July 7, 2013 § 3 Comments

kelseyredadelaide b5 b6 hothouse mein skagastrondkk

 

pictures of people and things of the last journey round the world.

Advertisements

Experiments

January 14, 2013 § Leave a comment

dirdot fires

coldsea

Fires. Divisions.

I am thinking about the body as darkroom. The body itself as a house of images. Light impressions pressed into the skin—burnt on our bodies. I am then, part of this cold sea. And it aches. I am then this body of water, and I travel where it travels and we reflect back at you the same face.

I don’t want to know what you did, I want to know how what you did made you feel

January 14, 2013 § Leave a comment

I have doubts. Lots of them. I often want to retreat into moments of stillness remembered. I feel like I have subtly erased myself from the memories of people, my friends. I often think about dying. All the things I would no longer have to do or be responsible for. Not another morning waking up and feeling hollowed out and strange. noel kept asking me why I don’t take photographs of people anymore. And thats true. Except for lovers, I take photographs of them. I don’t really ever look at them, I just like knowing they are there. Mostly taken in times of silence and muted cooperation.

I remember walking around Toronto Island in twilight, following a group of peacocks. I wanted one of them to drop a feather. I watched their bodies and necks and tails. I didn’t realise that these birds have more than just blue feathers on their body and the tail feathers. They have red and iridescent and this strange spotted cream and brown. of course birds don’t just ‘drop’ feathers, so I wandered around a few of the spaces they seemed to hang around, or at least trying to find a nesting point. I found some feathers which I kept in my portable darkroom bag. I intended to do something with them, in the end I took them to another area and buried them, because, at the time, I felt I didn’t want them to blow away into the water.

I don’t think I am beautiful. I try to compensate by being interesting and interested in others.

I want to hear some new sounds. I want someone to lie with me in the morning and talk about what we are thinking. I want to be able to have someone see the same colours in the leaves of a tree shifting just a little as the sun is setting or rising.

I hear in Iceland, when I hope to be there, that the dawn and dusk are drawn out and the sky, land and ocean look very different. I feel that could be a defining moment for me. after making my portable labyrinth. Maybe before making my tethered boat.

Goddamn it.

You can email me your thoughts you have upon waking or just before you fall asleep, what makes you happy, a tree you remember from childhood, the sound your lover makes or how they make you feel or fail to make you feel. Anything at all, worthwhile and which you usually keep to yourself.

rush.of.sun@gmail.com

Paths

January 14, 2013 § Leave a comment

Snake Island path

This is a picture of a path on what I think is Snake Island in Lake Ontario from 2010.

I don’t understand myself lately. My head is a void. Things are piling up around me, ideas and more physical things, like the clothes and books in my room and files on my desk.If it is in disorder I have an excuse not to look for anything. It is too hard to find. I ache for simpler things/time/ideas. Some people should not live in cities. Today I read about barefoot running. I remember one summer when my friend Becci and I wore bare feet a lot, and the soles of our feet were black. I felt everything then. Maybe the piles and towers of stuff are just cushions that stop me feeling. I bought a video camera month ago and have not taken it out of the box. I don’t want to make anything in case I fail. I think of things to make and it never fails, inside my head.

When you follow a path that someone made you don’t need to think about where to take the next step. Once on holiday I decided to walk through some marshy woods to the sea, which seemed only a few kilometers away. The woods had no paths, and I spent so much time crawling or scaling brambles, brushing webs from my face. I got all turned around, panic, darker and dirtier the further I went. I had to make my way out. I found myself on the edge of a small road and I saw I had made it maybe 100 metres. So slow without the path. Every small decision becomes big. Stuff piles up like cushions.

Where Am I?

You are currently browsing entries tagged with toronto at rushofsun.