110.

A day in the life: Pt.21

DITL-21

06:37:53pm. Yarra Boulevard.
I was on my way out to the airport to collect Sharon, with one of those awkward amounts of time – too early to go and park at the airport, too late to go too far out of the way. Then I remembered this spot. I like to think that the plane in the centre of the frame was Sharon’s, almost home…

110.

108.

A day in the life: Pt.19

DITL-19

04:00:39pm. Flinders Street Station.
I’ve had this shot in mind for some time, and this exercise gave me the perfect opportunity to implement it… a familiar (some would say iconic) Melbourne location, shot with a longer exposure than is generally the case. The stormy clouds in the frame lived up to their fearsome appearance; by the end of the exposure, it was already starting to rain…

108.

008.

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We can waste so much life with flabby words, bloated images, cluttered thoughts. What happens if we strip it all back, remove all that is superfluous? All that remains is the essence of the thing. Everything will have purpose, form, structure.

The tungsten glare of a lamppost. The snaking trail of the car’s lights. The empty car park. There is space in between, where what is not needed has been taken away. This leaves more space for you, to fill with your own meanings. Tell me – what happens next? Can you hear the sharp screaming of the tyres? The roar of the engine? Or is yours a different story?

When we take away what’s not needed, then what is left will be all that we need.

008.

Melbourne 365: Day 362

Flinders Street Station is busy… always so busy. Day or night is just the same, a blur of bodies and movement and stories and lives that goes on and on forever. This station has seen it all, and keeps seeing, through darkness, light, rain, fog. This is Flinders Street; this is Melbourne’s heart, and eyes.

(Sharon’s interpretation of Flinders Street Station is on her blog here.)

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Melbourne 365: Day 362

Melbourne 365: Day 356

Audrey skips on, through rain, shine, fog. She marks the beat of time, like the tick tock of a clock, and each skips becomes a second, then an hour, then a day, then a week, then more.  She watches the world around her crumble, collapse, and be built again, new lines of concrete, steel, and noise. And still she skips, and so time skips with her…

(Sharon’s interpretation of Little Audrey is on her blog here.)

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Melbourne 365: Day 356