some thoughts on the beach

Ah, the beach. That wonderful space unlike any other imaginable, which we in Australia are lucky enough to have at virtually every turn. It's a place that is governed by nature alone: witness her mockery when she buries man-made infrastructure over just a few years of changing tides; her majesty when she conjures up thunderous waves that only the most foolish surfers dare to face; or her wrath when she claims a small boat in a rip despite the best efforts of lifesavers, as was happening in the photo at the top of this post. Sometimes she is calm enough to bring serenity to the most tumultuous soul, other times she has enough powerful anger to frighten the most salt-encrusted seaside dweller. No matter the mood she presents, though, she is always raw beauty.

Could this explain the infinite allure of the beach for me and my cameras? Certainly, it plays a part. But there are other factors. As with so many other beloved photographic subjects, there is nostalgia. A childhood by the coast means that I have an essentially neverending store of memories on the sand and in the water. It's also part of the broader national memory, as we Aussies like to take pride in our beautiful beaches, which we have been doing for decades. For what is an Australian summer without the beach? One trip to Bondi is enough to confirm that tourists from all over the globe are fascinated by our iconic shores.

Beyond these somewhat obvious factors, however, there are also social and anthropological aspects of the beach that have long fascinated me. Socially, the beach is the great leveller. Rich, poor, young, old, white, black, thin, fat, devout, athiest - in theory, the beach unites people like very few other spaces can. All those things that govern our behaviour and define us in the real world - from race and class to religion and physical beauty - matter little once we are on the sand. It's as if by stripping off our clothes, we remove our superficial identities. As the immeasurably wise Rennie Ellis wrote of Australian beachgoers in his 1980s photography book Life's a Beach, 'Here, on neutral ground and stripped of their uniforms of pretension, they enjoy easy camaraderie that social convention may not have encouraged elsewhere.' We are all hot, and so we are at the beach. It's often as simple as that.

The beach is also a fascinating space in terms of the behaviour it fosters. The mere fact that walking around half- (or sometimes fully) naked is acceptable on the beach is an indication that there are a different set of rules down there. Inhibitions disappear, sexual energy is rife and people epitomise the carelessness of summer. This is reflected in countless movies: summer flings that take place at the beach struggle to transition into the real, class-defined world (Grease, Cocktail); teens go through rites of passage on their journey to adulthood, learning valuable life lessons before moving on to the next phase of their lives (Where the Boys Are, The Bikini Shop); and irresponsible youths are punished for their reckless abandon through death (Jaws) and law enforcement (Blackrock). The idea of the beach as an environment that cultivates extraordinary behaviour has been linked to the fact that the physical space of the sand - as it lies between land and sea, incorporating both but belonging to neither - is a liminal space whose separateness means that it rejects everyday society's customs. A rebel; volatile like its moods.

So these are a few of the reasons I am completely fascinated by the Australian beach. It's a special place that deserves awe, fear and respect. It deserves to be looked after. And, despite the massive volume of sometimes boring images that result, it truly deserves to be photographed.

one afternoon in camberwell

I associate a lot of things with Camberwell. Penguin Books, where I used to work. Excellent hot chocolates from Cattivo. Four wheel drives. Rich, bratty teenagers loitering around Boost Juice with their fake tans and upturned collars. Money.

Here are some things I definitely do not associate with Camberwell: Crummy share houses. Afternoon house parties. Kids with wild haircuts and tattoos drinking longnecks in the front yard. Live music. International screamo bands.

Yet these are the things that I was confronted with one recent Saturday afternoon in that very white, very middle class suburb.

It was muggy outside, which meant that the temperature and humidity indoors was threatening to rocket off the scale. Dozens of people - mostly male, mostly under 25 - were crammed into the sparsely furnished and badly carpeted loungeroom. And there, in the corner, below the clunky (and presumably decommissioned) air conditioner and in front of some I-just-moved-out-of-home wall posters that included Mr T and Super Mario, was a five-piece Italian screamo band.

And then they started to play.

The air became even thicker with the sweat of passionate screamo fans, who writhed in that small room as though they were in a Soundwave mosh pit. Luckily for me (and my cameras), I had managed to secure a position standing on the couch, which was pushed against one of the walls. There was another photographer - a pretty large bloke - who thankfully provided a barrier between me and the testosterone junkies. It got pretty wild, which is only partially captured in these photos. This clip of the final song (by which stage I had run out of film - rookie mistake!) communicates the chaos a little better.

