I’ve been having more thoughts on the concept of home, the things that make home (ie. trees, fellow house-members, family, safety etc.) and the cause of liking a particular place. As well as this, thinking more about either having one’s photography being a door to other thinking, or a reflection of a perception, I like the concept of doors a little bit more. Having one’s opinion come out in a photograph seems intrinsic to what’s actually happening in a work of art. Automatic photography (if it’s like Automatic Writing – a concept championed by the dadaists and surrealists which was writing while asleep) seems like an impossibility. It seems that a person can’t be so emotionally/physically removed from photography in order for the subconscious to really manifest itself in this manner.
This is the closest audio/visual document of the A Place To Bury Strangers show I can get. ‘Twas a real experience – Sound and movement became something else…Having something so loud and so physically affecting – to the extent that I could feel my chest caving in, and having a room so dark with only one flashing light, meant that even though Oliver was moving, we could only see half of it. It was beautiful.