I took these / this in 2006 but here we are, verging on 2010 and I’ve only just put it together. Hearts, robots and Jesus – what could be more Christmassy?
I add it now purely to wish you, my loyal reader, a Merry Christmas and a happy and healthy New Year. You’ve visited me over 2000 times now, and for that I am grateful.
I hereby raise a glass of sweet Sherry to you and wish you all the best. Hurrah!
I’m no closer to solving the mystery of the royalist heart, but here’s another offering from Versailles, this time from the edge of the Forêt Domaniale de Versailles. I know the location because there was a big brown sign opposite with the words ‘Forêt Domaniale de Versailles’ written on it.
It was taken here, on the least interesting side of an unusually ornate and marbled electricity substation and was obviously sprayed in the same pink as the numbers marked on the stacks of timber nearby.
It is an exquisitely beautiful heart. I asked Sunny, age 7, to take my portrait alongside it, which is the portrait used at the moment on my profile for this blog. I took his portrait in return.
There is something about this heart that makes me think of Picasso – I think it’s the appearance of a swirl in the upper right that does it. I can’t think where I’ve seen a Picasso heart and several attempts through Google have only led me to a cross-stitch design based on an original, so I’m still not sure of the original’s title. I’ll keep looking, just so that I can be sure that I did see a Picasso heart with a swirl somewhere other than on a cross-stitch pattern.
This was very close to the wonderful Huttopia, where we were staying, just at the entrance to the forest, close to a playground. It’s beautiful. I hope nobody paints over it before we visit again.
I thought that it would be really easy, with the help of Google, to find out more about this heart, but I’m having trouble…
It was found (though it was far from lost) in the passageway as you enter the Palace of Versailles, walking through to the gardens. It’s a beautifully clear heart, carved deeply into the stone with a crown above. A date is carved within the heart – looks like 17.5.17 , and though I’m finding it hard to see it in my own photograph, I’m sure that I could make out the words ‘le roi’ in there too.
The origin of this graffiti must be documented somewhere – if anyone can help me out it’d be much appreciated!
It was taken precisely here.
Taking a boat trip along the Seine, rounding the Île Saint Louis we spotted two hearts and, in huge writing, the words ‘ho voglia di te’.
The next day I walked around the lower walls to find it. It took a while because I got to the tip of the island and then went back to tell Vicki that it wasn’t there, went around the other side and there it was, about ten yards from the tip but out of sight of where I’d turned around…
I had no idea what the text meant, but it was clearly romantic and beautiful and intended either for somebody passing on a boat or somebody with extremely poor eyesight. Googling it upon my return I discover that it means ‘I Want You’ in Italian. A sexy phrase if ever there was one. If I’d known it when I was young, sad and single I feel sure I’d have used it.
I’d never been to Paris in the Autumn before, and I spent every day singing ‘I Love Paris’ either in my head or out loud. I’ve always loved the song, even when I didn’t love the city, and now when I sing it I think about my loves, one wife, two children and a dog, and how lucky I am, I’m a lucky, lucky man.
Every time I look down on this timeless town
whether blue or gray be her skies.
Whether loud be her cheers or soft be her tears,
more and more do I realize:
I love Paris in the springtime.
I love Paris in the fall.
I love Paris in the winter when it drizzles,
I love Paris in the summer when it sizzles.
I love Paris every moment,
every moment of the year.
I love Paris, why, oh why do I love Paris?
Because my love is near.
Cole Porter. Genius.
I mentioned a couple of posts ago that there were almost too many hearts in Paris – up and around the Eiffel was where I started to feel overwhelmed this year.
Apologies if I’m place-dropping, but it was last year on the Brooklyn Bridge that I first got the slightly dizzying feeling that I was trying to achieve something that I couldn’t possibly do – I realised that I will never be able to photograph every heart I saw. That revelation (bloody obvious in hindsight) gave me the same sensation I used to have in my regular childhood Christmas nightmare, the one in which it was Christmas eve and I had to get home but it was physically impossible because I was half a world away. I stood there on Brooklyn Bridge looking at a swarm of hearts scratched and drawn onto the steel girder before me and thought out loud: ‘oh, crap, there’s a thousand of them’…
I knew this would happen when I went up the Eiffel Tower, and it did. There’s some work going on up on the first and second stages with some great hoardings around it covered in life-size photographs of people looking out over the view from where you’re standing, taking photographs.
