Thursday, 26 February 2009

What do you do when there's nothing there to be done?

Lately i have this feeling i'm not doing enough with my time. There's an underlying fear of failure, which everyone feels i guess. But throughout the day and in the evenings i get that shitty feeling you all hate: that somebody else who has your possibilities would have done so much more. Maybe it's true. Maybe it isn't. I suppose i'll never know because i won't care enough to do so.

On the other hand, what do you do when there's nothing to do? You have Canons, Hasselblads, Mamyias, Horsemans, Nikons, Wistas and i've probably named just about most proper camera makers - at your service.

What do we do with them?

I have a camera, now what? How do i get the subject? How do i make the first step?

Is there a way of convincing yourself that messenger/facebook are not the answer? They're fine and dandy when you have something that you MUST do and avoid it by staying on messenger, but when you want to take pictures, have a series, do what is known as PERSONAL WORK (the reason you started photography in the first place) - what do you do? where do you start?

I know the answer. If you would ask me i could probably tell you what to do.

But surely enough i can't seem to be doing it myself. It's only reasonable. The people who can't do much, teach other people how to do their thing. It's the way the world works. Odd, isn't it?

PS: that is my fridge
PPS: i have lots more film* than food now
*the amount of film is constant. the food resources drastically diminished.

Tuesday, 24 February 2009

The Global and the Local

This is a test shot of what i am going to do for my latest project. Shot on Wista, double exposure with Metz and Pocket Wizards. In our friendly Carpenter's Arms, over a pint. And with the ever lasting assistance of Denisa

Monday, 23 February 2009


Monday has never been my strongest point really. I just made it out of bed around 12 o'clock (because i was watching stupid horror movies until 5) driven by hunger. Let's cook. What? Mashed potatoes. With?


Cheese is like, the ultimate food. There are more types of cheese in the world than types of languages. Fact. Cheese is good with anything. Fact. Cheese keeps you happy. Fact.

I have a strong conviction that if people would eat more cheese, there would be less wars in the world - simple explanation to it too. The people who control the cheese thus control the world. And thus the world would be again controlled by the natural state of things - the people who own the food own the world. Right now the people who own the guns own the world. But usually the people who have big guns compensate for something (thus the blushing when they're naked). Guns are like purses. But will explain that later.

Going now to eat cheese.

Sunday, 22 February 2009

Good Times Gone

And it's Sunday. How good. The day God said...not sure what but i bet it was important in the context he said it. So i woke up feeling like seven different kinds of shit after the party. Not hung over. Just tired. And strange. Aaaaaanyways...

Firstly, thanks for inviting me Simon. Happy birthday and... well it's all in the greeting card. Read your Facebook inbox, you got a good news on our previous night's topic.

In other news, i did nothing useful today, except talk, after many years, with somebody i used to know and helped out a little bit, or like to think i tried. I had nothing better to do, so after an omlette, i started to watch movies. Shitty ones. And mushy. some violent. Mostly bad.

Like "License to wed". That, my friends, or people who read this blog because they've got nothing better to do, is a waste of time. It was such a sweet movie, i almost got diabetes by the end of it. Weddings and fights and PMS chick with bad cheesy lines. Damnit. Being useless to humanity has never been more degrading.

But it got me thinking. The movie is shit save for a line:

"This is a non smoking flight but you're alowed to light anything up the minute we land in Jamaica"


So yeah, it did get me thinking about being good at what you do. Like movies. Those people were most definitely bad at what they did. They sucked. Really really bad. Morally bankrupt and financially illiterate Americans (i'm a hypocrite here because i fit the bill quite well). There's no point in reading this entry to be honest. But if you got this far, i must confess i am eating Camembert (Kamilla and Denisa know) while typing. Disgusting. But tasty. and if you got this far, i must admit that you were just as bored as i was when i started writing.

PS: the picture has no link to anything. It's just a view from the window of someone i sued to know. Cool view.

