Six months, six images

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Images
Six months, six images

November already? Well..

July: Just resonated somehow. Certainly no favorite though.

August: Because landscape. Doesn’t need to be pretty and well composed but we knew that.

September: From the I was there category of images. Nobody’s favorite category of images.

October: Because who doesn’t love a good moon? No need to raise hands.

November: Not a word.

Some of the six months since last time have been quite dry, in terms of lens based activities. Also, my favorite images these days are eight years old and not the ones that have appeared lately and since this is about recents I’ve adjusted the tag. And this was a terrible sentence.

And here’s a new years resolution, if a tad early. If nothing worth saying to say, shut up. Now may this post creep downwards in shame and forever be forgotten.

Man with no horse

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Images / Words
Man with horse

I used to always want to be the one with the Horseman 612, an expensive Sekonic, and a large bag full of 120s. It was probably more about the Horseman than what might have been produced with it. There never was one, a Horseman, and the only Sekonics in the household are the most affordable versions. Not that there is anything wrong with them, except that the one that needs a battery tends to eat it up fairly quickly. The bags however—fairly large ones, considering—are indeed half full of 120s, but exposed and unprocessed for the most part.

Not sure where this was supposed to go. I still wouldn’t mind the camera, although a 612 wouldn’t make much sense. But I must admit to rather liking the idea of having a camera called Horseman.

No relation to what I’m going on about here, in spite the fact that I called them Horsemen.

Then, there was the dead horse..

Monolith

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From the archives / Words
Monolith

I know..

No, strike that.

I have an idea about what I’m looking at. And I do wonder what you are seeing.

Then there is the underlying element that if I communicate what I’m looking at it will influence what you see. And as much as I’d rather not—influence—there really isn’t any way around it, is there?

In 2011 I started photographing places where people live, from afar. I called them Homes, the images. Here is where I might choose to get into the details about the project, if the words were ready, but instead I will say that the one above might have made the cut had it been square, and taken from a slightly higher viewpoint. Might but probably wouldn’t, it doesn’t quite sit. I don’t miss it terribly, from Homes I mean, but nevertheless, a little fond of it.

So, homes, just not Homes, is what I’m looking at.

What might you be seeing?

From, no wait, to Rjukan with love

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From the archives
View between trees over a valley, fog blocking the view somewhat.

Rjukan is one of the places in Norway where I would like to live at some point.

It’s probably a fantasy, mostly. An illusion.

Picture: A village, in a narrow valley, in between steep mountains, with its history and all. And the lack of sun during the winter months, and mirrors to compensate. The kind of place that could become big on Instagram? (Not that I checked, perhaps it already is).

Not that this is an illusion, but I suspect the associations, ideas, the “oh how nice it would be to live there for a while”, are.

Arriving at the illusion has a certain charm though.

No, that’s impossible.

The journey towards the illusion has a certain charm though.

Not journey.

Approaching the illusion has,.. its thing..

Which reminds me of this book of photographs I seem to recall having, in one of the boxes I can’t remember where I placed. Approaching Nowhere, if I’m not mistaken. That’s not Rjukan, not nowhere. Far from it. The illusion is, though.

Or, what do I know? Having spent only enough time there to drink a cup of coffee and walk about with a tripod for an hour or so. In pouring rain.

Illusion?

Foggy landscape photograph showing trees, river, houses and mountain.

Photograph that almost got left behind on a hard drive.

When there were envelopes

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Words
When there were envelopes

The fact that this particular batch of envelopes reaped no responses doesn’t mean that a future one won’t. Nor does it change the fact that a previous one did.

The lack of ROI for these particular envelopes did, however, come with a cost, one that was neither foreseen or anticipated. In hindsight, at this particular point in history, it should have been obvious that the potential concequences might turn out to be a bit of a catastrophy and given that, perhaps there never should have been envelopes. Let alone ones that made it all the way to the mailbox.

But that was a long time ago. Looong time. From now on—to envelopes.

2x

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Images
2x
Odda, sometimes before dusk. For a few pixels more.

Two.

Matching ok or not so well.

