Zooming in on the pictures that matter

Confronting mortality gives this writer a chance to reassess the power of the image.

- Yeo Whee Jim

My late father, Yeo Kian Chin (1938-2013), was a camera repairman. He worked for Shriro, which had been a prominent distributor of photographic equipment in Singapore. The company was known, in particular, for its association with brands like Nikon and Hasselblad.

Papa would sometimes bring his work home. Surrounded by disassembled cameras and scattered tools, I would occasionally sit and watch him work with meticulous grace. Each click of a screwdriver and every gentle adjustment spoke volumes about his patience and uncanny ability to breathe life back into broken machines. His hands, calloused yet nimble, moved with the confidence of a maestro. Disassembling the camera, replacing the damaged parts. A tweak here and a micro adjustment there. Reassembling the camera, each click of the screwdriver painstakingly bringing it closer to life. Finally, the shutter would give in to click open and shut in that familiar, satisfying rhythm, with all the parts working in perfect harmony once again.

If only I had been more curious and asked the right questions, Papa would have taught me that a camera is more than just a device; it is a treasure trove of memories, emotions and stories suspended in time and just waiting to be told. He might have also shown me how every photograph that he took had its own character and heartbeat woven into the fabric of time; how a single image could encapsulate joy, sorrow and everything in between without even uttering a single word.

"Haiya, why are you always taking photographs?!" I remember being impatient at Papa. Gentle and mild-mannered, Papa smiled without replying. But his eyes would betray the deep hurt I inflicted.

MAGIC BEHIND THE LENS