If beating heart no limit knows
And beat succeeds to beat
What is there to suppose
That love will never keep?
Amid countless galaxies cast
Many worlds may be
Within each a flame; a beating heart
A love for eternity
Just think! A single beat or so
For each world that gleams
Like shards of light to and fro:
‘Interstellar love supreme!’
Such thoughts intoxicate my mind
Like a fiery pendulum it swings
For within my hollow chest I find
A heart with gossamer wings!
So on gentle wings a-float
Tableaux of textured dreams
Wafting in a sea of hope
Such delicate threads we weave
Ancient memories pierce my eyes
A million needles a piece
With tears of joy I fly by
On gossamer wings of ease
For look! To Outer-Space at last
Mind boggle at impossible things
Soaring away like a lofty dart
My heart on solar wings!
Now my eyes will have to see
And my brain will understand
That life’s mystery might be
Solved by gossamer wings that can!
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Monday, February 19, 2007
Havana Bites (random sample of thoughts and musings) - excerpt
Preparations
To fully and comprehensively understand the national Cuban psyche one must insinuate oneself into the fabric of the local culture; dig yourself into the endothelium and stay there. Ruminate and soak it all in. Poke it. Watch it react. And when it reacts; run for your life!
So, out went the large telephoto lens. In went the small 50mm Prime 1.8 - perfect for those covert night time operations; light, nimble and very fast.
Out went the bulky backpack. In went a little knapsack.
Out went the expensive Diesel T-shirt and trainers. In went an ordinary looking 'Che Guevera' look with white loafers (ok, maybe a bit too obvious!)
Armed with these simple tools I set out documenting Havana - underground.
On blending in
Blend in, do as the locals do, walk, act and behave like the locals - and try not to get yourself into any situations where you have to speak. I've been described as looking almost Cuban (Mulatto they call it). This has it's advantages and disadvantages. You get served a little slower and sometimes you are singled out by tourists; like the fat American tourists who approached me for directions:
"Excuse me, do you speeeeeak Engleeesh, we are lost"
Sometimes i just say:
"Me no speak no Engleeeesh" with a thick Indian accent.
Sometimes if I'm feeling particularly mischevious after repeating the previous line i'll say:
"Only joking with ya'll, In fact i speak English very well. How may I be of help?"
It usually takes the tourist about 10 seconds to fully fathom what's going on and that I was joking with them earlier on - ahhh, it's so funny!
On tourists
The worst tourists are the snobbish one's with the trophy wife with the inch thick layer of make-up. It'd probably take industrial paint stripper to wipe all that of - these tourists are normally aloof, conceited and walk around with miserable faces as if they're having the worst times of their lives - come on guys you're on holiday - cheer up!
On sex crazed Cubans
Cubans, generally speaking, are sex-crazed nymphos who walk around with permanent erections and sex on the mind. The women play along too, lolling their tongues, rolling their eyes and swinging their hips and wearing the tightest thing they can find in the wardrobe.
It reminded me of a wildlife documentary where the narrator (in whispered tones) says:
"So, the female, with vibrant plumage and on heat, walks past the males. Attention is secured swiftly and the males respond with displays of masculinity"
I don't know, maybe it's me. I know I am a member of the human race, but I thought we'd left all this behind us when we left Africa?
On the Art of night-time photography
The best way to get a good pic is to sit down on an interesting looking dark street corner. Be patient and let them come to you. Being seated allows you to concentrate on the composition and other technical aspects such as exposure, white balance and shutter speed. The small lens makes you less conspicuous and if your smoking it all looks normal. ISO will typically be at maximum, aperture wide-open to let in every drop of that precious night light. Focusing will be done manually as it's too dark for autofocus.
So I isolate the subject. Isolate. Isolate. Isolate. Remove any clutter from the frame. Compose. Shoot...all within a millisecond. Works a treat.
Voyeur extrodinaire
There is a certain adrenalin rush associated with this type of photography. It has a risk element. I was chased out of a house by two women for taking their photo (don't ask!). I've been verbally abused. Someone tried to purloin me of my camera and I was spat at by a drunk bloke and fondled on the streets by some hookers. Night time is when the ugly face of humanity rears it's head. There's a certain 'Joie de vivre' (joy of life) I get out of it. A thrill. You can feel your heart pound against your ribcage. In short it makes you feel alive...
It's the ugly that makes you appreciate the beauty.
To fully and comprehensively understand the national Cuban psyche one must insinuate oneself into the fabric of the local culture; dig yourself into the endothelium and stay there. Ruminate and soak it all in. Poke it. Watch it react. And when it reacts; run for your life!
So, out went the large telephoto lens. In went the small 50mm Prime 1.8 - perfect for those covert night time operations; light, nimble and very fast.
Out went the bulky backpack. In went a little knapsack.
Out went the expensive Diesel T-shirt and trainers. In went an ordinary looking 'Che Guevera' look with white loafers (ok, maybe a bit too obvious!)
Armed with these simple tools I set out documenting Havana - underground.
On blending in
Blend in, do as the locals do, walk, act and behave like the locals - and try not to get yourself into any situations where you have to speak. I've been described as looking almost Cuban (Mulatto they call it). This has it's advantages and disadvantages. You get served a little slower and sometimes you are singled out by tourists; like the fat American tourists who approached me for directions:
"Excuse me, do you speeeeeak Engleeesh, we are lost"
Sometimes i just say:
"Me no speak no Engleeeesh" with a thick Indian accent.
Sometimes if I'm feeling particularly mischevious after repeating the previous line i'll say:
"Only joking with ya'll, In fact i speak English very well. How may I be of help?"