The band - called Raein - seemed humbled by the enthusiasm in the room on this, their final show of a small Australian tour. I didn't know what screamo was before this day, but I kind of dug the band. The music reminded me of my own teenage years. But perhaps more than that, the immeasurably intense passion coming from the varied but momentarily united audience was both inspiring and infectious. And kind of what live music, regardless of genre, should be (and often is) capable of eliciting. This is the kind of gig that makes you feel privileged just to be a part of. I love shows like that. They are rare and extraordinarily memorable. And something I would never have expected to find in Camberwell.

aussie christmas

I like to think that there's nowhere else in the world that celebrates Christmas like we do in Australia. (By 'we', I mean my family, and many other Australian families - but not all other Australian families! In such a multicultural society, there are obviously many different global customs being observed throughout the country - not to mention those many Australians who do not celebrate Christmas at all. Just in case you were worried about such a generalisation.) Back to the classic Aussie Christmas - or, should I say, Boxing Day. We've always done a Boxing Day BBQ with extended family. Christmas Day has traditionally been immediate family celebrations, but on the 26th, many members of our large, widespread Irish-Catholic clan get together for a lot of food, booze, kids, cricket and, hopefully, sunshine. The Christmas just gone gave us some spectacular weather, perfect for all of the things I just listed as essential ingredients for a great Boxing Day bonanza.

Being a family event, it is only natural that such traditions bring with them a lot of memories of Christmases past. As such, there is inevitably a certain degree of nostalgia involved. I think that's why I love that these shots are faded, sun-drenched and sprocket-holed - they just remind me so much of the giant old photo albums, with that strange sticky cardboard under the flaps of cellophane, and the falling-out images that discoloured long ago.

This is the first time I've taken sprocket shots without overlapping the images, and I'm happy with the results. In the absence of the multiple exposure trickery, the simplicity of the photos can be more easily associated with old family photos, so it makes the nostalgia more accessible.

Aside from the physical properties of these images, the content also evokes a lot of memories. Stubbies, those stackable plastic chairs, lawn cricket, swingsets, silly children, irresistible children, sunshine. Christmas. Family.

the summer barbie

When you no longer open the front door to that rush of cold; when you no longer feel it necessary to take a scarf wherever you go; when the trees on your street start to blossom, releasing their divine sickly-sweet odour into the air at dusk: these are some of the signs that summer is on its way. Sure, summer in Melbourne can be brutal, with the dry grass and scorching days and those few trains and trams that are still not air-conditioned. But summer also brings many incredible things. Long, hot nights that don't require a cardigan, the party-filled Christmas/New Year break, outdoor cinemagoing, the promise of a seaside escape. And the magnificent backyard summer barbie.

We're pretty blessed to have a gorgeous backyard at our place. It's quite picturesque, and perfect for entertaining. We are also pretty blessed that on the day we had planned our belated housewarming BBQ, the gods decided to give us a sneak preview of the summer with a perfect sunny thirty degrees.

Aw, again with the floral double-exposure portraits! This is a pretty special photo, and it nicely sums up the romantic whimsy of the garden, the weather and the lovely relaxed afternoon we had.

Another special portrait! Portia just looks so serene and happy here. The sunshine gives her, and the wonderfully green plantlife in the background, an irresistible glow. Like the previous portrait, this captures something of the essential feeling of a summer afternoon, and this event in particular.

Our resident chef! Because you can't have a BBQ without a BBQ. For the record, our catering and cooking skills equal, if not surpass, the wonder of our backyard. If I don't say so myself.

Yes, there was delicious food and perfect weather and lethal punch and a great setting. But what does that matter without people to enjoy it? It's very satisfying to open your home to people that you care about. My family has always been very fond of barbies, and I'm really pleased that my adopted Melbourne family feel the same way.

Like every good food-and-drink filled arvo, it went into the night. Eating, drinking and being merry outdoors with a whole lot of good company: definitely one of my favourite things about every summer.

monochrome faces: old, new, near, far

And what a face! I think Kate was imitating an alien on this Halloween eve. An alien who had stolen an astronaut's suit. Of course! In any case, she looks amazing, particularly in black and white, where the grotesque colours of the face paint disappear and we are just left with these incredibly strange textures, and we are forced to imagine what kind of wild colours adorn her skin. Her wonderful expression (and incredible hair) make this a pretty successful spontaneous portrait.

