You get what you deserve. We deserved magic, and found it.
It was supposed to be a nice & easy weekend trip with Anna-Maria. Then we heard a five centuries old story of love & murder.. and of a stone cross carved by the hands of a grieving father, standing still in a distant, inaccessible part of the mountains. Mesmerized, we set off to find it.
If you get to wander in those post-German woods.. you get to find things.
Every autumn brings a sudden desire to load my camera with slide film; and with every roll, the inevitable magic happens. I shot these along Peggy’s residence project; and as usual, those few snaps carry memories that will stay with me for the lifetime. I don’t know if slide film is the cause or result of magic.. but it always accompanies it.
Emotional attachment to a specific medium is a peculiar thing. I routinely burn through dozens of Ilford HP5+ rolls; doing everyday snaps in black&white feels like my second nature. Color negatives elicit even less emotional response – I just fire and forget them. But slide film.. it’s different. Comparing slide film to black and white is like putting a honeymoon against a grocery trip. They don’t deserve to be compared.
The hardest part of shooting slide film isn’t the steep price of film & processing… it’s knowing just how much those photos will mean to me.
I’ve come to a peaceful conclusion that photography is essential for me. I need it to form memories. Aside from a few boundary experiences, I don’t just forget; I fail to remember.
I need to shoot more. Develop more. Whenever the dreaded feeling of emptiness and worthlessness comes, I need to shoot more. Develop more. Explore the treasures of that little box where I store undeveloped film… a box that’s always overflowing, always storing fragile memories.
If not for photography, I’d probably have little to live for.
We decided to wake up the neighbourhood. A slightly disturbing performance turned into a puzzling exhibition turned into a lazy afternoon turned into a psychedelic evening turned into a fiery romance turned into a story to tell at night.
[Seemingly, everything we do is a catalyst for everything else we do; every party, exhibition and meeting of minds is a cauldron where we do nothing but make more cauldrons.]
Coffee workshops with Ewa Kochanowska and Adam Przybyłek from Czarny Deszcz. This is not a sponsored post; I just fucking love their coffee. It’s nothing short of orgasmic black cocaine.
(Posting this I realized I’m almost out of coffee. Time to get some more.)
Her name is Anna-Maria and she’s easily one of my best friends – even if sometimes we don’t hang out together for months. x
(the neighbour art performer is back and, as usual, not asking for consent)