Going Somewhere
Candy says I hate the quiet places
that cause the smallest taste of what will be
Candy says I hate the big decisions
that cause endless revisions in my mind
I'm gonna watch the blue birds fly over my shoulder
I'm gonna watch them pass me by
Maybe when I'm older
What do you think I'd see
If I could walk away from me
April
February crawls.
March stands up.
April moves at a jog.
I hardly remember the white breath of winter,
Waking each day as vigorous as a river.
There’s always been a sadness in my mother,
This time of year.
Days like these
Are seen through wistful eyes.
I never realised why
Till now.
It was a day like this
Pearse died.
I’ve seen his face in pictures,
The uneven sweep of his curls,
The charming grin
Of a nine-year-old boy.
The football rolled
Across the road.
He followed.
Mum became the youngest child.
She never let us play out the front,
Said it was for the flowers.
But I knew what blooms she sought to protect.
By curling balls and bending legs on sunny days
We brothers fought and loved.
Flat balls still litter the edge,
Orange bladders like open wounds.
Pearse would be a man now,
Too old for games,
His curls withered,
Chin stubbled,
Driving to Ballyshannon.
Mum sometimes kicks the ball.
She smiles, but her chin hangs low.
When I kick the ball in April
It goes faster than any car.
April moves at a jog.
I hardly remember the white breath of winter,
Waking each day as vigorous as a river.
There’s always been a sadness in my mother,
This time of year.
Days like these
Are seen through wistful eyes.
I never realised why
Till now.
It was a day like this
Pearse died.
I’ve seen his face in pictures,
The uneven sweep of his curls,
The charming grin
Of a nine-year-old boy.
The football rolled
Across the road.
He followed.
Mum became the youngest child.
She never let us play out the front,
Said it was for the flowers.
But I knew what blooms she sought to protect.
By curling balls and bending legs on sunny days
We brothers fought and loved.
Flat balls still litter the edge,
Orange bladders like open wounds.
Pearse would be a man now,
Too old for games,
His curls withered,
Chin stubbled,
Driving to Ballyshannon.
Mum sometimes kicks the ball.
She smiles, but her chin hangs low.
When I kick the ball in April
It goes faster than any car.
Timeless Berlin
At the moment I am incredibly confused at which direction my photography is going. I have a certain style which I am trying to develop so that I take a more classical approach. I want my photographs to be timeless images capturing a moment which could have been taken any number of years ago. I intend to document Berlin in this style over the next while. Below are a couple of images as an example.
Also lately I have been doing a lot of research, scanning through books of many great photographers which have obviously had a strong impression on me as I yearn to evoke the same thoughts and emotions from my own images as I feel when studying the works of others. It is frustrating because nowadays I think it is very difficult to establish such a career for oneself. Most photographic employment comes through freelance jobs with newspapers, magazines and various online resources. Of course there are other means of employment for a photographer. But for a photographer who is leaning towards the artistic documentary side of the industry it is not so easy.
So I don't know what will happen in the future. I think I am waiting for something to hit me on the head, spark an idea and go from there. Hopefully that something won't be too hard and knock me out cold otherwise there will be no photos and no blog updates. And that would be a sad, sad existence for everybody associated with me. Or maybe it won't. We will see...
So I don't know what will happen in the future. I think I am waiting for something to hit me on the head, spark an idea and go from there. Hopefully that something won't be too hard and knock me out cold otherwise there will be no photos and no blog updates. And that would be a sad, sad existence for everybody associated with me. Or maybe it won't. We will see...
Another Place
I need another place
Will there be peace
I need another world
This one’s nearly gone
Still have too many dreams
Never seen the light
I need another world
A place where I can go
I’m gonna miss the sea
I’m gonna miss the snow
I’m gonna miss the bees
I’ll miss the things that grow
I’m gonna miss the birds
Singing all their songs
I’m gonna miss the wind
Been kissing me so long
Another world
Another world
Another World
Through Shattered Glass
Since I've memorised your face
It's been four hours now
Since I've wandered through your place
And when I sleep on your couch
I feel very safe
And when you bring the blankets
I cover up my face
With A Longing
In the corner there is light
That is good for you
And behind you, I have warned you
There are awful things
Will you miss me when I burn?
