Upload & Sell: Off
As penance for my sins I've had to start here and go backwards until I recognise a picture that I've seen before....Geez, this could be a book....
Bob's tree on this page, Luka looks so grown up now, has it really been that long. I hope I didn't frighten Helena with my tale, and pic this is really testing the colours on my screen, some new faces too and lots to like about them. Nibutto and the 21 ...wow
Thats 1 page (grin).
Today I'm in the shade and with a cool drink and I'm spending the day here. I cannot believe that I used to go back to the 1st page and look at them repeatedly, now I think its grown to impossible.
This is about the only new pic, everything else is on film (grin) ...
I had just turned the television on.
Not a major event as the remote control is always handy on my desk and only requires an easy reach but it is an event in this day nonetheless. But like most of my days it does have some adventure about it, the battery door is broken and the AA battery inside is exposed and at risk of falling out.
I really do like a pinch of danger.
“It may be French bread to you but to me its …bread soaked in treachery” the elderly woman on the television says. Its a bitter voice but distinctly Australian and sounds as though she has an additional set of vocal cords in her nasal passages.
But of more significance than anything …she has my immediate attention.
“...Bread soaked in treachery”
My suspicion was that she was referring to the eggs the bread was dipped in and that she was engaged in some sort of long standing argument with a neighbouring chicken rancher and that having used these eggs to make this french toast was a serious slight in this feud.
But there is nothing else the television can tell you as I’d already turned it off so you'll have to rely on me for the rest of this spell-binding tale.
Aren't you plagiarising? Net asked.
You think it worth stealing? I reply
“Well obviously ...you think so”
I thought the reference to French and Treachery rather philosophical and moreso as I am an inhabitant of the Pacific Ocean. The French have a history here that many of their own are likely unaware of and reminds me of another philosophical quip, something about not shitting in your own nest. Which I suppose is why they did a lot of shitting here.
Then I thought about how I had interpreted the television’s snapshot of words and how their meaning changes when you take them out of their environment and place them into mine.
And I thought about this in the sense of my images taken in the measure of a street.
There is a lot of language in street photography and out of context it is the story of the photographic author.
Unknown to many and even to many street photographers is the concept of hearing the photographers voice in their photographs. Its something I regard highly when viewing another photographer's gallery and yet its an event that is so rarely mentioned let alone known.
An American photographer (thats as far as my name dropping ambitions will extend) has written to me and has remarked at how much like my voice are my pictures. It was said with some jest but only because he knew my voice and that I have a tune about me like someone that smiles while they talk.
I have remarked on the same with many other photographers and their voices are not exclusive to street. There are landscape photographers that can romance you, art photographers that confuse you and youthful urban explorers that can remind you of what it was like to be sixteen.
So what the hell are my pictures telling me?
Are they saying ...
"Ant, go have a quiet cigarette or maybe just take a break and have some French Toast.
Bah! ...French toast, Ill have none of that treachery but bread dipped in egg then fried in salty butter, mmmmm.
Maybe even a pinch of cinnamon, maybe even dutch cinnamon.
mmmmm, I wonder what the Dutch have been up to...?