something to watch on a TV, to relax, to have on in the background.
A low-key experience of difference.
And I have to admit, filming this way was not just less intense; it was more joyful. It was about observation, not narration.
I’ll edit some of this on the flight to London. Not because it’s a chore, but because the process of piecing these quiet moments together with LumaFusion on my iPad has become a creative act I genuinely enjoy.
It feels like crafting a visual poem instead of shooting a documentary.
It's a different way of seeing, and a different way of creating.
And for right now, it feels like exactly what's needed.
Comments
Nothing yet. Say the first thing.
Sign in to join the conversation.