"You know, I just love Grace Kelly. Not because she was a princess, not because she was an actress, not because she was my friend, but because she was just about the nicest lady I ever met. Grace brought into my life as she brought into yours, a soft, warm light every time I saw her, and every time I saw her was a holiday of its own. No question, I’ll miss her, we’ll all miss her, God bless you, Princess Grace."
Barefoot, she and him raced upwards through the trees – sunbeams chasing them through the the almost translucent green leaves above.
‘Come on!’ she shouted as she grabbed his hand. ‘Its just up here.’ ‘Alright, alright. Ain’t as young as I used to be, little missy.’ ‘Mama says age don’t matter.’ ‘Well, your mamas still young.’
They broke the edge of the trees and stopped at a cliff edge. Below in the crevices, thousands of birds flew back and forth from their nests. ‘My oh my, you certainly found a view.’ ‘Pretty, huh? Only I know this place.’
They sat. And hundreds of feet below, the plains stretched onwards covered in capillaries of flickering river in endless light. ‘Grandpa?’ ‘Yep?’ ‘Nothin’!’ She smiled at him and he looked down at her and smiled back. ‘You sure you don’t want to say?’ She looked down and picked a couple blades of grass. ’What’s it like to be old?’ He looked outwards into the distance, breathed deep and felt the warmth on his face. ‘Age don’t matter, little missy.’
It lumbered and swayed. It creaked and crumbled. Cavernous opossums would take shelter on the bush of Its back. Ocean gulls would nest in its rocky underarms. Multitudes of rodents scurried back and forth from limb to limb, to venture down into the forest’s undergrowth, only when It was stationary; in search of scavenge to bring back to their nestlings.
Its granite feet weathered smooth by ocean currents. Its surface darkened by the bursting sun and only having the somber blue glow of the moon to comfort It in darkness. Thousands of feet tall It traveled across mountain range, prairie and plain. It waded through ocean depths and seas of green; searching for its lost ones. But it was eons ago when the Gods had made the Five of Six into the rock and the mountains, the seas and the oceans, the skies and the sun and the moon. It had never been told of its counterparts transformations, for It had no ears.
And so It wandered as a living fable, searching for what it had already found.
I like to pretend I am a great photographer. The truth is I’m just like any hobbyist who relies on Photoshop for decent looking pictures. But I have a feeling I’m not the only one who feels frustrated about producing good work consistently without too much post-production. I have a personal rule about photography. That I never opt for a complete crutch on Photoshop, and I only do so much manipulation as you could with film. However, these things slip sometimes and I end up cheating with HDR and such. This shot is a perfect example.
But I don’t mind admitting it. After all, taking pictures is a easy thing to do (very easy) but a difficult art to master. And nothing worth having comes easy.
These are my pictures of Richard Wilson’s 20:50 at the Saatchi Gallery. I just don’t think I can put it into words. I guess to me, this piece is partially about architecture and partially about lifelessness. Nothing moves in this space. The blackness of the crude oil swallows everything. The reflection from the glass like surface gives such a dynamic range of lines and shadows. I just could not resist photographing it. I never thought art installations could move me so much. Utterly Breathtaking.
In my personal opinion, some photography is at it’s most compelling when there is a fine line between quality and mediocrity. Most of the time it’s because something is so subtle you don’t even notice it at first. In a world that is saturated by images, artists can play with this situation to produce an illusively simple and uncategorical body of work, tied together merely by wisps of implied emotions. It very often results in an engaging photograph, allowing the viewer to revisit it many times over.
The pictures above are from Adam Jeppesen’s book “Wake”. Although small in size, the collection is hauntingly beautiful, where one could only begin to describe as a mixture of nostalgia and loneliness. These photos all operate in a twilight space and time, where it’s neither (doesn’t matter) really day or night, making them share a common atmosphere. It is a ‘comment’ on society; and rather than try to manipulate it, it stands back and observes.
Went to The Photographers Gallery yesterday and picked up a bargain book on Ansel Adams. This mammoth measures up to 14”X17” and sold for 25 pounds. What a Steal! It features huge prints by the master landscape photographer and writings about the ideas behind the pictures. Although I was surprised not to find moon and half dome in it. But. Anybody who is interested in photography needs to go to this place. They sell vintage Polaroid cameras too.
Today I got back from Hampshire. The countryside definitely did me well, even if it was just a couple of days. There is a kind of silence there that is rarely ever available when I’m in London. It may sound cliché, but the moment I stepped off the train into the town of Whitchurch, I left all the stresses of the city behind. I ate a lot better and slept a lot better than I had for months. I felt more alert, thoughtful and calm at the same time. The walks there in Watership Down are amazing, and having grown up in the city, I rarely get a chance to do these things. I experienced some intense stuff walking through the fields, and I remember thinking how nature is simultaneously beautiful on one level, and crushing on the next. We are specks in its mercy, only able to comprehend a modest portion of its wealth in that moment.