Tuesday, 28 December 2010
Weddings and roadtrips and gigs and snow
Calvin and Carmela's wedding in Las Vegas.
(Will redo this slideshow at some point. Have used YouTube's licensed music, but it doesn't match the number of slides, etc. I'll also post some more photos of each wedding eventually.)
This was the third wedding I photographed abroad (the others were in Bornholm and San Sebastian). But my first one with Elvis doing the ceremony!
Unfortunately the chapel used their own photographer for the ceremony, and I only had 10-15mins afterwards before it got dark. So photo opportunites with the couple were very limited.
The whole experience was fantastic and great fun, but - from a photography point of view - although it was an incredible opportunity and privilege to shoot - it was a very steep learning curve indeed. Once we got to Vegas, all the research and preparation I'd done, didn't make any difference whatsoever. Nothing was as I'd imagined it. You could say: wedding in Vegas, $500; lessons learned, priceless!
The most important lesson, I think, was that the more you plan, the less you go with your instincts. I've always followed my gut, but because I did a lot of research for this wedding (I couldn't visit the venue beforehand, so imagined shots/scenarios, etc.) I was much too concerned with getting the shots I imagined. My mind was perhaps so occupied with what I thought I should do, that I'm now left with the feeling I may have missed shots because I wasn't 'seeing' other things. I'm sure that doesn't make a lot of sense, and maybe it wasn't even the case at all, but it was a hugely important (sort of) thing to realise. An equally important lesson was that I wouldn't always be in a situation where I can stand back and let things happen naturally (as I tend to do). Sometimes, I've realised (especially when surrounded by 100s of tourists), I will have to give more direction. Not something that I feel entirely comfortable with. But it has to be done. And I wish I knew that beforehand.
Also: do not get in the limo without champagne (it's a very thirsty business); take comfortable shoes (you'll never find a cab when you're looking for one); and take a bouncer and/or stun gun to deal with those pesky tourists.
Road trip from Las Vegas to San Francisco.
After the wedding in Vegas, we had six days to get to San Francisco. After a quick helicopter trip to the Grand Canyon, we drove to Yosemite via the magnificent Death Valley National Park. We stayed in Yosemite's Housekeeping Camp for two nights (where, unlike our neighbours, we didn't have to chase any bears away from our tent). Then we drove south-west towards San Luis Obispo, where we spent a night at the Madonna Inn. The next day, we drove north along the Pacific Highway, stayed in Carmel for a night, and spent the next two days in San Francisco. In Vegas, we saw lots of fake teeth, noses and boobs. In Death Valley we didn't see much at all. In Yosemite, everyone was so chilled out, they seemed practically stoned. In Carmel, everyone was retired and had a dog. And in San Francisco, everyone was super friendly. Almost suspiciously so. I'm definitely not used to big cities being like that. It was fantastic. And one of the few cities in the world (apart from Cape Town) where I can see myself living.
Of course, the whole trip was waaaay too short. It took me a week to get over the jet-lag, but much longer to get back into the London way of life. I felt very much at home in America, and will definitely do another road trip next year. Possibly again in the Southwest. If anybody needs a roadtrip- or elopement photographer, give me a shout!
Musée Mécanique at the Borderline.
I didn't know this band until Kath asked me to go along when she reviewed them for Glasswerk. I was mesmerised. Lovely music, and lovely guys. And they live in Portland, Oregon. I have this thing about Portland. Not sure why - but I always seem to bump into people from Portland: On the road trip, I was telling my friends about my thing for Portland. Five minutes later we met a couple from there (who said they grew up in Portland, and would never leave). A few days later, in San Francisco, we met a local who gave us some tips for things to do. We ended up in The Hemlock one evening, where we saw a band called Yeltsin. Started chatting to them, and they were from Portland as well. And then, a few nights later, we saw Musée Mécanique in London. Maybe beardy weirdys just tend to hang out at the same places. But I've entered the Green Card Lottery just in case!
Snowvember and December in London.
We've been spoilt with the white stuff this year. A couple of weeks ago we had lots of snow on the Friday, which meant that, instead of struggling to get to work on time, I could go to the city to take some photos. Unfortunately most of it had melted by the time I got up. At the Houses of Parliament, I took some photos of a man playing in the snow with his kids. After a while I realised it's the Speaker. Later in the afternoon, I was wasting time in a coffee shop before meeting friends. Just as I was wondering if anybody would actually be interested in the pics, and considering who I could ask, a man near me got up to leave. Five minutes later I realised it was a press photographer whose blog I follow. Who would know better! So I emailed him to ask, and he confirmed my suspicion that the photos are basically worthless. Which was almost a relief, as I felt a bit uncomfortable taking them in the first place. Quite surreal, though, recognising someone who you sort of know online.