There’s something wonderful about standing with your back to the view photographing a photograph of somebody looking at the view and taking a photograph. I got some funny looks.
In case you’re uncertain, the Eiffel Tower is here. Have a look at the ‘street view’ there, and at the lovely shadow on the satellite image on the map.
Whenever I’m in France, Italy or Spain (which is not nearly as often as I’d like to be) I do find myself shocked at the sheer quantity of graffiti, almost everywhere.
I don’t like to see graffiti as vandalism, but let’s face it, on this scale it really is. Still, there’s always a positive, and here it is the fact that the vandalism does have a large degree of artistic merit. And a heart opposite.
I think I’ve blogged about this before, probably after returning from Barcelona, but mostly what you see are tags. There’s something surreal about seeing huge urban graffiti on bridges in rural Normandy as you drive down from Cherbourg towards Paris. I hope somebody’s documenting them – I wish I had the time to. I’d pick a route and would stop and photograph every bridge along the way. Many of them are simple crossings from field to field, some with a footpath, others there perhaps for livestock.
Driving into one particular town (off the top of my head I forget where it was) we drove beneath a huge overpass with at least two levels, and on the lowest level was a heart along with some text. My instincts told me to stop, but the children were asleep in the back of the car, the entrance to the bridge was in some location unknown to me and it just wasn’t possible… sometimes I have to let them go.
This photograph was taken here in Lisieux, where we stopped for breakfast. We took a stroll – rather a long stroll as it turned out, as the Basilique Sainte Thérèse is stunning and we couldn’t resist walking up to it – and this was on the way back to the car, in a covered space between two buildings. I love the juxtaposition (but hate the word) between the traditional French window and the elaborate and bizarre graffiti.
And I’m sure the owners of the house were delighted with it.
I’ve fallen in love with Paris again. A couple of years ago we came home feeling irritable after a rough and clichéd encounter with a ticket inspector on the metro, but this time there was nothing to fault bar the weak pound.
Since starting this project I’ve been to Paris three times and each time the hearts have been plentiful – this time they were set beneath blue skies and autumn leaves. Paris at its most beautiful. I even got to the point this time where there were so many I grew sick of seeing them – more on that in a later post, I imagine.
I’m rushing this post as it’s Halloween and the children are downstairs looking and sounding grotesque and I am hiding upstairs with neither wine nor permission. I’ll have to go in a mo for pumpkin soup and noise.
The heart shot here is not well composed (the heart is too low for my liking) but put together I like the way it works. It was taken from a train window as we passed, the second shot taken a second later as we picked up speed. I’d seen it the day before and sat ready to shoot as we travelled into Paris again from our eco-cabin in Versailles (of which more later too).
It was almost precisely here, but from the train. I think the text in the heart is a name.
I spent this morning in a long meeting trying to explain to a bunch of education officers that schools are absolutely and totally fundamental to the society, community and economy that surrounds them and that in any plan to reorganise schools the bigger picture needs to be considered very, very carefully.
The people I was meeting with were trapped in a box of their own making, and were proof that joined up thinking hasn’t reached county councils yet.
I’ll post the positive link and you can try to work out who I’m frustrated with: www.educationswanage.co.uk
The photograph was taken somewhere near here, and for some reason the grey, broken surface seems relevant.
I like this picture, but what do you think?
It breaks one of my golden rules – it has people in it – plus the heart isn’t easy to see, though once you’ve seen it it’s clear enough. I like it because it builds a bigger landscape and it makes a nice change from the usual heart + location shot that I generally run with for this project. I’ve always liked the kind of hard-cut panoramas you get when you just piece them together roughly, and this has that effect.
It’s from Portland, Church Ope Cove to be precise, same as the last picture. You’ll find a map link in that post. Where smugglers once came ashore with brandy and tobacco there is now this scattering of eccentric beach huts and, on a summer’s day like this was, the sight of burning English bodies scorching themselves in the sun.
Putting this together I was reminded that I once photographed some hearts on a fence and went away and came up with another idea but found that the fence had been painted black by the time I returned. I’d wanted to re-photograph the hearts (there were at least a dozen) and then blow them up to life-size before piecing them back together on the wall. It was thinking about Hockney’s photographic collages that prompted the idea. Next time I see a whole bunch of hearts in one place I must remember what I was too late to do then… but the join on this picture makes me think of just a piece of a bigger image.
