Walking there, the air is heavy with humidity. A girl with a bob and lanky limbs rides her bike after her friend. The great cloud looms, there is expectancy in the weight of the air. They sit about, beers in stubbies, thongs thrust eagerly forward on complacent feet. Striped awnings flap and there someone tugs on a guy rope for security. Flap, flap. She sits on the edge of the balcony leaning on her knees, phone pressed to her ear watching as three walk past, two prams – trying to put the babies to sleep. A little girl takes off her shoes and complains about her hat, she goes to sit on her tricycle, the handle is around the wrong way. Seagulls line the roof, ruffled by the breeze that is lifting the edges of tents; they are perfecting symmetry. The ocean noise is messed about momentarily by someones radio then it is still. This is an ageless Australia, rain is coming.
In the middle of my mourning
Sits joy like a happy child
In the middle of this death
I must cry with life for a while
And death is great
We are in His keep, laughing and whole
When we feel deep in life
He dares weep, deep in our soul
How great is His concern for us. How high. How good. How deep.
(lyrics from ‘Dresses’ Sixpence None the Richer)
“Photography is not good at very many things- it is a poor storyteller if what you want is a didactic or linear narrative. You can read a book for that. Rather, photography is uniquely suited for addressing the ‘ever-passing present moment’ – which really means it’s more akin to poetry. It is good at emphasizing certain notes, tones, elements, and emotions – and lingering on them in time and space long enough to feel awkward, compelled, agitated, soothed, or simply paused… even struck… urged to reconcile with the moment that you are viewing.” – Kurt Simonson
pinched from Lehua Noelle
“Light thinks it travels faster than anything but it is wrong. No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it.”
– Terry Pratchett
Black is not a colour – according to some, it is the absence of light. Black is not a colour is bollocks. Black is hexadecimal value #000 it is also the K from the CMY… and Pantone’s Process Black and then there is Rich Black. Black is a colour.
Black is dark.
Black is like grey. There is more to it than meets the eye. Dark shouldn’t always equate to evil nor is it always an opposite.
Black has layers. Like onions. If your onions are black, you should really throw them out.
Love one another and you will be happy. It’s as simple and as difficult as that.
Love holds out it hands as an offer, it does not wrap it’s fingers desperately around a heart, it takes on definitions from petty to immeasurable. It’s wears a face of frustration, of hope, of pleasure. Love influences decisions, holds keys, starts journeys. Love waves, a hand, water, a tsunami. Love lays low and hides in dark corners. Love is bright and light and an open field. Love is a signifier, a magnifier a pacifier. Love is a smile, a word, a life.