James and The Pigeon Detectives, at the HMV Hammersmith Apollo.
Second time I got to shoot James - one of my favourite bands of all time.
The first photo pass was for Brixton Academy, in 2008 - an unbelievable experience. Mainly because it was beyond my own imagination. When you grow up in a really small town in South Africa, you just don't tend to picture yourself in the photo pit at Brixton Academy, shooting one of your favourite bands. So I really love this photo my friend Steven took of me taking a photo (or trying to) of Tim Booth. Back in 2008, I had a D40 and a 50mm lens, which I had to manually focus. I lost a lot of shots, but was relatively pleased with the few which were in focus. During our three-song allowance, I was quite happy, in fact, to just enjoy the whole experience. Getting a few good shots was a bonus. A few months later I got an email from the guitarist, Larry Gott, saying he liked the photos of him with his new white guitar because he didn't have any yet. So ... ahem ... how cool is that!
Almost exactly two years later, I reviewed their Hammersmith gig for Glasswerk.
Another unbelievable experience. I didn't think I'd enjoy Hammersmith as much as Brixton Academy (it's a seated venue), but it was fantastic. Afterwards, I looked for footage of the gig on YouTube (when I'm taking photos, I'm not concentrating on the setlist - so needed help with the review). I found a playlist which had videos of the whole concert, apart from two songs. What luck! I watched the gig again, and then emailed the guy who took the videos, saying that - judging from his angle - I might have a photo of him with Tim Booth. And so it was. He then looked at my other photos, and it turned out that we were both in Paris for the final stage of the Tour de France earlier this year, standing on opposite sides of the road near the Rue de Rivoli. Initially, I was standing more or less in their exact spot, but moved across the road just before they closed it.
Olympia and Jakub at Newbury Manor Hotel.
(Will post more photos eventually, and will redo the slideshow at some point, as I had to use YouTube's licensed music, and it doesn't fit the number of slides.)
Basically, I don't know why people get married in summer when they can get married in autumn! I really don't.
(Will redo this slideshow at some point. Have used YouTube's licensed music, but it doesn't match the number of slides, etc. I'll also post some more photos of each wedding eventually.)
This was the third wedding I photographed abroad (the others were in Bornholm and San Sebastian). But my first one with Elvis doing the ceremony!
Unfortunately the chapel used their own photographer for the ceremony, and I only had 10-15mins afterwards before it got dark. So photo opportunites with the couple were very limited.
The whole experience was fantastic and great fun, but - from a photography point of view - although it was an incredible opportunity and privilege to shoot - it was a very steep learning curve indeed. Once we got to Vegas, all the research and preparation I'd done, didn't make any difference whatsoever. Nothing was as I'd imagined it. You could say: wedding in Vegas, $500; lessons learned, priceless!
The most important lesson, I think, was that the more you plan, the less you go with your instincts. I've always followed my gut, but because I did a lot of research for this wedding (I couldn't visit the venue beforehand, so imagined shots/scenarios, etc.) I was much too concerned with getting the shots I imagined. My mind was perhaps so occupied with what I thought I should do, that I'm now left with the feeling I may have missed shots because I wasn't 'seeing' other things. I'm sure that doesn't make a lot of sense, and maybe it wasn't even the case at all, but it was a hugely important (sort of) thing to realise. An equally important lesson was that I wouldn't always be in a situation where I can stand back and let things happen naturally (as I tend to do). Sometimes, I've realised (especially when surrounded by 100s of tourists), I will have to give more direction. Not something that I feel entirely comfortable with. But it has to be done. And I wish I knew that beforehand.
Also: do not get in the limo without champagne (it's a very thirsty business); take comfortable shoes (you'll never find a cab when you're looking for one); and take a bouncer and/or stun gun to deal with those pesky tourists.
Road trip from Las Vegas to San Francisco.
