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Plastic half-buried in the sand of a deserted tropical beach in Far North Queensland - then transformed a bit
This is what time looks like. No, really.
I'm never quite sure where one second ends and the next begins. Is it at the beginning of the tick or the end of the tock? Or is it somewhere in the middle? Might that uncertainty go some way to explaining how we're already halfway through February? How it's actually 2022? How albums I bought when they came out (and still enjoy) are now over 40 years old?
Anyway. Even though we have no idea about time, we do like clocks here at No.43. So here are ten of them, all occupying the same space but at slightly different times.
And, after I'd put them together, the fact that there are ten of them made me think of that scene in Casablanca, where Carl, the waiter at Rick's, is seated at the table with Herr and Frau Leuchtag. They are explaining that they only speak English now, so that they will be ready for when they reach America. Herr Leuchtag addresses his wife,
"Liebchen... err... sweetnessheart... what watch?"
Looking at her wrist, Frau Leuchtag replies, "Ten watch".
"Such much!", says he in return, eyebrows raised.
Carl adjusts his waistcoat and says, "You will get along beautifully in America".
It's over forty years since I first saw Casablanca. If only I'd waited a couple of hours more to take these pictures...
Abstract composite. Photos used: sea foam, sunrise, ceiling lights (multiple copies), woodgrain and person on a beach
“Almost all creativity involves purposeful play.” - Abraham Maslow.
This is another attempt at three exposures done in camera of a Black Eyed Susan. I love playing with an idea to see where it goes and being pleasantly surprised.
The graveyard at St. Mary's in Felpham seems like a fine place to enter into the unknown.
31 hand-held exposures representing 2 minutes and 34 seconds of May 9th, 2018.
As I turned, the world around me altered abruptly; vehicles, buildings and the people that operated and maintained them became transparent, and somehow time itself seemed to speed up. The ghostly remains of once tangible people flittered before my eyes, leaving behind them faint echoes that slowly faded into nothingness. That which was corporeal now appeared as if rendered in spirit. I thought at once of the charlatan, Crowley, and his Magick, but quickly dismissed the notion that such a man could bear any relationship with the truth now being revealed before my eyes: that reality was not as it seemed.
Turning further, my eyes alighted on the man. His left arm, raised in an almost defensive posture, was encased in some kind of satanic machine. I could see little wisps of steam rising from the elbow joint and a subtle orange glow that hinted at the incredible furnace that must lurk somewhere within. Only God knows what strange powers might be required to build such a device; as advanced as our science was at that time, it seemed to me inadequate for such artifice. I had, however, no doubt that this machine was the cause of my abstraction from the material plane and that this man must be confronted, before all that we held dear became lost.
I composed myself, stood tall, and approached the man.
“Hello,” he said. “My name’s Barry.”
Twelve hand-held exposures representing thirty seconds of March 26th, 2019. Shot at the Victorian Brickworks Museum, Bursledon.
NB. You’ll no doubt be pleased to learn that Barry holds no sinister plans concerning the ultimate fate of the universe; he is, in fact, a cake designer.
Usual caveats etc.