I picked up the pictures that were left from my show at the White Stones Gallery on Portland at the weekend – there wasn’t a lot left. I’d had a fantastically successful show and it was great to know that people had really appreciated the work I’d put up. Over the six weeks or so that the show was up for I visited Portland several times, mostly to drop off more work. It’s an interesting place Portland – it is quite distinctly different to anywhere else along the Dorset Coast and has an air of wildness about it. I always feel that the villages on Portland have the feel of frontier towns, which is odd because they are on the edge, at the frontier of the sea I suppose, but a frontier that has long since passed.
I have a question: I’d like to know what weight of stone has been removed from Portland since they began recording what was taken from each quarry. I want to know how much lighter Portland is now to what it was in, say, 1800. Seen from a distance I think Portland looks as though it could lift up from the sea like a balloon if they take much more stone away…
This shot was taken at Church Ope Cove. The sun-bleached quarry-waste pebbles gleam beneath a wooded cliff and the ruins of a church, next to which are a handful of macabre tombstones faced with skulls and crossbones. The kids loved it. The heart on this stone is almost completely bleached away, but look closely and you’ll see it, feint in pink – it was in a pebble-built den with a stern warning against the ‘tresparsing’ of parents – maybe the long-dead pirates would be back for me if I’d stepped foot inside…
In my last post I mentioned the lovely heart on the foreshore in Swanage that I’d photographed but that hadn’t worked out too good. I went back earlier this week and re-shot it, taking more time and being more careful with my use of filters etc than last time. This time I got what I wanted.
The foreshore is one of my favourite places to walk. It’s multisensory in every way, so much to look at, the smell of seaweed, fishing boats and bits of fish, the taste of salt spray on a windy day and the feel of the spray too, or the warm breeze, or the cold water when you’re barefooted and the tide is high. There’s also the sixth sense that you’re in a place with a rich history and that you’re walking among the ghosts of fishermen long gone – or maybe that’s just the poetic fool in me reading too much into a pleasant stroll.
Whoever scratched this heart into the stone loves Sylvia. I thank them both and wish them well.
The foreshore is here. It’s really quite special.
I’ve had an interesting few days photographically, getting some new filters and discovering their limitations but finding some great stuff along the way.
I didn’t have to go far. Summer in Swanage brings out the lovers and a few new hearts have popped up. One beautiful example along the foreshore (where I discovered that adding too many macro filters results in a loss of focus!) and this example close to the cemetery. The temptation here was to photograph the heart and then turn around and photograph the cemetery, but the cemetery also happens to have the steam railway running past it and the engine workshop and some old wagons and things right alongside. Every time I’d walked by I’d seen the side of a rusting wagon and been drawn to a particular patch that had been roughly painted and damaged and painted again but I’d never photographed it. So this was the perfect opportunity.
In my head I was thinking of American abstract expressionism (the style of the painting, and the ‘railroad’ too) but at the same time of Howard Hodgkin, who I’ve always thought of as an abstract expressionist even though he isn’t. His pictures are always ‘of’ something, less about the act of painting or the inner self and more about the subject. Or so I’ve read. As an image the ‘landscape’ relates to the colour field paintings of people like Rothko and Clifford Stills too. Or so it seems.
If I were to print the ‘landscape’ side of this image on its own and to give it a title, I’d call it “The Cemetery” I think. Like all the best abstract work, there’s little in it relating to a cemetery but you can guarantee that if you look and think for long enough you’ll find something!
Taken here: where the green arrow is.
It's carnival week here in Swanage and despite the autumnal weather, there's a real feeling of summer. People are in holiday mood; children are staying up late for the fireworks and normally sensible adults are wearing comedy hats and drinking beer in the daytime. I love to see the town I'm so esconced in filled to the brim with holiday-makers - it saves me going anywhere myself, as I can just pretend I'm one of them. If the weather were better I'd pretend I was abroad as well - though, actually, this feels like the winter I spent in a New Zealand summer, if that makes sense. Damp, predictably unsettled, bit dissapointing, but fun anyway.
The picture above says summer to me, though it was taken one October. It has the colour of summer. Looking out the window now at a leaden sky over damp grey roofs it says October to me, although it's late July. So there we go.
