A day in the life: Pt.10
12:04:06pm. Acland St, St Kilda.
I’ll have a… rocky road. Definitely. No, a lemon cream slice. No, actually, a coconut slice. AND a rocky road!
(This is Acland Street, in St Kilda. There are about six or seven of this shops, all with cakes in the windows, all the time. Tempting…)
A day in the life: Pt.9
12:00:01pm. St Kilda.
Morning became afternoon as I wandered towards St Kilda proper. Along the way, I passed this wonderful theatre, looking (like much of St Kilda) a wonderfully charismatic combination of old charm, modern decay, and occasional neglect in between. This is just about the only angle that reveals this particular mix, as the sides of the theatre are almost entirely enshrouded in thick canvas. It’s a work in progress. It’s just not clear what that progress is aimed towards…
A day in the life: Pt.8
11:50:17am. St Kilda Pier.
I walked away from the Pier, towards another little jetty, but it didn’t make the ’24’ cut. I was feeling the pressure in a different way, knowing that I was now half way out of daylight and only a third of the way through my shots… the day was becoming a sort of pushing/pulling, to keep hours and shots in sync. In the midst of those calculations, I saw these two perched on the top of a small hill next to the beach, free from such self-imposed constraints and just enjoying the moment…
A day in the life: Pt.7
11:43:49am. St Kilda Pier.
I thought the Pier might produce something of interest – seagulls, or people fishing, or penguins, or some combination thereof. As it turned out, the view from the Pier was better than the view of the Pier, as the storm clouds gathered above the city…
A day in the life: Pt.6
11:35:27am. St Kilda Beach.
Actually not much to write about this one… I liked the way they seemed to be falling out of the darker cloud to the lighter clouds below, and the way they were gently spiralling. From a distance, it looked a peaceful, serene way to travel. Up close, I suspect this was not the case…
A day in the life: Pt.5
11:29:10am. St Kilda Pier.
When I first arrived in Melbourne two and a half years ago, having lived the majority of my life in Tasmania, I used to wander the streets of the city craning my neck and looking up – at the variety of buildings, the layers upon layers of steel, glass, tin, tiles, and bricks. It was a different visual language to the one I’d grown accustomed to; in Tasmania it was all about sky – vast, bright, and all around, making me feel so amazingly small in the scheme of things.
As I made my way out of the city, continuing my day of wanderings (both physical and intellectual), I was struck by this contrast. And now, I don’t spend so much time looking up in the city, but am completely struck silent whenever I’m back in the presence of so much vertical space. This spot gave me a sense of bringing those worlds together, acknowledging the space, whatever might be in it…
And isn’t it interesting, how the simple act of observation and attention can lead to a space of such quiet contemplation? Who needs meditation when you have a camera, one lens, and twenty spaces left on your memory card?
It might look as though the birds are frozen mid-flight, but in fact they hung in the air like this for some time, riding the currents, hanging like unanswered questions in the sky.
Watching the sun sink slower and lower, clouds fading to grey as the colours chase it across the sky. Seeing the gulls ride the wind like so many corks bobbing on the tide. Feeling the air, sharp and crisp as ice, hearing it calling, whispering two warm words within its silvery blasts –