Another great Halloween shot, which sees J's killer plumber (or dead plumber? Not sure...) gleefully ready to attack and Shasta's Nicki Minaj pouting in the background. Halloween really is a wonderful time to take photos, not only because people love to dress up in outrageous costumes, but also because in doing so they tend to shift in other ways too. Becoming more confident, for example, or revealing an aspect of their personality that may lie dormant when there is no identity cloak involved. It's very liberating. I'm not sure that these two images necessarily capture that, but as a general concept I think it's one of the reasons that shooting people in costume is so appealing.

Too soon? Quite possibly. But the towering beauty that is Romy did a marvellous job of turning herself into the late Ms Winehouse. The thing I love most about this photo is that it doesn't come close to capturing Romy's actual magnificence - in the same way that most photos of Winehouse don't do her justice at all. Granted, that was usually due to her own self-abusive ways while Romy is a picture of health, but perhaps that just means that Romy hit the nail on its drug-addled head.

From one form of performance to another - the very strange tradition of karaoke. As Janelle and Jay belted out Shania Twain's 'Man! I Feel Like a Woman!', what should have been an exercise in communal cringing was actually one of the most touching things I've seen in a long time. Number one, Janelle can really sing! Her contagious enthusiasm truly put Shania to shame. Number two, seeing a couple singing together in front of all their friends and family (and on Janelle's 30th birthday) was actually really special, because we got to see this very personal and rare kind of interaction between them. It was so lovely. The party took place in a country hall, and I love the down-to-earth vibe that Jay's classic VB can and the exposed brick wall lend to the shot.

Still in the country, but this time for a monumental milestone of another kind. A high school reunion is a pretty frightening prospect in some ways. Who do you want to see? Who don't you want to see? How many awkward conversations can you bear in one night? How long before you start making up outrageous stories about your life just to spice things up? Not to mention the self-reflection that goes on when you are forced to ask yourself, Am I where I wanted to be ten years after leaving the proverbial nest?

Contrary to that spiel, the above subject is not a member of my graduating class. He did go to my school, though he was two years above me. As far as I can tell he's established himself as a successful DJ in his home town. But this photo isn't about him and his life; I took it because while a DJ behind the decks isn't particularly interesting, one with a giant, sexist Jim Beam flag behind him is a lot more appealing. Evidently this alcohol brand had a big promotion going on in the local pub, because this wasn't the only delightful bit of propaganda plastered to the walls. I'm sure this kind of thing isn't specific to the country, but I found it attractive because the places I tend to frequent don't really do this kind of heavy promotion, so it's somewhat novel to me.

Nicole and Leo - this time, they are members of my graduating class - have been great friends for over a decade now. But they are most certainly not lovers. Which is fascinating, because when I look at this photo, I see a very personal moment between two lovers. The intensity in Leo's eyes is pretty penetrating, and Nicole's expression epitomises sultry. So what's going on? Seeing as interpretation in this case depends heavily on the viewer's level of knowledge about the subjects, I suppose it is all in the eye of the beholder.

When people are aware you're taking their picture in a social setting, to a certain extent it's down to them to transform it from a boring snapshot into an interesting image. Laird and Clinton do a pretty good job of that here. What's particularly interesting - and again, this depends on knowledge of the subjects - is that while these two look like old mates, with their jovial expressions and relaxed demeanour, they weren't actually friends in high school. Which makes for a curious case of what ten years can do to people; you either move on, grow and change, becoming open to new people (or new friendships with not-so-new people), or you don't. I like the idea of the former, and I'm glad I got to capture such a thing on film.

the happiest place on earth

Admittedly, I've never been to Disneyland. But I understand why the folks with the mouse ears claim to have built the most wonderful, joyous place that the young and young at heart could ever dream of. I have always loved Disney cartoons, and as a child the idea of a journey to that World really was the ultimate dream; watching lucky strangers win trips to the holy grail week after week on Saturday Disney was about as torturous as it got in my life as a seven-year-old.

The thing is, though, while I don't deny the magic that Disneyland creates for children who are lucky enough to get there, for the rest of us it is simply a reminder that we can't go to the Happiest Place on Earth: we're too unlucky, too far away, too poor. Which means that Disneyland, and to a lesser extent, local theme parks like Movie World, are for most of us a slap in the face, taunting us with what we will never have. That we somehow aren't good enough to experience real happiness™.

While I'm sure that kids visiting Disneyland do experience a large dose of happiness, they do so at the hands of a global corporation that uses its theme parks to push endless multimedia properties and sell millions of utterly disposable souvenirs, and they also do so at great expense to their parents.