Last weekend saw me at the Tolpuddle Martyrs Festival. It was my first time, despite years of left-wingishness and Tolpuddle being so close to home. It was a windy but wonderful day. I spent an hour behind a stall extolling the virtues of the Transition movement while listening to some great music from across the folk world, then wandered with Vicki and my boys among radicals, revolutionaries and really sound idealists before listening to the always fantastic Tony Benn address the crowd. I picked up leaflets galore and signed petitions a-plenty and came home with two tired children who won't appreciate for a while why such a place should be such a rush for their two idealist but realist parents.
I think of it now because I spent some time talking to a woman about the joys of the Solidarity Brigades but the difficulties of being a vegetarian in Cuba. On a grey English day like this I think of travel and Cuba is a place I've long longed to go to. Talking to her I was aware of an irony, though. I wandered past other stalls campaigning for democratic reform in the UK and against dictatorships in the Middle East and elsewhere, and yet there we all were, waving little Cuban flags and helping celebrate 50 years of Revolution there. Cuba cannot function as a democratic entity while the US still interferes in elections across Latin America - the CIA would never be able to resist funding the right-wing anti-Castro parties that would spring up and with a US funded campaign there's a good chance they would win. I suppose too that while the centre-right West declares certain dictatorships to be acceptable and friendly for financial reasons, then it's understandable that left-wingers can have a friendship with Cuba.
I think that's what I think, but then again maybe it's the beer in the afternoon that's talking.
This picture was taken here.
I'm going to keep this brief as I've just typed about 500 words in this box before the browser crashed and I lost the lot. Last night on BBC One I watched a fascinating documentary on William Eggleston. You'll find it here if you read this before the 5th August 2009. It was wonderful to see him at work - he literally snaps his pictures. 50 years of knowing, even dreaming, perfect photographs means that he can see the picture before he even lifts the camera to his eye. I try to work like this for my landscapes, try to forget the formal composition, but looking back through some yet-to-be-put-together love landscape work just now I can see that I'm still thinking too much.
I think what I enjoyed most (and I watched it alone so only had the dog and my ukelele to explain this to) was that I hadn't realised that he was genuinely influenced in his formative years as a photographer by the snapshot. This revelation brought tears to my tired eyes. I've tried to explain before my belief in the genius that exists in entirely naive photograph, and sometimes in the accidental snap. I've listed these as my key influence, alongside names like Eggleston, Shore, Meyerowitz, for 15 years or more. I'm sure readers of photographic theory have known what I know now about Eggleston for years, but it's reassuring to know that if I share my love of the accidental perfection of snapshots with a true genius of photography.
I'm posting this with a newly put together shot taken some time ago in London - somewhere around Holland park, roughly here.
A quick post: way back when I was a photography student I used to go up from Bournemouth to London as often as I could, visiting galleries and taking bleak black and white photographs of the city. I still go as often as I can and I can still find bleak even though so much has been tidied up.
This space, beneath a railway bridge between Waterloo and the Southbank, used to be populated by homeless people. They lined this wall with cardboard shelters and begged change or slept as you passed through. I used to give change to one or two as even as a student deep in debt I had more to spare than they did - at least I had access to the debt I'm still in!
Now this tidied space is populated by commuters and tourists and the graffitied, smog-dirtied walls have been lined with wipe-clean photgraphic version of what is underneath, complete with a couple of small, polite pieces of graffiti. The paper cups that used to be held out for change are now held by people passing through and are filled with cappucino, mocha and latte. It is so much nicer, so much cleaner and less threatening, but as I think this I know that the problem of people without homes hasn't gone away, it's just been tidied up. I wonder where those people who used to sleep in cardboard homes have been tidied to?
Interestingly, since photographing this in 2008 the wall has been tidied further - these concrete blocks are now coated in wipe-clean paint.
The bridge is here. And it was just as I put my camera back in its bag that the man in the gorilla suit walked past. His friend was holding his cappucino for him...
I watched ET with my kids on Saturday. I hadn't watched it since I was 12 and they'd never seen it before, being only 5 and 7. We all loved it, and I'd never realised what a great film it was in many more ways than I'd appreciated as a child. I'd never noticed the child-like perception of adults, where the only recognised adult is Mary, the mother, important to the children, and everyone else is seen only in part until they intrude upon the reality of Elliot and ET and impose their significance. I'd forgotten too how influential it was to me - I remembered having toys but had forgotten how it influenced my cycling style! Both my boys want to do jumps like on ET now. I'd also forgotten the use of the phrase 'penis breath' which I hope to hear my kids using real soon...