In a somewhat chronological order. Except Odda, sometimes before dusk, Odda should be at the end, if the timeline was important and it is. Timelines always are.

Diptych

Men with bright coloured clothing, repairing courthouse.

A BMW by the lake. I mean the reservoir.

The local art museum. No, not the only one. In between exhibitions.

Camera on a tripod head in front of landscape.

Portrait of the lens. And gobo.

The hut and the steel wires that make sure it stays up.

“Don’t fall down here”, I guess the plastic line was meant to say.

A truly horrible place. Thanks to humans in suits, elected.

Water. And concrete.

Another reservoir. It seems to be a reoccuring subject.

At the time, two of the saddest photographs.

Coastline. Lines. Old country. Nostalgia. Et cetera.

In defense of the 3:2 frame

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Other
In defense of the 3:2 frame

There are two possible approaches here, aren’t there?

  1. Sorry, but there isn’t any. It’s horrible and should be banned.
  2. The 3:2 frame, like frames of other proportions, needs no defense. It’s just a simple rectangular*, of a certain shape. Now move on, nothing to see here.

Personally I should force myself to commit to #2, no later than now. Have spent way too much energy already on disliking 3:2.

*Perhaps what we should be asking is why rectangular?

Summer day, walking

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From the archives
Summer, walking

Summer light is nice, it lasts forever.

In some places at least, say north of 60 degrees, it does. Not here though, not in Southernland. Not because Southernland is so far south, just enough to allow night to be night and change the summer light character quite a bit. It’s still nice, very nice in fact.

The hows and the whys and that sort are not too important. Just different.

By the way. It’s not only the duration of summer light that makes it nice. Although that’s nice too. Let’s say it’s complicated.

That was five times nice. Six including this one.

Out with the thirtyfive

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Images
Tourist stand overlooking river.

We did get out some, the thirtyfive and I. In another country and not a whole lot, but enough to burn a few gigabytes of data to a harddisk. I like the term *tourist stand, a bit like a light stand, about position. Or positioning. Stay tuned.

Swimming pool classic. Or was it cliché? Not that it matters, I’m equally, easily, charmed.

Somehow the most genuine photograph I have made in a long time. Genuine as in resonance.

A variation, I guess, on a photograph I’ve been meaning to do for a decade or two. Given that it feels remarkably unsatisfying but that’s ok, it leaves room for growing on me, later.

Pull, with a twist

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Words
Pull, with a twist
Unrelated? Perhaps.

Some places have a stronger pull than others.

During a less–than–likeley–ever–to–be–realized moment of fantasy I looked up this place in Iceland. It’s fairly remote, the last time I was there the only way to reach it could hardly be described as a road. A double track with ambitions perhaps. For all I know that may have changed though. The search engine came up with several informative—for the potential tourist—and less informative pieces. I clicked on the images tab. The first few captured the scenery, there was birdlife, the odd man–made structures in the landscape, people looking out towards the ocean. Then the 4×4 shots, the I conquered the landscape with my vehicle, my extension photos.

Looking at them it felt overwhelmingly obvious how I wouldn’t be able to contribute anything meaningful to the image search, were I to realize my moment of fantasy and travel there and later upload the photos I would make to the internet. Somewhere the search engine could index them. Or perhaps it was more like a moment of 21st century apathy, no not apathy but hopelessness with a twist.

After not looking for a while it started to make sense again. Make sense to go and see, to breathe and smell, to touch the rocks and the weather, to experience, to be. And—perhaps—to record. Even if there are way too many records already. Not to contribute to the image search result pages but see if they might initiate a thought or two. A question worth asking.

We speak in hearts, stars

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Words
Night sky, stars..

Not that kind of stars, but stars that use only a small amount of energy and in return they don’t shine particularly bright. Or for long. Same applies for the hearts I believe, and thumbs, for that matter. I wish there was a way to replace them, with something like a nod, but I guess that would be difficult to illustrate so that we all understood what it meant. Or—and I know I am being demanding here—words, even sentences.

No, better snap out of it. On we go. With stars and stuff.