"Hello, I'm calling from the Jurong West police station, may I speak to Mr Chern please?"
A half-hour later, I was showing my first official guests around the energy photo exhibition at the National Library, even though it wasn't yet open.
One of the officers later confided that a private establishment – one that repeatedly refused me access to photograph - had called the cops after receiving my invitation to view the pictures.
After taking a few photos of my photos, they left, and I went back to putting up the rest of the pictures.
This is how it all began.
While studying at the Nanyang Technological University in the West, I lived on campus to save on travelling.
For an advanced photojournalism class, I found that the only time I could make pictures was after I'd finished all my other work, late into the night.
I would wheel out my red bicycle, strap on the tripod, and make long night exposures of the industrial landscape.
The smoke pouring out of the stacks, the shimmering lights, and the haze that perpetually blanketed the refineries was exciting enough that I came back night after night, photographing until dawn.
When it was time to decide on a topic for my graduation project, I chose "energy" as the theme. I thought it would be a wonderful way to show viewers where it came from and how it got to their homes.
Unfortunately, I couldn't find anybody else to join in, which was just as well, since the bicycle wouldn't have seated two plus twice the gear.
It was hard work. Many corporations declined me access due to "business and security reasons". Fortunately, there were still a few who opened their doors, though after much persuasion.
Many long bus rides to the extremities of the island ensued - the first to say "hello", the second to build trust, a third to take photographs, a fourth for better pictures.
I visited some of these places five or more times. Sometimes, the lights wouldn't come on. On another occasion, it would rain. Then it would be too hazy.
For the places that wouldn't grant me direct access, I had to photograph from vantage points: Hills, tanks, rooftops, overhead bridges, double-deck buses, observation platforms. It was no easy task.
Photographing from the top of a water tank somewhere in western Singapore.
Photo: Samuel He
What touched me were some of the people I photographed for the story. They patiently waited while I got the "right shot". They even agreed to a re-shoot, and another, and another.
Getting the "right shots" filled me with a tremendous sense of exhilaration. A photographer's joy that few outside the profession would fully understand.
Finally, all was done. The book was printed, the exhibition a success. I felt a wonderful sense of achievement and thought the chapter closed.
Round Two
I had just started work at the local newspaper when a call came from the Energy Market Authority. They wanted to commission another show to coincide with International Energy Week.
The project was reborn. More shoots were scheduled, more intimate access gained.
Most facilities were protected by fences such as these.
Photo: Alphonsus Chern
Hours, even days, were spent in the deep interiors of buildings which housed vast amounts of machinery.
Danger and dizzying heights were afoot with every step. Helmets and harnesses were the order of the day. For one shoot, I was crouched on a beam of an overhead crane, my head just inches from the rotating drum that coiled the cables.
The view from the top of the overhead crane at a power station.
Photo: Alphonsus Chern
Photographs were checked before leaving each facility. Those deemed too sensitive were embargoed. A thousand pictures were honed down to twenty.
When I finally visited the shop to see the three-foot-wide prints, I was pleasantly surprised. The colours were rich, the scale, breathtaking.
The only way I could have better conveyed the immensity of the places I visited would have been to print the pictures wall-size.
The photographer setting up at the National Library building.
Photo: Sam Kang Li
But for now, I hope the viewer enjoys the photographs as much as I enjoyed making them, and more so, understands what must transpire that his light bulb glows at the touch of a switch.
Read Alphonsus Chern's full story in Saturday's edition of The Straits Times here.