And will you eye me with a longing?
It is longing that I feel
To be missed or to be real
When you have no one
No one can hurt you
When you have no one
No one can hurt you
That is good for you
And behind you, I have warned you
There are awful things
Will you miss me when I burn?
And will you eye me with a longing?
It is longing that I feel
To be missed or to be real
When you have no one
No one can hurt you
When you have no one
No one can hurt you
A Moment In A Life
We're just like blackbirds
the darkness painted to our chest
now our collections nearly finished
we've got bad-luck tokens,
diamond rings and goldteeth
and you say 'can't it get darker?'
well now see your
shadow down beneath
and we'll never be as beautiful
as the parakeets in Istanbul
we'll never be impossible
like the parakeets in Istanbul
we'll never be as beautiful
as the parakeets in Istanbul
the darkness painted to our chest
now our collections nearly finished
we've got bad-luck tokens,
diamond rings and goldteeth
and you say 'can't it get darker?'
well now see your
shadow down beneath
and we'll never be as beautiful
as the parakeets in Istanbul
we'll never be impossible
like the parakeets in Istanbul
we'll never be as beautiful
as the parakeets in Istanbul
Sanssouci
Who will be at Sanssouci tonight?
I'm lookin' through the window from the garden
Waitin' for the call to my hotel room
I'm tired of writing elegies to boredom
I just want to be at Sanssouci tonight
R. Wainwright
This photo was taken in the fields surrounding Sanssouci palace in Potsdam, just outside of Berlin. The whole area is incredibly impressive with it's many beautiful gardens and historical architecture. Next time I just need to bring my bicycle along as it is so huge so that I can actually see all of it for once.
And someday that is what I shall do!
An Evening At Home
I was bored at home in my apartment a few nights ago while also being frustrated with myself because I haven't ventured outside with my camera enough lately. But I decided to change things. With the help of my flatmate we spent a couple of hours taking portraits and experimenting with different lighting. Here are the results.
Jazz
Blind fish being used as musical scales. Sharks puffed for fish and whales. I long to be by the sea where a blossom falls from a cherry tree. That's what jazz is to me.
Three forms, four forms, five forms, six forms, seven forms, eight forms, nine forms. A blossom falling from the cherry tree. That's what jazz is to me.
As Einstein said about his theory. I love, I love, I love, I love jazz. It's in your heart, it's in your soul, it's in your mind. The colour of death, sweet vanilla essence. Richard Harris and Donald Pleasance. And a cherry blossom falling from a cherry tree. That's what jazz is to me.
Three forms, four forms, five forms, six forms, seven forms, eight forms, nine forms. A blossom falling from the cherry tree. That's what jazz is to me.
As Einstein said about his theory. I love, I love, I love, I love jazz. It's in your heart, it's in your soul, it's in your mind. The colour of death, sweet vanilla essence. Richard Harris and Donald Pleasance. And a cherry blossom falling from a cherry tree. That's what jazz is to me.
N. Cave
Tempelhof
During the summer one of Berlins former airports, Tempelhof, reopened as a public park after nearly two years of closure. It's a massive area complete with the runway still a runway which makes for a great feeling when cycling to nowhere in particular. Now it is covered in snow and quite empty. I just need to bring my camera with me next time...
Black Ball Left Corner Pocket
Sometimes I play pool (billiards) in a pool hall which looks as if it was an old factory building of some sort. It's a nice enough place but I am shit at pool. I am not sure if I was ever any good at all but in Ireland I played about three times a week and now I have lost whatever little quality I might have had.
It's a sad story.
It's a sad story.
Projects
Tonight I finally continued working on my Mannequins project from last year. I think I got one or maybe two shots that could end up in the final series but only time will tell if I think they are good enough. Already I have nine prints done but now, nearly a year later, I only like four or five of them. It could be next summer until I have the whole thing finished and ready for exhibition (if I can find somewhere to exhibit).
I won't be posting any images which might feature in the series as I prefer to keep it as a surprise. But for now here is a couple that turned out a bit different from the others.
I won't be posting any images which might feature in the series as I prefer to keep it as a surprise. But for now here is a couple that turned out a bit different from the others.
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