It usually takes the tourist about 10 seconds to fully fathom what's going on and that I was joking with them earlier on - ahhh, it's so funny!
On tourists
The worst tourists are the snobbish one's with the trophy wife with the inch thick layer of make-up. It'd probably take industrial paint stripper to wipe all that of - these tourists are normally aloof, conceited and walk around with miserable faces as if they're having the worst times of their lives - come on guys you're on holiday - cheer up!
On sex crazed Cubans
Cubans, generally speaking, are sex-crazed nymphos who walk around with permanent erections and sex on the mind. The women play along too, lolling their tongues, rolling their eyes and swinging their hips and wearing the tightest thing they can find in the wardrobe.
It reminded me of a wildlife documentary where the narrator (in whispered tones) says:
"So, the female, with vibrant plumage and on heat, walks past the males. Attention is secured swiftly and the males respond with displays of masculinity"
I don't know, maybe it's me. I know I am a member of the human race, but I thought we'd left all this behind us when we left Africa?
On the Art of night-time photography
The best way to get a good pic is to sit down on an interesting looking dark street corner. Be patient and let them come to you. Being seated allows you to concentrate on the composition and other technical aspects such as exposure, white balance and shutter speed. The small lens makes you less conspicuous and if your smoking it all looks normal. ISO will typically be at maximum, aperture wide-open to let in every drop of that precious night light. Focusing will be done manually as it's too dark for autofocus.
So I isolate the subject. Isolate. Isolate. Isolate. Remove any clutter from the frame. Compose. Shoot...all within a millisecond. Works a treat.
Voyeur extrodinaire
There is a certain adrenalin rush associated with this type of photography. It has a risk element. I was chased out of a house by two women for taking their photo (don't ask!). I've been verbally abused. Someone tried to purloin me of my camera and I was spat at by a drunk bloke and fondled on the streets by some hookers. Night time is when the ugly face of humanity rears it's head. There's a certain 'Joie de vivre' (joy of life) I get out of it. A thrill. You can feel your heart pound against your ribcage. In short it makes you feel alive...
It's the ugly that makes you appreciate the beauty.
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Night People - homage to the homeless of Bermuda (excerpt)
Long after the last life affirming rays of the sun have been soaked up by the cloak of darkness, things begin to stir in the shadows of Hamilton, Bermuda. You can watch the transformation if you just seat yourself quietly on a street corner with a pack of cigarettes, lots of patience and a coat to keep you warm. Couples walk hurriedly home through the night; arm in arm with their feet chiming to the echo of high heels on paving stones. Puddles of rain, that have coagulated after the drizzle, reflect the hazy neon glow from night clubs and sleep deprived taxi drivers scour the streets looking for punters. The silence is occasionally shattered by the shrieks of rowdy revellers; who suddenly disgorge from the clubs onto the street outside; their minds heady on a cocktail of alcohol, nicotine, endorphins a la sexual frustration and other substances.
And then, after midnight, as the clock strikes a new day; like magic 'they' start crawling out of the woodwork; like lice that have lain dormant during the day, they come out to feed and perhaps even to breed. For the night is theirs. 'they' are of course those that society has shunned. The ignored - The embarassments - The homeless - 'The filth' - 'The scum' - 'The nobodies'...These are of course not my descriptions but those that society has bestowed upon them...They are the homeless people of Bermuda...
...He shuffles through night as if it is his own. Trudging along, he scrapes the soles of his feet as he walks. A weary and unhealthy gait, odd posture, unshaven greasy face, and the strong smell of alcohol betrays his status. He is a tramp (homeless person). And he knows it. He seats himself next to me on the bench and places a smart looking and rather trendy leather case on his lap. A case that seems to belie his status as a tramp. Then, in very showy and exaggerated movements; that are almost comical, he unzips his case slowly (which he is undoubtedly proud of) and theatrically takes out a Bible, a few tattered and badly worn newspaper clippings on 'Haile Selassie' (the Ethiopian lion of Judea) and a dog-eared calendar from the House of God. He is a Rastafarian. He begins to speak. I expect a rambling and discordant guttural exchange; to my stupendous surprise and relief he is very lucid and coherent. He has a low calming voice, and the words roll out of his tongue in very mellow and agreeable tones; like honey on butterflakes. He is chilled out beyond belief. I fear that he has been smoking Marijuana...
Initially I am overcome by an inability to reconcile the eloquent, cool voice with the poor physical specimen sitting before me. I sense that he is well read and certainly educated to a high level. He is Bermudian. Has never met his father (who left when he was born) and has a British Passport. Yet, here he is. A homeless Bermudian. This should make for an interesting story. So we begin to chat about life, the universe and everything - me and this highly chilled tramp from Bermuda...
A filo-sophie of foto-grafie
Self expression is the - right of every being - who walks the earth; a deeply ingrained desire to be seen as an individual. Like all forms of - self expression – fotografie must be – allowed to roam free – free from – shackles and rules – free from – graces and conventions – free from – opinions and fashions - to soar to the very - limits of our imagination. Allow the mind and the senses– to wander – through the realm – of possibilities - Unleash the spirit – inside – you can be anything – you want to be – just turn yourself – into – anything you think – that you could ever be – be free with your tempo – be free – be free – surrender your ego – be free – be free – to yourself
Saturday, January 27, 2007
Gallery de Bermuda Part II
"Life would be easy if its colors were like my dream
Red, gold and green
Red, gold and green..."
(Boy George - 'Karma Chameleon' - Song below)
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