Perhaps the only thing worth anything are thoughts and memories, sketches of the consciousness – certainly not worth much economically, but worth recording, even for myself and the very few people whom they might interest. It follows then that writing is one way of translating and recording these thoughts and impressions.
I recently and accidentally discovered the photography of Vivian Maier (1926 – 2009). This was personally significant for me as I once lived and breathed street photography, went on to study photography at university and subsequently drifted away from it as a medium and art form. I can remember firs...
As I sit here, there is a sudden rush of energy forcing its way forward. A stretch of milder days is being brought to its end as the wind and rain cascade forward and transform everything around me. It's been nine weeks since I've been outside in the old world, which perhaps does not exist any longe...
I didn’t see many bicycles in my time in Korea. The severe congestion, combined with air pollution didn’t make it a safe proposition.
And yet, this image has two bikes in the frame. The image doesn’t seem to be Korea to me. The mature trees on the street; the architecture; the lush green within th...
A photograph can in some cases insert itself as a memory. The saturation of photographs in my lifetime – particularly family photographs – sometimes blurred the line between the remembered moment (images) and photographs captured in proximity to its time and place. I know I’m not alone in this exper...
‘Death is always on the way, but the fact that you don’t know when it will arrive seems to take away from the finiteness of life. It’s that terrible precision that we hate so much. But because we don’t know, we get to think of life as an inexhaustible well. Yet everything happens a certain number...