Wednesday, 18 February 2009

Public threats

Location Lighting Workshop

i have to admit that any school day that starts with: "Did i ever tell you the story about me, Naomi Campbell and the cupboard?" can not be anything but a good one. As today proved. The story in question did include my teacher, Naomi Campbell, a cupboard, hot coffee and a brush. Let your minds wonder people. So we went on location to shoot and get used to the idea of artificial light. Which frankly some of us really needed. Myself included, as far as complex lighting is concerned. The basic 2 - 3 lights i can handle but metering over that is a bit of a head fuck.

as always, why would i pay attention to what everybody was talking about, when i could step back and photograph what everyobody was doing? So basically i was of no actual use, save for the fact that my Metz with the Pocket Wizard kept going off and i was nowhere to be seen. Just left it there in the hope that somebody would sit in the right position and fall into my photographic trap. No actually, i was just trigger happy today. Here are some tests - as well as some final ideas we got out of today.

1) Herebe the results from the 1Ds Mark 2:

As well as from the 4x5 Wista, with experimental black and white film from China. Cheap and effective:

And these are the making of images.

Tuesday, 17 February 2009

Theory and Practice

In theory, Rothko said that the artists make people see the world through their eyes. Now i came out of a class where at least half of the people were lobotomized, boring, or just plane stupid and i ask you: WHO THE FUCK WOULD WANT TO SEE THE WOULD THROUGH YOUR EYES?

Thursday, 12 February 2009

Project Pictures

This is the final three images for "The Man Made and the Natural" project with Dan Holdsworth.

and the second series, which are more like a test.


I went again, yesterday, to the sea side to work on my project. I arrived in Broadstairs quite earlyish and started to shoot. Thanks for the flash (he knows who i'm talking about) and the borrwoed music (she knows as well). It was an odd day, alternating rain and sun sustained the feeling.

Odd thing. Click on the first two images and you'll see they're a lot lighter. Strange.

With the high cliffs on one side, filled with caves and openings, and the sea on the other, as well as no traces of human beings (which i can't say i mind), i spent the day doing about 35-40 kilometers, walking between towns on the beach - mostly for myself. But for the project as well, fuck it. It felt like the island Robinson Crusoe would have been marooned on. Just a whole lot bigger.

Tuesday, 10 February 2009


As most of you know, Friday is the deadline for the Association of Photographers Student Awards.
Sent picture.
Thanks Petra and Denisa for assistance.

Monday, 9 February 2009


Yeah we're in uni. I processed my films, by hand to see what would come out. Somehow, something happened to the chemicals as it completely messed up all the shots i took on Saturday. Can't be asked to be annoyed. Because i am a reasonable person who takes drastic measures only when the reasonable choices failed, i decided to take a test shot with the same film and run it through the machine and see what happens. It came out different. Can't really tell what the hell was wrong with the chemicals but still... I've seen that effect before. Hereeeeeeee... is the test shot.

Sunday, 8 February 2009

Creed of the should-be young generation

I was browsing on flickr and found a friend's account and on there this chick at a concert. Her name is Annie Clark a.k.a. St. Vincent and she plays quite well. On her site i found this creed, which i think was quite appropriate to stick here.

I think she has an interesting face.
Strange configuration but there is something quite charming about her eyes. Odd.

Addendum: it clearly states "in order to avoid mere survival". You survive, not live properly. Get a gun and blow your neuron to bits or get a life and make it better. But stop being cunts.

Sunday Morning

Yesterday i was loading the film for the trip and put a book on the lens of the camera obscura (yeah - it's still on). I woke up in the morning and opened my eyes in complete pitch black. Something smelled fishy for a moment. Couldn't figure out what didn't seem right but the it hit me... oh yeah. and again... we had houses on the walls.

And somehow i got out of bed, all stiff and cold, thinking about this song.

And i remembered that the night before i left two notes for my housemates downstairs. The first one regarded one of the leaving their socks on the stairs, right in front of the door. How fucking wrong is that. the reply was: "i agree it's not nice, but the stairs would be better if somebody hoovered them". We did. I did. We do. I did.

Second note regarded a small fucked up bed thingy. the ones that you have the lamp on, at the side of your bed. And glasses. And condoms. Might have gone too far there. Still. If you remember the exhibition series, with the falling tv, it's the thing that the tv was falling off. Well, after staying outside since the exhibition (it's been some months, hasn't it?), come rain come shine, one of my housemates decided it's a good idea to take it in the house. It might come in handy.


Apart from this, which is really rather dirty, although the person said it had been cleaned, we have a 1970's radio - you know the kind: grey, with two old speakers, with yellow light at the tuning band. the one senile grandmothers listen to - three broken bicycles, 2-3 copies of famous paintings - but not the proper ones, the ones with fucked up frames and wrinkled paper, from that much raining outside - and various other useless shit.

