2013.01.30 INDIA In transit.
Ah, necessity: the mother of invention: I’m on a train going from Bhopal to Garabja in Goa. The journey has now become my destination. The train I’m on is a sleeper car on a 28hr trip, its quite possibly the lcoolest thing I we er done in my life. I feel like a giddy child or a boyscout because its like what every kid dreams about. You jbare going somewhere and yet you are in bed and your room is rumbling and shaking and there are cool noises like the horn of the train like a distant foghorn on a foggy night, and then there’s the stuff outside, its night and you are going through uncharted black terrain but all you can see are the stars and occasional lights in the distance on a black horizon where black trees swish past a black sky. There no color. And then there are other trains passing by for a few seconds the sound is that unique sheering abound of wind compressed between two fast moving objects
Accented by the sounds of bogies on welded rail. All you want is to see another face like an inserted subliminal frame in a movie. The layers of sound low black soft heavy percussion of the underside of the train the bogies and thick gasket suspension play a warm comfortable song of affirmation and the rattle of loose metal brushing fingers against the creaking superstructure makes for a romantic symmetry of memory forming experiences…
Its a sleeper car so there is the whole part of making your bed with which is traditional bedding with laundered and pressed “12 Rose Bedroll for Southern Railways” white cotton sheets Wool Blanket and pillow that add another dimension on this new reality.
I had a fairly good sleep, a touch uncomfortable with the stuff in my pockets keeping me awake because I left my pants on. I am on a side bunk in a two tier carriage, which means on the left side there are four bunks head to window feet to corridor, and on the right there are two bunks aligned with the wall, I’m in the bottom one so I get a great view out the window while laying down.
I just woke up 7.30am stop in a mountain town called Kalyan apparently a lot of spaghetti westerns were filmed there and Bollywood. Certainly it has the looks.
Bahrddy Vartell is what the hawkers say when selling Bottled Water.
I had another dream about Istanbul and going swimming.
Its not really a recurring dream but I do keep dreaming about a warm place where there are a lot of people who are not necessarily my race and dont necessarily speak my language but there isnt ever any kind of distress about that. Maybe thats the magic of dreams that your brain manufactures certain conveniences in this case the language barrier because the rest of the content of the dream is more important.
Ive had these dreams a few times in the past, its always very near water. I think I associate Istanbul with water, and sunsets, the colors Brown, Black, Pink, Gold & Dark-Green, these colors are reflected on the surface of the water, in warm evenings of post workday swims off well warn concrete or stone steps that you know have been used by hundreds of generations. Older portly gentlemen with grey hair dip in an out of water in dignifying and therapeutic traditional exercises.
The smell of turkish cigarettes, and the smoke from food stands marks the air with a sense of wonder and an added layer of dimensionality. Pomegranates, dates, cheese, fortified butter, and other foods I dont eat regularly are around me.
Is this a dream about comfort, security and the feeling of actually having some control over your life?
I shot this about a decade or more ago, a dull average nondescript day I had some things to do in town and I was rushing around, I saw this as I walked onto a busy pedestrian street. I made the shot and I dont remember consciously knowing why I made it because I had grown up in a conservative country which was on the cusp of rapid cultural and economic changes which were going to change everything in a massive way.
People like these, typically people who had no children of their own, (in many cases spinsters and bachelors who had been children during the war themselves) who protested abortion in a visually extreme manner before, who, one can only presume, had some compelling force the drive them to dedicate their lives and sanity to promoting such incredibly vile and repugnant imagery in a way as shock everyone young and old into their way of seeing their political standpoint.
As soon as the economy started to visually change the anti-abortionists disappeared from society but would return with a new younger generation as soon as the economy growth slowed.
Negativity begets negativity.
I remember this man trying to engage her on some philosophical hook and her response was tight lipped religious piety.
I don’t really show the pictures of the people that interest me the most because I don’t think I have the narrative to back it up in its own right yet, and flickr isn’t the forum for that work either, I’ve kind of dug myself into a hole there withe whole street and what I defined as the kind of street I wanted in Seattle Street and which has generally become accepted as an acceptable version of that decisive, contemplative, gag, style, which doesn’t really rely on any level of intellectual insight to understand or appreciate, the pictures of the people I am really drawn to are highly reliant on my audience being open to seeing something that they normally don’t even register and having their attention drawn to it, ..and so it’s been my belief that my Audience is infact not American at all.
See Street photography has become about shooting the oddities and the highlights of the everyday or at least that’s the premise; using the “everyday” as an excuse to make pictures of things that stand out of that “everyday” entity which really doesn’t mean what it is in that context anymore. Look at the London Street Photography festival as it stands now, at 3 years old, and all of the pictures have a basic sameness to them and a sensationalism to them which irritates me now.