There is a lot to be said about the unfolding events of the past few weeks but I fear words are redundant when it comes to the physical atrocities people have been forced to endure. What is there to say in front of a body crippled by gunshots or swollen from the water it has been pulled from?
A few years ago, I understood what invariably attracted me to photographs: bits of junk on the side of the road, old half-buried rags, rusted metal and building sites; the junk, the chaos, the dirt is the only constant in my life; I use to eat gravels as a baby, went on to play in a discarded merchandise railway carriage. Later on I discovered the thrill of breaking in to derelict houses. The high point are the years of seesaw dust which has gathered in every hollow in the chaos of my grand-father's atelier. At the moment, I have four bananas rotting away in a bowls on my windowsill. I am just curious. But I will never be curious about the suffering of some people.
On a much lighter note, I saw today a women in her early 60's wearing black patent very high heels, cotton trousers and an over-sized but tight to her large unsupported breasts white tee-shirt that read SELFRIDGES IS CRAP at the front and TESCO IS WORSE at the back. I think she was also wearing bold gold hearings and sunglasses. I had a camera in my bag but I did not dare. There is definitely an air of rebellion in London. Also the year I was born, Keith Jarrett was composing his album Birth, you should listen to it, it is absolutely beautiful.