This is a result of a sunny Sunday afternoon, playing with a photo of some stacked chairs. I love how images of the mundane can produce something perplexing and interesting. One of my favourite artists is Moholy-Nagy, I take a lot of inspiration from his photograms and experimentation with light and shadow.
TEXT: “Down by the promenade I am, where the lights that neoned my name, have since gone up in flames. Now the spritz and glamour have gone, I can finally take you on. Bent man to burnt wood, this is my last ballad to you.
This is my last ballad to you, now I’m clean I’ll wash to the sea. Bent man to burnt wood, I did everything I could’ve.
Down by the arcade I am, where the slots that played my game, have since gone up in flames. Now the shutters are down, I can finally take you on. Bent man to burnt wood, I did everything I could’ve.
This is my last ballad to you, now I’m clean I’ll wash to the sea. Bent man to burnt wood, I did everything I could’ve. This is my last ballad to you, now I’m clean I’ll wash to the sea. Bent man to burnt wood, I did everything I could’ve”.
I hope to work on this in the coming weeks, it was originally a photograph took while wondering the streets of Manchester. I’ve stripped it down as a starter, and it will be interesting to play with the lines a little…I’m listening to Travelogue at the moment, I always find this album makes me productive 🙂
This illustration isn’t my work, I wish I was this good at drawing. I have amended it slightly as it was a bit busy and i changed the colour from red to orange, however the original is lovely. I am only using it for inspiration. I found it in an annual from the 1960’s, there are a wealth of fantastic drawings in there. It is by an artist called Frederick Parsons.
These places. These places I feel small. Rat runs through the City, looking up at cars held aloft.
TEXT: Eve stood at the barriers beside the road, her nails clutching the dusty hot metal. She watched the traffic speeding by, changing lanes, lights glowing yellow against the indigo sky. The air from the traffic created a slight breeze, her hair blew across her face and she kept pulling it behind her ears. Eve listened to the beat of the road, for half an hour, maybe longer. Ready, she stepped over the small metal fence and into the road, steady small steps. The vehicles swerved round her. It was a dangerous dance. She held her arms out to her noisy partners, horns blaring, lights flashing, screeches, hands waving. She matched their wheel turns, spinning, wild. Engaged in an erratic tango, furious.
This photo turned out pretty, a melodica mirage. The first blink, seen through blurry eyes.
TEXT: Lying on her back, on the floor of the conservatory, the young girls eyes were only half open. It made the bright colours fuzz and intensify. The sun was hot on her face. She lay lazy, like a cat. Her bones were warmed through, and her limbs were soft and uncontrollable. When she closed her eyes, she could see orange veins. Bright orange, like the sun was shining through cracks in her lids.