After the wedding in Vegas, we had six days to get to San Francisco. After a quick helicopter trip to the Grand Canyon, we drove to Yosemite via the magnificent Death Valley National Park. We stayed in Yosemite's Housekeeping Camp for two nights (where, unlike our neighbours, we didn't have to chase any bears away from our tent). Then we drove south-west towards San Luis Obispo, where we spent a night at the Madonna Inn. The next day, we drove north along the Pacific Highway, stayed in Carmel for a night, and spent the next two days in San Francisco. In Vegas, we saw lots of fake teeth, noses and boobs. In Death Valley we didn't see much at all. In Yosemite, everyone was so chilled out, they seemed practically stoned. In Carmel, everyone was retired and had a dog. And in San Francisco, everyone was super friendly. Almost suspiciously so. I'm definitely not used to big cities being like that. It was fantastic. And one of the few cities in the world (apart from Cape Town) where I can see myself living.
Of course, the whole trip was waaaay too short. It took me a week to get over the jet-lag, but much longer to get back into the London way of life. I felt very much at home in America, and will definitely do another road trip next year. Possibly again in the Southwest. If anybody needs a roadtrip- or elopement photographer, give me a shout!
Musée Mécanique at the Borderline.
I didn't know this band until Kath asked me to go along when she reviewed them for Glasswerk. I was mesmerised. Lovely music, and lovely guys. And they live in Portland, Oregon. I have this thing about Portland. Not sure why - but I always seem to bump into people from Portland: On the road trip, I was telling my friends about my thing for Portland. Five minutes later we met a couple from there (who said they grew up in Portland, and would never leave). A few days later, in San Francisco, we met a local who gave us some tips for things to do. We ended up in The Hemlock one evening, where we saw a band called Yeltsin. Started chatting to them, and they were from Portland as well. And then, a few nights later, we saw Musée Mécanique in London. Maybe beardy weirdys just tend to hang out at the same places. But I've entered the Green Card Lottery just in case!
Snowvember and December in London.
We've been spoilt with the white stuff this year. A couple of weeks ago we had lots of snow on the Friday, which meant that, instead of struggling to get to work on time, I could go to the city to take some photos. Unfortunately most of it had melted by the time I got up. At the Houses of Parliament, I took some photos of a man playing in the snow with his kids. After a while I realised it's the Speaker. Later in the afternoon, I was wasting time in a coffee shop before meeting friends. Just as I was wondering if anybody would actually be interested in the pics, and considering who I could ask, a man near me got up to leave. Five minutes later I realised it was a press photographer whose blog I follow. Who would know better! So I emailed him to ask, and he confirmed my suspicion that the photos are basically worthless. Which was almost a relief, as I felt a bit uncomfortable taking them in the first place. Quite surreal, though, recognising someone who you sort of know online.
James and The Pigeon Detectives, at the HMV Hammersmith Apollo.
Second time I got to shoot James - one of my favourite bands of all time.
The first photo pass was for Brixton Academy, in 2008 - an unbelievable experience. Mainly because it was beyond my own imagination. When you grow up in a really small town in South Africa, you just don't tend to picture yourself in the photo pit at Brixton Academy, shooting one of your favourite bands. So I really love this photo my friend Steven took of me taking a photo (or trying to) of Tim Booth. Back in 2008, I had a D40 and a 50mm lens, which I had to manually focus. I lost a lot of shots, but was relatively pleased with the few which were in focus. During our three-song allowance, I was quite happy, in fact, to just enjoy the whole experience. Getting a few good shots was a bonus. A few months later I got an email from the guitarist, Larry Gott, saying he liked the photos of him with his new white guitar because he didn't have any yet. So ... ahem ... how cool is that!
Almost exactly two years later, I reviewed their Hammersmith gig for Glasswerk.
Another unbelievable experience. I didn't think I'd enjoy Hammersmith as much as Brixton Academy (it's a seated venue), but it was fantastic. Afterwards, I looked for footage of the gig on YouTube (when I'm taking photos, I'm not concentrating on the setlist - so needed help with the review). I found a playlist which had videos of the whole concert, apart from two songs. What luck! I watched the gig again, and then emailed the guy who took the videos, saying that - judging from his angle - I might have a photo of him with Tim Booth. And so it was. He then looked at my other photos, and it turned out that we were both in Paris for the final stage of the Tour de France earlier this year, standing on opposite sides of the road near the Rue de Rivoli. Initially, I was standing more or less in their exact spot, but moved across the road just before they closed it.
Olympia and Jakub at Newbury Manor Hotel.
