John Coady (Mac Óda)
This is Alex Knost
'This is Alex Knost'
At this stage you've probably figured out that I'm fond of putting a bit of a story behind my images now. Some of you probably start scrolling down and groan at how much more text there is to get through, saying to yourselves 'f*ck that, I'm not reading all this!' and head off somewhere else in Flickrland. And that's OK! So I'll give you a heads-up now...this is going to be a long one.
I've been conscious since launching on my whole Flickr adventure that the majority of you aren't aware of my first love, which is surfing. Whilst images of Moons, feathers, flowers, and sunrises might be appealing to me and to you in the Flickr Universe, seldom have I posted photo's covering this aspect of my interest.
So, This is Alex Knost.
Most of you won't know him, so I'll give you a bit of an introduction, and put this image, which will be the first in a series of images, into context.
Alex is Alex. There is nobody like him in the surfing world. He ploughs his own furrow, has his own style, speaks his own mind, is in his own groove, but all carried out with a delicate touch; a finesse. In surfing terms, the phrase 'often copied, never equaled' fits perfectly with what it is that sets him apart from the chaff in a seemingly ceaseless expansion of what could be loosely regarded as the global surfing community.
A few years ago, surfing was all I ever did. I lived and breathed it, hoovering it up like a line of cocaine, feeding my addiction whenever I could. Then it all reached a crescendo, and that stopped. The crescendo was attending the World Surfing Games in Peru in October 2010, representing first and foremost, the people who got me there; the community behind the LongboardIreland.com forum who paid for my trip over, and my country a very close second. I gave a poor account of myself in the water, but felt I gave a good account of myself, the community who got me there, and my country, when I was on land.
Looking back, now, and even shortly afterwards, I knew my surfing, at least the kind of surfing I was doing up to that point, was in certain respects, over. I drifted for months afterwards, neglecting my surfing and my love of the Sea, because I felt lost. I had returned home from the complete and utter high of that experience and the surreal way in which the whole sponsorship thing kicked off and gathered momentum, completely disillusioned with something I thought I believed in, and used to champion - progressive longboarding.
In Peru, I watched some of the best progressive longboarders in the world compete against each other. And I was bored. In free-surf sessions outside of the competition there were a handful of guys styling it, James Parry from the UK being one of them, but during the heats, everyone was just doing the same thing, surfing to a format the judges wanted to see so they could tick a box and allocate points, with very little style, and little evidence of the heritage from which this approach to wave-riding is drawn from. I know style when I see it, and I knew then as I do now that I didn't have it, or what I had was ugly, but for some reason, it won me competitions, got me on to the Irish team, got me to Peru.
Fast-forward 2 years and I haven't surfed a progressive longboard since, nor have I any desire to. If the best progressive longboarders in the world couldn't impress me during a competition, then what is the point in trying to aspire to rub shoulders with them any longer? So all I surfed was a heavy single-fin log for 2 years straight, in anything and everything, irrespective of how big the surf was, adding another beautiful one to my quiver along the way, inspired by a board dreamed-up by another unique cat called Miki Dora - but you could write a book on him alone. A few already have, and they're worth checking out.
Rewind 6 months, and the day before I'm due to hop on a ferry to France for a three week holiday, the relationship to the girl I've been going out with for 6 years, two of which were spent engaged, falls apart. My main reason for going was that I felt I needed to re-ground myself in what it is that makes longboarding what it is - style. 16 of the most stylish contemporary longboarders were gathering for a competition in Biarritz in the South West of France, brought together by a living surfing icon, Joel Tudor. The format was simple; heavy, single-fin longboards, no leash, style wins. If there was one single event that was going to reinvigorate my love of longboarding, I believed this was going to be it. I had also been shooting with Polaroid cameras for over a year at that stage and felt compelled to capture the people, the boards, and the event, analoglly (yeah I just made that word up).
I shot and shot and shot and shot, burning through packs of film like I was some sort of wealthy tycoon with a big 50'er in the harbour in Monaco, because this film ain’t cheap. We’re talking €3-4 per photo. After the first day of the competition I looked at the box carrying the packs of film I'd brought and thought 'f*ck, I should have brought more film.'
When I returned home to Ireland from France, I came back refreshed, invigorated, relaxed, but back to a very different world to the one I had left. An empty house. No fiancée. No one to talk to other than my faithful pooch Charlie. Nothingness. Emptiness.
The fact that I'd had the two aforementioned longboards stolen from my car two weeks into the trip along with another magic board I had recently gotten shaped didn't help matters.
My family rallied around me and did everything they could to help me through, but still my mood dropped, and with it my interest in my photography and the images I had taken during my trip. I knew that I should have scanned them as soon I got home. I knew that if I sent a few to some select magazines that I read that cover this approach to longboarding that one of them would bite, and if they did, I'd at least have made a start on moving how I earn a living from what I do now to earning it the way I would like to.
But I didn't.
They sat in a box, month after month, tormenting me each time I passed them, mocking me by serving as a stark reminder of my inability to pull my head out of my ass and get on with my life. Colours shifting over time as the chemicals in the image react to the temperature changes in my house, the humidity. Soft whites turning yellow, blacks turning a muddy brown.
Six months later, I’m back, but I’m different. Good different.
So, This is Alex Knost.