Was it last year I went to wet Wales, sunny Spain and New York too? Seems like another lifetime, though my carbon guilt hasn't faded. For the past few weeks Vick and I have been discussing holidays, checking cheap flights from Bournemouth (not too far to drive, so better for the environment!) and then deciding to either stay in this country this year or play it by ear if the summer's as bad as the last two.We've been spoilt by the experience of foreign travel and now we expect so much from a trip away. We crave the exotic, the unfamiliar language, the daily joy of finding vegan food where we'd least expect it, and the warmth - warm air, warm sea. Our experiences of travelling in the UK have been generally good too, but listen - we live in a seaside resort. It doesn't get better than this! Actually, it does, but you get my drift, I'm sure. We live with the sea on our doorstep, and it's wonderful, but we do feel the urge every so often (and as often as possible) to go abroad. This year, France may beckon, travelling by car. We'll see...
This picture is one that I absolutely love. Taken at La Sagrada Familia in Barcelona, the astonishing cathedral designed by Gaudi and still under construction - absolutely breathtaking within and without and certainly worth the wait to ascend the towers. I was amazed to find at the base of the lift, almost as you exit the building, a wall of graffiti, all hearts and names. I don't know whether the guards are just slack at guarding or whether they accept that visitors have a desire to leave their name on a wall and they'd prefer it to be all in one place, but the hearts at least are all drawn or scratched in haste so perhaps all the work is seruptitious. The accompanying photograph is a detail of the large brass doors nearby. The doors feature polished parts which are representative of aspects of Christian faith, though I'm not entirely certain who or what this face represents as it glows amidst the dark tarnished brass. It looks to me like the face of an angel.
The Sagrada Familia is here, and if you've never been, devote a day to it. Not sure of the most carbon friendly way to visit, but if you're feeling flush, a train down through France would be nice...
I spent the Bank Holiday weekend on a Transition Training course - learning how to help create a town that is ready for the world after the Age of Cheap Oil. Thinking globally and acting locally, how will we avoid the worst of climate change, and what will we do when we can't afford the energy we use day-to-day today because the price of oil is inevatably going to rise and everything we do relies upon it? The course assumed an acceptance amongst participants that change was necessary and was designed to enable us to spread the word, expand our local groups and to understand a lot more about the psychology of change, and of the psychology of resistance to change, as resistance is surely what we will meet a lot along the way.This picture, taken from the Brooklyn Bridge, shows the density of the city and the lack of anything natural. It's an exageration of course, the whole city doesn't look like this, but it paints a picture of an artificial space that we need to work back from towards sustainability.
I took this this afternoon in Bridport, and it seemed so terribly, terribly English that I thought I'd offer it as a St George's gift to you all! Only the English could come up with a pet shop window display as oddly sweet as this is, and Bridport is a wonderfully English market town itself - the heart was here, just opposite the pet shop on the wall outside the gents'.
I went to London with Vicki and the kids last week and as ever came home with a few hearts. I also returned with a load of duff stuff where the focus was too soft as I'd rushed the pictures at dusk - the price of trying to shoot quickly so the boys wouldn't get bored...
This was on Tower Bridge, where there were several. Bridges are always good for hearts - I've found them on Brooklyn Bridge, several bridges in Paris, the Ponte Vecchio in Florence, all over the place in Venice, and on a few over the Thames. I remember way back seeing some on the Sydney Harbour Bridge years back, but I haven't been there since starting this set of pictures - I wish! There must be some symbolism relating bridges to romance - perhaps the joining of two bodies (of land) or the bridging of divides... perhaps I'll google it later. The odd thing with hearts on bridges is that often the bridge is a famous one, and to photograph it in an original way (or in a way that I want to see it, at least) is really hard. I tend to end up looking at the river, or at details of the bridge's construction. This one I quite like.
Speaking of the river, I saw the Roni Horn show at Tate Modern while I was there. Not my mug of coffee at all. I knew I didn't like the germanic deadness of the portrait work, but thought I'd like her work on the Thames. Having seen it in real life, I didn't like that either - without wishing to be rude, all her annotated work (the drawings and photographs) come across as humourless and smacks of the kind of art described as pretentious (I'm sure she takes it very seriously and that no pretense is involved) - like very well executed art student work, the 'artfulness' of which you hope the student will grow out of... harsh? I spent £7 on the ticket which gives me the right to an honest review!