(Will post more photos eventually, and will redo the slideshow at some point, as I had to use YouTube's licensed music, and it doesn't fit the number of slides.)
Basically, I don't know why people get married in summer when they can get married in autumn! I really don't.
Wednesday, 3 November 2010
Amadou & Mariam - Sabali
I'm still addicted to The Tin Man. But discovered this little gem (produced by Damon Albarn) last week...
Saturday, 16 October 2010
Road Trippin'
I'm still planning to blog about Edurne & Claudio's wedding in San Sebastian; Calvin & Carmela's wedding in Las Vegas and our road trip to San Francisco; Musee Mecanique (and the Portland scene); and the MAD UK Golf Day; but I got distracted by this article...
So, for the time being, just this pic from Death Valley...
And this song, which I've been listening to on repeat...
So, for the time being, just this pic from Death Valley...
And this song, which I've been listening to on repeat...
Tuesday, 17 August 2010
The Tour de France (and why it's the greatest sporting event... ever!)
(Thought I'd post this - which was written for our company's intranet page - before anyone accuses me of neglecting this blog.)
Every year in July when I start talking about the Tour de France (incessantly, admittedly), people respond with a mixture of horror and hilarity. It’s as if Wayne Rooney’s confessed to doing cross-stitching in his spare time.
At first they don’t believe me. Then they accept it - reluctantly. Cue lots of bad Lycra jokes. And then they want to know why. What’s so difficult to understand? I know LOTS of people who share my fascination with the sport. Two, at least.
But, for the record, it’s all because of Phil Liggett. In the ‘90s we used to get a highlights show in South Africa, of Channel 4’s Tour de France coverage, hosted by Liggett (left) and his side-kick Paul Sherwen. Phil quickly became the Voice of the Tour (and, 30 years later, he still is – these days on ITV4). His passion for the sport was highly addictive, and he made it accessible even for those who could never get rid of their training wheels. He really has done more for cycling than Lance Armstrong ever could. People who grew up on the Tour with Phil’s commentary can’t look at it without hearing his voice. He’s a cult figure for cycling fans. And there are lots of pages on the internet dedicated to his Liggettisms:
But coverage of the Tour has never been just about the cycling. Covering different parts of France each year, including the Alps and the Pyrenees, there’s plenty of spectacular scenery along the way. Through Phil and Paul we also learn lots of trivia about the race and the towns they’re passing through. You learn to appreciate the competitions and motivations within the race. And between collisions with cows, dogs, policemen and drunken sailors, spectacular crashes on loose cobblestones and melted tar, down ravines or into the crowds, you’ll never get bored. If it was a movie, it would be Rocky – fights against adversity, the pain, the victories, the drama... Or, perhaps even The Terminator, judging from some of the quotes we heard this year ("My stomach is full of anger... The race is not finished and I want to take my revenge"). Wimbledon, in comparison, would be a bit like You’ve Got Mail.
Every year and every stage is different. And since the race is not as predictable as it used to be in the Tour de Lance years, it’s more enjoyable to watch. This year they race was frantic from the start, losing lots of riders in the cobblestone-minefield between Belgium and France. Lance Armstrong predicted it would be carnage and it was. You could hardly move for shattered collarbones and fractured wrists. The highlight of the Tour was undoubtedly the epic stage on the Tourmalet, with riders struggling to the top through sheep, fog and drunken fans, leaving most of us breathless at the end. And for extra entertainment, we had the ongoing feud between the leaders, Andy Schleck and Alberto Contador, who finished with only 39 seconds between them (after 3,600km).
Watching a stage of the Tour at some point, should be on every fan’s To Do list. But where you can watch every move and hear all the background information on TV, the live experience is mainly about soaking up the atmosphere, and mingling with fellow fans, or stalking your favourite team. (Yes, it’s allowed! Even positively encouraged.) If you’re used to Phil’s tangents in the background, though, you do feel a bit lost, and as if something’s missing from the experience.
In the past, I’ve seen a stage in Narbonne, and the Prologue in London in 2007, so this year I decided to go to Paris for the final stage. The overall classification is usually decided before this stage, and race etiquette dictates that the leader of the race (the yellow jersey) should not be attacked on the last day. At the beginning of the stage, the leader’s team hand out champagne, and once they’ve entered Paris they do a circuit of eight laps (towards the Arc de Triomphe, down the Champs-Élysées, round the Tuileries Garden, past the Louvre, along the Rue de Rivoli, and across the Place de la Concorde back to the Champs-Élysées). Only sprinters (like Mark Cavendish) make any real effort to win the stage but, traditionally, the riders don't attack each other until they’ve completed at least one of their eight laps in Paris.
