I have had those unprocessed films for years; I kept them hidden in a box to avoid feeling guilty. 2 of them belonged to a school friend who entrusted them to me for processing. That was 25 years ago. I don't know why I never processed those miserable 2 films because at the time and many years after that, I was always processing films, I always had the chemicals; perhaps the fact that my friend went to Japan for a year and that we sort of lost touch afterwards explain my negligence. Perhaps, I had processed her films and those were something else entirely, some of mine, perhaps the best pictures I had ever taken were on those films. On the whole, I hadn't a clue about what was on those films and I gave up on them, I threw them in the river in a shamanic ceremony with chanting of "you will not dwell upon the past, you will have no regrets and the unknown you will not fear".
All in all, in was a very emotional moment, I had not open a 24X36 film for 15 years perhaps and I had forgotten how tough the little devils are. I took time to show my daughter what the past looked like.
These I did because I was looking for some old films to put into my little MJU Olympus camera. I have about 30 B&W films I have kept all this time just in case. Most of them are years out of date, but I'll have a go anyway, thinking that poor quality film will always be better than nothing. I want to fill a photo album. I'm fed up at looking at images on my computer.



The Waste Land

Since having a go at making sense of T.S. Eliot The Waste Land, I have become mildly obsessed with mythology. Like myself, Eliot was a snob - while  he had reason to be, I'm still trying to unravel my confused self…
What I saw in this, I'm not sure, chaos, alchemy, iron, gold dust, the compass of love, the cosmic mountain…
The fact is that my toilet lock/door handle is definitely busted after a first repair a year ago. This metal dust is all that is left of one essential mechanism part. Now I have a good excuse to go lock hunting in all the salvage yard in town (one and counting) instead of filing boring MA application forms on-line.


One thing at a time

As I am working hard for a BA in English and US Civilisations, I' m left with very little time to do anything meaningful at all. Buried under books, books and more books. I'm loving it but I do miss my little Blogger rambling. Back in 6 months.


Too light

I have just discovered that Blogger must now be forcing some automatic enhancing to photographs as this picture appears much lighter than it should; or my color management  is no longer synchronized; or I'm wasting my time.



I was not made for domestic life. I have sturdy legs; I am meant to be climbing mountains and swimming naked in clear water lakes, stroked by sunlight and dizzied by the sound of silence.
All my life I have attempted to reenact the one instant when I felt whole: It was berlin 1988, I was dancing in a very dark night club with the boy I loved to the sound of electronic music. Love banished the need to talk for ever. After that, I always listened to the music and not so much to the voices and to this day, I don't really know or care what men are talking about but music has taken me places where heart and mind dissolve, to big cities where the music always plays, loud and clear, taking away all fears of wrong doing. I was made to dance.



My dearest friend of all


I think about Sol Lewitt; I think about him all the time.




Sometimes I fear I am done and over with taking photographs and that I must succeed to speak in words when suddenly I fear living in the void and that only will I master my most cherished darkness by staring at the light. Are you with me?