Dominique Gonzalez-Foerster's TH.2058, down in the Turbine Hall, was fantastic, however. The biggest installation space in the world, surely, and HT.2058 makes great use of it, immersing the visitor in a post-disaster London. I love sci-fi and this was like being a part of it. Not for everyone, but wonderfully disturbing.
I was just sitting here looking at the greying view and thinking "I need a holiday". I probably don't NEED a holiday, but I really would like one... probably a reaction to my friend and fellow photographer Thierry Roy jetting off to New York today. And the fact I had a lovely weekend in the sunshine and now it's raining and I'm sat at my desk. And holidays are always good!
I feel strangely excited about the fact that Obama is in England, as if there's a chance I might bump into him. In Swanage. It takes me back to the strange excitement I felt about being in New York just before his election, as if Something Huge were about to happen...
My desk, where I work on these pictures, is on the top floor of the house in front of a window with views of the sea to the east and the Purbeck ridge to the north. On sunny days it's so bright I have to wear a hat so that I can see my screen - today is like that, though the forecast is for a return to winter.I've gone on about this before, but I can't help feeling deleriously happy living in Swanage. I imagine for many that would be hard to understand, but I've lived in quite a few places, spent time in more and seriously, this is the best. It wouldn't suit everyone, but that's fine - there wouldn't be room!
I love Swanage in the springtime, I love Swanage in the fall; I love Swanage in the winter, when it drizzles, I love Swanage in the summer, when it sizzles...
This pic was taken late last summer, actually on one of the rare hot sunny days last summer, and while it isn't my favourite heart it shows Ballard Down, a short-ish walk (up a steep hill!) from the heat and bussle of the beach. That's one of the things that drew me back here - I can enjoy the town centre and then walk for 15 minutes either north or south and be in amazing tranquility.
Smug, smuggedy, smug - sorry!
This presented me with an interesting dilemma - this was taken in 2007 on Westminster Bridge and the address label was taped securely to the road. Apart from having to dodge traffic to get the picture, I thought it was a Really Funny Thing - Royal mail don't get asked to deliver Westminster Bridge very often. Tower Bridge, now that's a different matter...
I'm going through some of my older shots that I haven't yet sorted and put together. It does take time to produce each image, even though I don't manipulate the individual photos. I usually have a few slightly different shots (compositional differences or exposure changes) and it isn't always obvious which will work best until I've paired them up to see. This one has a lovely woodgrain close-up - I'm looking forward to a print. It was taken here (I always remember precise locations, the weather and the smell...)I took this in London last year, but other shots date back to 2007, a few even earlier. I just need to find a week or so to work though them before I take even more... today I asked Vick to take some publicity shot portraits of me as we were near some of my favourite seedy alleys in Bournemouth. I feel really awkward having my picture taken, I start to grin and what I intend to be moody, gritty, stylish pictures end up being mugshots of a fat-faced beardy bloke with some shiny teeth... if any end up worth using I'll change my blogger pic to show them!
I really do love pigeons, and I'm impressed that they can fly right to the top of one of the world's tallest buildings and sit there looking at us dumb humans who had to use the lift. I wonder what's the highest that a pigeon can fly? Maybe there's no limit - maybe there are space pigeons and we just haven't found them yet.
I have been SO slack with my blog updates - to my reader, I apologise!
I love the natural British sense of 'ooh-er Mrs'. This is a diary left in a hide at Studland (near the naturist area, of course) and it was filled with classic British humour. Smut, self-deprecation, sarcasm and smattering of satire. Lovely light in the hide too, though no birds to be seen, as we were with three children and a dog.The hide is roughly here - well hidden of course.
Some things you don't notice til much later, especially when you're forced to work quickly by a frustrated marathon runner with tendon issues. It was only when I looked at the photos back in Swanage that I could see the death's head in the heart on this Central Park tree. And the tree had been alongside this chess garden. And I instantly thought of Woody Allen, not because I was transposing the Seventh Seal Bergman reference onto a Manhattan setting, but because I'm essentially shallow and I get my high culture references from pop culture sources.Now I'll have to get the Bergman film on DVD and pretend that I was referring to that all along, except i've given away my true working method here... d'oh!
OK, so I'm still posting pictures of New York, which i shot back in October/November, but I'm slowly working towards more recent stuff. I'm still campaigning (successfully, me thinks) to save my sons' school, so work is a little behind... more soon!