The best place to watch would undoubtedly be on the Champs-Élysées, but you need to get to your spot at around 7am, and be armed with a Bladder of Steel and bags of patience (and snacks), because you’ll need to wait until 3pm at least before you see anything. Alternatively, you could go in a big group, and take turns to guard the spot. That’s a bit too hardcore for me. Though I’m sure my gran would be up for it.
I chose another spot on the furthest corner of the circuit, which just happened to be the Norwegian fans’ corner and (as luck would have it) close to a couple of bars. I wandered over there in the early afternoon, and had no problems getting a good spot, next to very nice people who would happily keep my place for me. The atmosphere was great, very festive. Ferris wheels and everything. But it was a long wait. And I was glad I packed an enviable picnic. We waited for absolute ages. I’m sure I’ve not had such long conversations with anyone since the days before TV.
An hour or so before the riders came, the publicity caravan drove around the circuit. It’s really like having to watch an extremely bad support band while waiting for U2 to come on stage. What makes it worse is that, unlike in all the other towns it passes through, it’s not allowed to throw millions of freebies into the crowd.
Meanwhile, one of my new best friends was following the race on his iPhone so we had a vague idea of when to expect the riders, but as soon as we could hear helicopters, every single person in the crowd forgot about the long hours (not all of which were exciting) standing around. Then the cars came, and the motorbikes. And then the peloton, led by the race leader’s team, emerged from the tunnel welcomed by huge cheers from the crowd.
If it wasn’t for the fact that they’d come round a few times, it would all be over in two seconds. But even if it was, most people would still be happy to wait for hours just to get a glimpse of the majestic site that is the peloton.
Read: The Tour de France for Dummies
Watch: Belleville Rendez-vous
Listen to: Kraftwerk – Tour de France
****
I didn't take any particularly nice shots in Paris, but here's a taste of what it's all about...
But it's all very exciting. Trust me!
Every year in July when I start talking about the Tour de France (incessantly, admittedly), people respond with a mixture of horror and hilarity. It’s as if Wayne Rooney’s confessed to doing cross-stitching in his spare time.
At first they don’t believe me. Then they accept it - reluctantly. Cue lots of bad Lycra jokes. And then they want to know why. What’s so difficult to understand? I know LOTS of people who share my fascination with the sport. Two, at least.
But, for the record, it’s all because of Phil Liggett. In the ‘90s we used to get a highlights show in South Africa, of Channel 4’s Tour de France coverage, hosted by Liggett (left) and his side-kick Paul Sherwen. Phil quickly became the Voice of the Tour (and, 30 years later, he still is – these days on ITV4). His passion for the sport was highly addictive, and he made it accessible even for those who could never get rid of their training wheels. He really has done more for cycling than Lance Armstrong ever could. People who grew up on the Tour with Phil’s commentary can’t look at it without hearing his voice. He’s a cult figure for cycling fans. And there are lots of pages on the internet dedicated to his Liggettisms:
- "To wear the yellow jersey is to mingle with the gods of cycling."
- "Once you pull on that golden fleece you become two men."
- "He's dancing on his pedals in a most immodest way!"
- "... his legs have turned to rubber and his effort reduced to mere survival."
- "It's rather like holding back the flood with a little finger."
- "Ullrich is pumping those pistons they calls legs."
- "Marco Pantani has crashed and Alex Zülle has followed him in sympathy. "
- "He'll have to reach into his suitcase of courage."
- "Well, I think you bring out something special in a rider when you throw in a few cobblestones!"
- "He's done his job at the front and now he must concentrate on getting his enormous carcass up the rest of the way."
- "Today he enjoys wearing the maillot jaune, tomorrow he'll wear little more than a pained expression."
But coverage of the Tour has never been just about the cycling. Covering different parts of France each year, including the Alps and the Pyrenees, there’s plenty of spectacular scenery along the way. Through Phil and Paul we also learn lots of trivia about the race and the towns they’re passing through. You learn to appreciate the competitions and motivations within the race. And between collisions with cows, dogs, policemen and drunken sailors, spectacular crashes on loose cobblestones and melted tar, down ravines or into the crowds, you’ll never get bored. If it was a movie, it would be Rocky – fights against adversity, the pain, the victories, the drama... Or, perhaps even The Terminator, judging from some of the quotes we heard this year ("My stomach is full of anger... The race is not finished and I want to take my revenge"). Wimbledon, in comparison, would be a bit like You’ve Got Mail.
