I used to know someone who would be present in nature while I ran around like a madman attempting to make it stick to film. Can’t rembember bothering to stop much and ask myself what it was I was trying to find, or capture. Just went on, searching, framing, adjusting, releasing the shutter, collecting fragments of reality as it passed. As if I needed them in order to confirm—or excuse, not really sure which—my existence, […]
Some people sometimes seem to express how they feel that landscape photographs aren’t worth much if anything unless they’re somehow tagged with a location. Others, while being able to relate, sometimes seem to express how this irritates them to the extent of not being able concentrate on things that matter, things they are able to control.
The current latest and greatest idea: Ditch everything, get a beat up Kiev, the Contax clone kind, a bag full of 400H, shoot like a madman and surely something would have to come out of it. Then when it wouldn’t, ditch everything, get the next thing that’s supposed to make life a better place to be in, and surely something would have to come out of it. Rinse and repeat.
From a birthday hike in the woods, 7 years ago. Very much enjoyed shooting these, perhaps because they were never meant to be anything but themselves. No external (or existential) references, no hidden meanings, just isolated pieces of nature, half–decently framed. Shot on film so chimping was not an option, with various 35mm cameras and whatever cheap–ish fifty I had for them. Not exactly good times, but good times.