There will be others.
This is Alex Knost
'This is Alex Knost'
At this stage you've probably figured out that I'm fond of putting a bit of a story behind my images now. Some of you probably start scrolling down and groan at how much more text there is to get through, saying to yourselves 'f*ck that, I'm not reading all this!' and head off somewhere else in Flickrland. And that's OK! So I'll give you a heads-up now...this is going to be a long one.
I've been conscious since launching on my whole Flickr adventure that the majority of you aren't aware of my first love, which is surfing. Whilst images of Moons, feathers, flowers, and sunrises might be appealing to me and to you in the Flickr Universe, seldom have I posted photo's covering this aspect of my interest.
So, This is Alex Knost.
Most of you won't know him, so I'll give you a bit of an introduction, and put this image, which will be the first in a series of images, into context.
Alex is Alex. There is nobody like him in the surfing world. He ploughs his own furrow, has his own style, speaks his own mind, is in his own groove, but all carried out with a delicate touch; a finesse. In surfing terms, the phrase 'often copied, never equaled' fits perfectly with what it is that sets him apart from the chaff in a seemingly ceaseless expansion of what could be loosely regarded as the global surfing community.
A few years ago, surfing was all I ever did. I lived and breathed it, hoovering it up like a line of cocaine, feeding my addiction whenever I could. Then it all reached a crescendo, and that stopped. The crescendo was attending the World Surfing Games in Peru in October 2010, representing first and foremost, the people who got me there; the community behind the LongboardIreland.com forum who paid for my trip over, and my country a very close second. I gave a poor account of myself in the water, but felt I gave a good account of myself, the community who got me there, and my country, when I was on land.
Looking back, now, and even shortly afterwards, I knew my surfing, at least the kind of surfing I was doing up to that point, was in certain respects, over. I drifted for months afterwards, neglecting my surfing and my love of the Sea, because I felt lost. I had returned home from the complete and utter high of that experience and the surreal way in which the whole sponsorship thing kicked off and gathered momentum, completely disillusioned with something I thought I believed in, and used to champion - progressive longboarding.
In Peru, I watched some of the best progressive longboarders in the world compete against each other. And I was bored. In free-surf sessions outside of the competition there were a handful of guys styling it, James Parry from the UK being one of them, but during the heats, everyone was just doing the same thing, surfing to a format the judges wanted to see so they could tick a box and allocate points, with very little style, and little evidence of the heritage from which this approach to wave-riding is drawn from. I know style when I see it, and I knew then as I do now that I didn't have it, or what I had was ugly, but for some reason, it won me competitions, got me on to the Irish team, got me to Peru.
Fast-forward 2 years and I haven't surfed a progressive longboard since, nor have I any desire to. If the best progressive longboarders in the world couldn't impress me during a competition, then what is the point in trying to aspire to rub shoulders with them any longer? So all I surfed was a heavy single-fin log for 2 years straight, in anything and everything, irrespective of how big the surf was, adding another beautiful one to my quiver along the way, inspired by a board dreamed-up by another unique cat called Miki Dora - but you could write a book on him alone. A few already have, and they're worth checking out.
Rewind 6 months, and the day before I'm due to hop on a ferry to France for a three week holiday, the relationship to the girl I've been going out with for 6 years, two of which were spent engaged, falls apart. My main reason for going was that I felt I needed to re-ground myself in what it is that makes longboarding what it is - style. 16 of the most stylish contemporary longboarders were gathering for a competition in Biarritz in the South West of France, brought together by a living surfing icon, Joel Tudor. The format was simple; heavy, single-fin longboards, no leash, style wins. If there was one single event that was going to reinvigorate my love of longboarding, I believed this was going to be it. I had also been shooting with Polaroid cameras for over a year at that stage and felt compelled to capture the people, the boards, and the event, analoglly (yeah I just made that word up).
I shot and shot and shot and shot, burning through packs of film like I was some sort of wealthy tycoon with a big 50'er in the harbour in Monaco, because this film ain’t cheap. We’re talking €3-4 per photo. After the first day of the competition I looked at the box carrying the packs of film I'd brought and thought 'f*ck, I should have brought more film.'
When I returned home to Ireland from France, I came back refreshed, invigorated, relaxed, but back to a very different world to the one I had left. An empty house. No fiancée. No one to talk to other than my faithful pooch Charlie. Nothingness. Emptiness.
The fact that I'd had the two aforementioned longboards stolen from my car two weeks into the trip along with another magic board I had recently gotten shaped didn't help matters.
My family rallied around me and did everything they could to help me through, but still my mood dropped, and with it my interest in my photography and the images I had taken during my trip. I knew that I should have scanned them as soon I got home. I knew that if I sent a few to some select magazines that I read that cover this approach to longboarding that one of them would bite, and if they did, I'd at least have made a start on moving how I earn a living from what I do now to earning it the way I would like to.
But I didn't.
They sat in a box, month after month, tormenting me each time I passed them, mocking me by serving as a stark reminder of my inability to pull my head out of my ass and get on with my life. Colours shifting over time as the chemicals in the image react to the temperature changes in my house, the humidity. Soft whites turning yellow, blacks turning a muddy brown.
Six months later, I’m back, but I’m different. Good different.
So, This is Alex Knost.
There will be others.