All these items, combined with the regime - not keeping the living room radiator on because it's consuming energy (NO, IT'S MAKING THE FUCKING HOUSE WARM), closing all lights at all times (LOVELY TO LIVE IN A CAVE, RIGHT?), not taking baths because it's too much water spent (I PROBABLY AM THE ONLY ONE WHO ACTUALLY TOOK A BATH - SHOWERS SUCK), and the overall low cost way of living bring us back to...


Your parents fought for freedom of opinion, for rights and Bob Dylan records. They fought for the abolition of food coupons and KGB/Securitate/Whatever the fuck kind of agency other pitiful countries in the ex-soviet block had. And for what? For bad music, imbecilization of the people and lowering your standards beyond anything communism WAS EVER ABLE TO DO. By choice. Are you fucking kidding me?

People who try to raise the standard of living are not prodigal sons. 2 jars of Uncle Ben's for £2 are not much different than 2 jars of Uncle Ben for £1,60. Imagine that is divided by four. IT'S 10 FUCKING PENNY. You've become so concerned with gathering 10 penny from there, 10 from there that you forgot about the fun of being a student. It's wasting. It's living life. you're like 50 year old people in 20 year old lives. Not even that. My dad is 50, he viciously outranks you at being fun.

This discussion will go on and on and on. But i finish it here, benevolently, stating that my room is Monarchy. I am the Monarch. The radiator will stay on even if i am away because i pay my share of the utilities and don't give a fuck about what you do with your share. Light will be on whenever i feel like it. Because i have a light bulb. Classic.

Saturday, 7 February 2009

A good day

As the title announces in a glorious manner, we had a good day. My newest project took me to the sea side. Well i took it, but you know. Same difference.

The town of Broadstairs is somewhere on the road to Ramsgate, in a general Dover area (for all those who have no idea what i'm talking about - these are not the names of cookie companies. Strongly suggest looking at this creature's tongue . If that doesn't give results, i also suggest using this . Self applied).

Somehow, there is this town, believe it or not, where people have dogs. That are bigger than your average rat. Dogs you can't kick over stuff. Like fences. And they walk these fluffy things all over the place, like the sea side. The town, believe it or not is a bit better than Rochester, just because they have dogs. And an infinite amount of fish and chips joints. And a Victorian Bath ( - should be of assistance). And boats. Colorful boats on the beach. Left by the tide. And crabs. The animals not the disease. And white cliffs, like Dover.

One of the things that suprised me most is that people didn't seem surprised about anything. Walking along with a huge large format camera isn't exactly inconspicuous. Still, people would walk by and not look funny. Dogs would come around while Denisa and i were shooting the Victorian Bath for my project. Wet. And friendly. And golden retrieverish. And we petted them. And then, just to prove Murphy's law and the fact that the little fucker couldn't keep his shit together for one day, it happened. The only thing that was not suppose to fail, that my project relied on, failed. Epically.

My project revolves around lighting the picture with the flash in a certain way so i would get some... oh fuck it. Can't explain but i'll put the pictures so you can stare at them and figure it out for yourselves.

So i use the flash. You're still with me on this? And what does the flash have? Batterieeeees. And what do batteries do? Run out! Therefore, after getting all excited that a picture might come out well, the second time i tried the trick, i ended up staring at the should-be green button for about 10 minutes. Nothing happened. Nothing. Dead. Passed on. Deceased. Expired. We still got to walk around the town rest of the day, enjoying the lovely scapes (of which, in my cheapness - that compares not to the one of other people i know and who suck seriously - i took one color shot of). And another shot of Denisa on a bench. Freezing. Monochromely frozen.

I am pretty sure they won't come out, or at least some of them won't. It's just the way it is. But it's always been like this. You wait and wait, and hope and hope. Like Christmas Eve. Waiting for Santa to bring you that Action Man you always wanted. Instead you get something useful. Like say... a shirt.

(this did not happen to me. I had a perfect childhood. I am "me" by choice. My parents are honest hard working people who finished universities in which you use pens and paper. They're like real universities, only harder)

Thus Monday i will post the pictures that i took today. Scanned and that.