Every year and every stage is different. And since the race is not as predictable as it used to be in the Tour de Lance years, it’s more enjoyable to watch. This year they race was frantic from the start, losing lots of riders in the cobblestone-minefield between Belgium and France. Lance Armstrong predicted it would be carnage and it was. You could hardly move for shattered collarbones and fractured wrists. The highlight of the Tour was undoubtedly the epic stage on the Tourmalet, with riders struggling to the top through sheep, fog and drunken fans, leaving most of us breathless at the end. And for extra entertainment, we had the ongoing feud between the leaders, Andy Schleck and Alberto Contador, who finished with only 39 seconds between them (after 3,600km).
Watching a stage of the Tour at some point, should be on every fan’s To Do list. But where you can watch every move and hear all the background information on TV, the live experience is mainly about soaking up the atmosphere, and mingling with fellow fans, or stalking your favourite team. (Yes, it’s allowed! Even positively encouraged.) If you’re used to Phil’s tangents in the background, though, you do feel a bit lost, and as if something’s missing from the experience.
In the past, I’ve seen a stage in Narbonne, and the Prologue in London in 2007, so this year I decided to go to Paris for the final stage. The overall classification is usually decided before this stage, and race etiquette dictates that the leader of the race (the yellow jersey) should not be attacked on the last day. At the beginning of the stage, the leader’s team hand out champagne, and once they’ve entered Paris they do a circuit of eight laps (towards the Arc de Triomphe, down the Champs-Élysées, round the Tuileries Garden, past the Louvre, along the Rue de Rivoli, and across the Place de la Concorde back to the Champs-Élysées). Only sprinters (like Mark Cavendish) make any real effort to win the stage but, traditionally, the riders don't attack each other until they’ve completed at least one of their eight laps in Paris.
The best place to watch would undoubtedly be on the Champs-Élysées, but you need to get to your spot at around 7am, and be armed with a Bladder of Steel and bags of patience (and snacks), because you’ll need to wait until 3pm at least before you see anything. Alternatively, you could go in a big group, and take turns to guard the spot. That’s a bit too hardcore for me. Though I’m sure my gran would be up for it.
I chose another spot on the furthest corner of the circuit, which just happened to be the Norwegian fans’ corner and (as luck would have it) close to a couple of bars. I wandered over there in the early afternoon, and had no problems getting a good spot, next to very nice people who would happily keep my place for me. The atmosphere was great, very festive. Ferris wheels and everything. But it was a long wait. And I was glad I packed an enviable picnic. We waited for absolute ages. I’m sure I’ve not had such long conversations with anyone since the days before TV.
An hour or so before the riders came, the publicity caravan drove around the circuit. It’s really like having to watch an extremely bad support band while waiting for U2 to come on stage. What makes it worse is that, unlike in all the other towns it passes through, it’s not allowed to throw millions of freebies into the crowd.
Meanwhile, one of my new best friends was following the race on his iPhone so we had a vague idea of when to expect the riders, but as soon as we could hear helicopters, every single person in the crowd forgot about the long hours (not all of which were exciting) standing around. Then the cars came, and the motorbikes. And then the peloton, led by the race leader’s team, emerged from the tunnel welcomed by huge cheers from the crowd.
If it wasn’t for the fact that they’d come round a few times, it would all be over in two seconds. But even if it was, most people would still be happy to wait for hours just to get a glimpse of the majestic site that is the peloton.
Read: The Tour de France for Dummies
Watch: Belleville Rendez-vous
Listen to: Kraftwerk – Tour de France
****
I didn't take any particularly nice shots in Paris, but here's a taste of what it's all about...
But it's all very exciting. Trust me!
Monday, 24 May 2010
Sunday, 23 May 2010
The Bibliomancer's Dream: Dream On
I really liked this installation which I discovered by chance in the Queen Elizabeth Hall. Conceived by artists Alinah Azadeh and Willow Winston, visitors were invited to select a line of text "with the help of chance". They then had to write it down in one of the blank books, so that "a new endless poem will emerge".
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