I’ve been neglecting bus pictures of late. I got frustrated for a while there, as I kept taking the same sort of pictures over and over again, constrained by where I could sit to actually get these pictures, and the fact that I do take the same bus every day and its route doesn’t deviate.
Nightwalking is mostly a lonesome activity, one that requires solitude and space to exist. If you share it, it must be with someone who appreciates shadows, or it will lose its mystique and become a thing for all to see: a stroll.
Photographers that pursue long term projects usually possess a great amount of knowledge around their chosen subject matter, whether through extensive research, sheer curiosty, the love of it, necessity, or all of the above. At the outset of my now-labelled Realistic Project, I feel it’s important to establish that I know next to nothing about my chosen subject matter at this time, and that you’ll be following me on my journey of getting to know tugs, as well as my experiences of being on them.
Sometime back I was going on about this knee injury I had sustained, that was giving me cabin fever from the lack of movement.
I read a great article on the Importance of Personal Work by Nick Hall yesterday morning, thanks to the Pixelated Image twitter feed.
Across the road from the previously mentioned apocaplyptic interstellar vessel, is a likely facility of Dr Moreau‘s. What dark creatures are brought to life here?
I’ve never set foot into the WACA in all the years I’ve lived here. It always makes me think of an apocalyptic spaceship from an 80s sci-fi flick, in all its monstrous, gargantuan proportions, with a weird fragile melancholy. Its outer walls made for a great exploratory nightwalking session, when I finally decided to take a good look at the concrete beast that crouches down the road from where I work. There are lots of images in this post, so be warned if you’re on a slower connection.
Home, where the heart is. Plain enough of a concept, one I’ve never grasped. “Home” to me, has always meant “the place where I’m staying,” sans the inherent warmth and glow and ties and sentiments that the word evokes. It’s simply a dwelling I come back to after the working day, shower, eat and sleep, a place where my stuff is stored.
I never realised how much I enjoyed walking/running until I couldn’t do it anymore. Before this point, if you asked me about exercise, my standard response would be “anything but running,” despite the fact that I did actually go jogging sporadically.
We interrupt our regular weekend silence to bring you this utterly unreal short film of Guillaume Nery base jumping at Dean’s Blue Hole, filmed on breath hold (!!!) by Julie Gautier. It is nothing short of an effing beautiful production. Seriously, watch it. It’s worth 4 minutes and 18 seconds of your life. Fuck, wow. Thank you Flemming for sharing.