I need street and colour and a giant gasp of visual oxygen. Been browsing through Philip-Lorca diCorcia’s Tokyo work and it almost hurts. I can sense the crowds, the movements, hear the murmurs.
February is when starvation kicks in.
diCorcia but also Crewdson...I’m on a rampage. It’s a new ritual, making a point of searching for images, seeing the work of others—photographers or painters or sculptors. Forcing it as an essential part of my day. Feeding, really. I keep a running screenshot scrapbook in Bear—I started this a long time ago but I’m now trying to add content to it daily. It’s a vicarious stratagem...to get behind someone else’s eyes and understand their impulse. A deconstruction of intent. Ultimately I’m creating a lookbook based on my own personal triggers, without direction or afterthought.
I invaded our bathroom yesterday morning, with a flash and a c-stand, a tripod and my GFX. I noticed colours, however dilapidated, and couldn’t help myself. Cynthia called it our crap as art when I showed her the results later in the evening. “Good hashtag”, I joked. Crap/treasure...we all know how that goes, right?
For now it’s all an antidote to whiteness.