Oh yeah i almost forgot. Sea shells. We were walking back and i saw a wall that had sea shells on it. Like really small shells, and bigger and bigger. They were about the size of one's hand. Averagely. But one, just one, right at the end, was huge. It was one of those you see in cartoons spitting Tom (the cat, don't think of other random shit) out underwater. Or doing giant pearls. Or somersaults. Or not. It was about half a meter in length and white. Perfect white. The pearl white that idiots choose for their idiot wife's cars. But the real one. It seemed quite a good place to live. And eat. And have a weekend off.

Will put up the pictures in the week time.

Now then, up on the page, there is this little button that says "Next blog". see it? on the left. Push it and go away. Do something useful with your time instead of reading about somebody doing something useful.

More of that

Friday, 6 February 2009

Garfield Rules!


Nelda's Mornings

So i hid in the darkness of the hallway, and fired away a few shots at the cook. Somehow i was inconspicuous enough, even with the noisy little H1

For Clara

these are just a few images a friend asked me to put up.

don't try to find a logic. there is none.

Thursday, 5 February 2009


Last night we went with Jonathan to test out using the cameras in pitch black conditions. This some of the stuff i had the patience to resize


I went to uni, as i usually do, without the hope that something very very interesting will happen. It seems that when you least expect it, that's when things really get going. But enough confusion. Let's explain.

So i step into the digi lab, and, on the computer closest to the right, there was a fat girl. And by fat i don't mean "Run fat boy, run" fat. I mean "Horton hears a who", Horton-size-fat. 17 stones. And a half. She was a gracious combination of Little Miss Sunshine and the kid from The Omen, which probably warranted that she didn't get the shit beaten out of her in grammar school.

So this chubby little hamburgler presented a horrid expression. The face that, if you remember the movie "The Shining", the wife has when she goes through Jack Nicholson's papers and sees what's written there. I passed as if nothing happened and, as i did, i turned my head to see what bestiality-gay-horse-deep-throat- sex scene from her favorite movie was she watching.

For a moment i was silent and then i felt a sudden urge to burst out and laugh hysterically. She was reading my blog:) I left it in the menu bar and it was still there. Her curiosity overwhelmed her.

So yeah.

Wednesday, 4 February 2009

Winter as a state of crisis

Well the title says it all. I never thought i'd live to see the day. People panicked throughout the country as schools (and here i mean our uni as well) have shut their gates fearing the worst. It was at this particular point in time i understood what being accustomed to some things means but also what the introduction of unfamiliar factors create. Chaos. Confusion. (wish i had another word with "c") Fun.

And now, after establishing my position regarding these events, let me explain the situation:

Sunday morning, a strange phenomena occurred throughout the south and center of the island i presently inhabit. For some, who have witnessed it before, it's known as snow and comes as a logical effect of low temperature. It's treated with tea, snow tires and sledges.

The Brits have closed everything down, and i mean fucking everything - trains, planes and automobiles. Well the concept of snow tires seemed quite distant and i took a great deal of pleasure in watching 4x4 owners waltz by ordinary mortals in Fiat Pandas ( who, as a rule of thumb, were the ones protesting against 4x4's ) that have produced or became involved in accidents. Our street had two or three and it's not even that circulated. Haven't been that much excitement on the street since ... well never really. It was all beautiful. The chaos and confusion and broken bums. Not to mention the chav chicks who didn't really figure out it's -5 degrees until they were too far away to get more clothes.

Now seeing this from another perspective, it might seem a bit daft. The snow that caused so much panic and the stopping of trains and whatever else didn't even cover my shoes. It consisted of a grand total of -4 to -5 degrees and about 5 to 7 centimeters of snow, at it's peak. Back home we call that October. A national crisis starts to present itself after 2 weeks of intensive snowing, 2 meters of snow outside your house and a minimum of -25. A crisis at -20 is a waste of money. And speaking of this particular waste, London alone lost 100 million pounds because of this crisis and the fact that it became virtually impossible for people to come to the office. Need some sort of transport don't you?

As a conclusion, every day i am alive comes as a confirmation of a well known fact. Most people that inhabit the planet are idiots. Winter used to be fun. Snowmen. Snow fights (for which i thank Tony and Nelda, although i am deeply saddened by the fact that i missed Tony's windshield). Ice. Going down a slope on a sledge. Stuff like that. Instead of reminding ourselves of a happy childhood, we torment ourselves in an inexistent state of crisis. How terribly boring.