Wild Swimming

Interval

I've recently acquired a brand new digital darkroom in lieu of actually having a camera of my own. The frustration of missing out - of being unable to shoot moments such as that candy bracelet that lay discarded in a puddle of oily water by the railway line - has lent itself to a renewed processing and development of older shots. Here are past points in time presented in a manner which is geographically illogical and chronologically disorientating.

For your health.

A New Process

Notice

Someone stole my camera on the train.

Being professionally poor and, of course, uninsured, this website may therefore be on forced hiatus for a while.

Naturally I've just had an amazing weekend and had about 200 great pictures to sort through. I hope that whoever has the camera now will appreciate the ocdc Calender shots that were taken on the beach. The Calender was to be entitled 'Wet Denim' and the shots we got were a bit like a sizzling Pirelli girls shoot, only with me in it, looking like an unsuccessful French 70's porn star.

Maybe everything does happen for a reason.

From The Picture Taker

The fine balance between bottle and keyboard
keeps the hair stuck to her cheek
in the beach wind.

Fourtracking my young heroines,
I walk quite clearly up the path
behind my house.

The path is a footpath,
it is authorised by the council
and it is a public right of way.

It passes beech trees which crackle
with a firm breeze. They stick her hair
to her cheek.

France

Lyons

My Friends

Flappers

Trials

The Home Counties

Cube I

Side by side on my shelf lie books like 'Silence'
and 'Hocus Pocus' and you turn your head sideways
to read out the titles, muttering their gold leaf
in a voice as soft as the sun outside my window.