Category: Street

In search of the poetry

In search of the poetry

This weekend, I’ve been to a four-day workshop held by the Swedish photographer Martin Bogren; which was exactly what I didn’t need, as well as what I badly needed. The weekend has been like that, coloured in harmonic contradictions; pains and joy blended into a light and shadow play, resonating, taking me to a state-of-mind where I  know what I have to do. And I hate it. I hate imagery, I hate poetry, what it makes with me, how it brings me closer to this World.

The location of the workshop, Linus Höök’s extraordinary Studio Tintin, a rebuilt tugboat from 1912.

We worked on personal projects throughout the workshop, images that were concluded in a slideshow on the last day. I chose to be at Café Ariman in Lund, a bar I visit regularly when in need for being outdoor, reading, writing or just thinking. I have been photographing the place and people before, with quite an ease in fact. If I saw an image, I captured it in a photograph, or wrote about it. This time, I had to look for images three successive nights, turning out to be an almost unbearable pain. I was searching instead of letting it come to me.

Yet, I heard the angels twice. Once immediately after hearing the shutter an hour along my first night at Ariman, and once at the workshop. Martin Bogren understands this, how poetry and imagery blends into photographs we make, how to encourage searching minds in creating poetry to our eyes. I’m so happy I got to participate, and of course, completely mad, too.

Following, are the images I chose to include in the slideshow, enjoy or suffer, you choose. 🙂

Finally 2013

Finally 2013

Everything that has happened up to this point can be said happened last year or even longer ago. It’s a new year with new experiences and, quite probably, a few more turns in life, but I’m really looking forward to it. Per chance am I naïve since I have no idea of what is to become better. But yet, it’s 2013 and I have all my senses open and I like that feeling.

Last night, I captured the following series of images on my way home from Malmö. No crackers, really, but I  love the last one.

Cheers and Happy Christmas

Cheers and Happy Christmas

I went out with my work mates the other night, Thursday it was to be specific. As usual, I snapped away a bit afterwards. I can’t really work like this when I’m in company, non-photographers would find it too embarrassing.  Also, I wouldn’t pay much attention to my company either this way, would I? So, when the others had left, I pulled forth my trusty rangefinder and spent another hour in the area before I walked home. I kept a few in colour, because I have learnt to really like it, to mix in some colour ones among the monochromes. So far, I’ve only used colour for scenes without people, but this time, I couldn’t resist also process a photo of a young woman this way. It was just sooo much better in colour, in my opinion, that say. Well, cheers and happy Christmas to you all!

I do prefer wine

I do prefer wine

Here, we never seem to adapt to weather. No matter how cold and how heavy the snow falls, people get out on their bicycles. When possible, people even stay out drinking their beers (we are not allowed to smoke in bars these days). I haven’t, should have really been born in South Italy.

The life

The life

It was quite a relief to leave Sandgerði every second weekend. That was when we got paid, and if it wouldn’t have been for our roommate, who had a place in Reykjavik, we would have been stuck at the village pub where not even the cigarette smoke would kill the fishy mist that covered the village. Our roommate was even more heavyhearted  than I, but he enjoyed our company. I assume he didn’t have to think his ordinary thoughts. We shared some dreams, too, without actually knowing what they meant. I for sure had no clue what would become of me, who ever does at that age. I still haven’t, though, but that’s another story.

The work

The work

When arriving, I knew how to cut fish, I learned it as a kid. Call it heritage. When leaving, I cut, cleaned and separated the organs in no time. Call it adaptability. I’m an artist when it comes down to that, to acclimate or pretend.

The home

The home

I didn’t stay very long on Iceland, only for a half year (the first half of ‘89), and neither did I get away to see anything of this beautiful country. The only two places I saw were Sandgerði, where me and my friend lived and worked, and Reykjavik, where we spent our bi-weekly salary. We lived together with some 15 co-workers in a house beside the main road to Reykjavik, just across the road from work. It seemed convenient, but turned out to be very medieval, mainly because Iceland was in deep recession at the time. Long working days and no life besides work was expected from us. But, we had fun too. What else could we do? We had to.

Clondyke

Clondyke

Sandgerði, a small village on Island. Me and a friend went here in hope to earn, if not a fortune, at least a good sack of money. Another dream that crashed into an iceberg and sank. Despite all, I actually found it pretty okay to live here. You didn’t have to pretend and it was quite normal to be heavyhearted.

The village

The home

The work

Breaking up

Breaking up

‘88 is coming to the end, the photos below origins from a number of rolls that I shot on a short trip to London. These (and the others from the trip) may represent the end of my days in my home town, though being captured in another town. After the trip, I worked a few more months to earn the money for a one-way ticket to Island. In January ’89, I quit work and left Stockholm for good. The London trip was good for me in the sense that I learnt there might be something else, not that I’m sure I ever found it, but anyway.

Hasse, a friend of me at the time

This was about the last time I would walk subway passages on a regular basis.