Tell all the truth but tell it slant —

Books of feelings, time, and fear of banal stories.

Hello Dreamers. Welcome to the inaugural dispatch of Dreaming with One Eye Open — a long-titled, very much-delayed newsletter you subscribed to sometime between a few months ago and today. This is the place where I — Toto Tvalavadze — will blast you with feelings. Feeling of exploring photography, storytelling, and the world of visual arts from the perspective of a life-long software engineer — an outsider.

My previous four versions of this opening included a short summary of what this newsletter will be. But, truth be told, as I write this, it’s clear I am not sure about the direction it’ll take; So, let’s get started and see what happens.

If you are reading this in your inbox — thank you for blindly subscribing — thank you, thank you. Means the world to me.

Catch-32

My 32nd loop around the sun didn’t go merely as planned. A lot of things changed. Somehow, the global pandemic didn’t make it even into the top three of those events. The top spot in this bizarre chart was dealing with the consequences of something I didn’t think would happen to me — being alone. (Perhaps, that is why it happened in the first place; but that’s a story for another time.)

Early into the year 2020, I got caught up in a vicious circle of mutually conflicting life events, conclusion-less discussions, and attempts to fix the long-lasting relationship. While spinning, the rest of the world is covered by a soft, see-through curtain. Only faint blobs of color pass through. Nothing with crips borders would ever come up. Nothing that one could hold firmly to get pull out of this spin-cycle.

I decided to make such an object for myself. Something with crips borders. Something that makes a sound of wind deflecting its many surfaces. Something that has a smell. An artifact that hands can hold onto and pull oneself out. A book.

The obvious challenge of making a book about the relationship (or its end) is the risk of being overly romantic and corny. This became a nice puzzle to solve and learn how to play with the photobook format. I was curious to explore how far one can push subtext through images alone without giving away a seemingly banal theme. How to communicate feelings, rather than the content, with photos.

In the end, I decided not to focus on the fading relationship at all. I also didn’t want to make it about us because there was no us when making those photographs. There was only me exploring my mind, feelings, and by virtue — backstreets of Kanto and Tbilisi. The book ended up being far more selfish than initially intended —

Did I succeed? Did it end up banal? Perhaps(?). Does it actually trigger an emotional response in the viewer? Hopefully(?). Question marks galore!

The plan is to sit on this, one-off book, for a year or two and hope that I will not cringe when I open it again. Meanwhile—onwards, forwards.

Todo: 51.9%

Speaking of time passing by…

As you might have already guessed, I’m 33 now. To celebrate, I got myself a clock. It’s no ordinary clock. But one that has my name on it. It’s pre-programmed with my birthday and place of birth. The display can show only one number — percent of life completed based on WHO life expectancy data.

It says 48.1%. It is — to put it mildly — a terrifying object, and I love it for keeping the fire under me.

Sakura season “officially” lasts two-to-three weeks, but in my experience, full bloom and “rain of petals” lasts about three days, tops. That’s about 0.8% of the year. Skip a walk at lunchtime for two days, and you have to wait whole another year.

Shortlife clock, to me, is a constant reminder no to waste time distilled in a calm and simple object. “Do more,” it whispers every time a bright red display crosses my peripheral vision.

Process / Check-In

• After a decade of collecting dust—I picked up my electric guitar again. To my surprise, my fingers can still produce what can be vaguely described as “melodic noise.” On the other hand, after a decade of not playing, my taste is so far beyond my skill. This sounds like a fun challenge and a mild annoyance at the same time. I’ll just keep and playing and see what comes out of it.
• I sold all my bicycles to get Brompton folding bicycle. It fits perfectly in a ¥400 ($4) IKEA bag that enables me to carry my bike onto Japanese trains. I made a few test trips to Kamakura and Mitake. It proved itself to be an excellent location scouting tool and fantastic transport during the pandemic. (No, I did not miss that I justified an incredibly expensive bicycle with a cheap IKEA bag.)
• I want to get myself a general-purpose digital camera for in-between and behind-the-scenes shoots (perhaps, video, too?). But I find it hard to spend money on an object I have absolutely no connection to. A few days ago, I played with Canon R5 and Sony A1 at Yodobashi (a giant consumer electronics mall in Japan). Both are jaw-dropping engineering achievements. And yet — I find them shockingly uninspiring objects. Something intangible has been lost after the transition to digital and I can’t stop thinking about it. I’d love to have a short chat with Giorgetto Giugiaro over the cup of coffee about that.

Up Next

It is a week short of 900 days since I started to write every day. It all started as a productivity journal and an attempt to maintain focus over a long project. This effort gradually morphed into the daily stream of consciousness.

About the same time ago, I started to take random pictures in the streets of Tokyo and Tbilisi with my Ricoh. Without any goal in my head, I kept shooting until the camera said ‘Out of Memory,’ and I had to do something with those snaps. Eventually, this became my photographic journal — Out of Memory (I know). Almost no words. Just a series of somewhat chronological pictures of me moving through the simulacra around me.

The next issue will be about journaling and producing content non-stop. Even if it’s just for yourself.

That’s all I have for you this time. Please feel free to write me back here or on Instagram.

— Toto

To focus, you often close your eyes while speaking. Looking through the lens, I dream with one eye open.

— Rebecca Norris Webb, from Slant Rhymes.