I know at this point I sound extremely cynical, and I could also quite justifiably be accused of killing large amounts of joy. However, I do so only as an introduction to something that I am significantly less hostile towards.

The wonderful place that is Darwin has a little park located just a short drive from its city centre. It has three super-dooper water slides, a large man-made lagoon, a water playground complete with a giant bucket that periodically dumps its refreshing contents onto whomever happens to be standing below it, and plenty of communal BBQs for those all-important meals. While this park, the Leanyer Recreation Park, probably doesn't bring as much happiness™ as the land of the Mouse, I guarantee that it brings a whole lot less unhappiness to children that are aware of its presence. The simple reason is this: the park is free. Open to all. Unlimited, free rides on the water slides. You can slide all day if it takes your fancy. (And in Darwin weather, it just might.) Unlimited opportunities to stand under a giant bucket full of water, waiting nervously for the drop while surrounding kids giddily tell you that you're not allowed to look at the bucket for fear of ruining the gleeful shock of the water dump.

Its well-worn playthings, with their bright, non-corporate colours, are as wonderful now as I imagine they were for the first children that used them, simply because they are free and available to use. Like the toddler who gets more joy out of the cardboard box than the overpriced toy within, kids at this park don't need fancy cartoon characters or overblown gimmicks, they just need a place that facilitates their energy and their imaginations, a place where they can play together without worrying about where they come from or how much money their family doesn't have.

I went to this park earlier this year with my family - me, my older sister, my mum and my dad. Four adults. We all went on each of the three slides at least once, and stood under the bucket together, letting out hilarious cries of suprise when we got drenched (much to the delight of the more experienced nine-year-olds watching on). It was one of the few totally free activities we took part in on that trip, and it was truly one of the happiest. No trademark necessary.

saskwatch through a plastic lens (or two)

Why do people in big bands keep asking me to take photos of them?

Well, to clarify, there are only two bands. And actually, I love shooting Eagle and the Worm. I also loved shooting the marvellous group of cool cats that make up this most excellent band, Saskwatch. Apart from the fact that it was a lovely group of people to be around for a few hours on a cold Saturday afternoon, I think I enjoyed doing this largely because Liam really did all the work; I simply loaded, pointed, focused and clicked.

Liam had scouted all the locations (which were very usefully within walking distance of one another), and he basically directed the whole thing. With so much excellent input on his part, I imagine he could have asked anyone who is handy with a camera to take the shots and he still would have ended up with some pretty bangin' images of the band. But Liam had previously expressed a preference for authentic film photography, so I suppose that's why he asked me. And if I don't say so myself, the above image is something that most other photographers would never have produced due to the specific combination of film, camera and developing process.

This is the stand-out image of the day for me. I've never seen this film produce these colours. It's totally wild. The actual subjects are very typically composed for a band shot, and I think that familiarity makes the psychedelia of the colours more effective.

Most of the film I shot on that awfully windy and icy afternoon was actually 35mm in my SLRs. But knowing Liam dug the ultra-film look, I went out of my way to shoot with my plastic cameras too. The results, as you can see, are pretty interesting if nothing else. While the lack of clarity may not be ideal for many publicity purposes (which I have written about before), they add something to the images that is really special.

This photo is a case in point. While the colours aren't as outrageous as the previous shot (though their ordinariness is wonderful in and of itself), the fabulous square frames on the bridge effectively reveal just how much these plastic lenses distort the images around the edges. I mean, can you believe these bridge frames are actually square? The symmetry in the distortion is close to perfect here, almost to the point that it looks like some kind of amazing avant-garde structural design.

I used some standard colour film for the first set-up too, which compared to the slide film looks pretty ordinary. But I love this photo. Not just because the washed-out colours have a particularly lovely vintage feel, but because it captures a great scene that, by chance, no other camera did. The little dog came from nowhere and excitedly raced past, disrupting the perfect formation that everyone was making every effort to hold. It's a really nice, unguarded moment.

Probably one of the best set-ups, Liam came across an abandoned armchair in this section of landscaping under the freeway overpass and thought it was too good not to use. I completely agree, though I'm not sure Nkechi did - I have to give her kudos for sitting through at least one spider attack. The concrete wall at the back, though subtle, adds this great atmosphere to the shot - very grimy, industrial, and also quite fascinating in that you wonder where the hell they are that has an armchair, lanscaping and a giant ugly concrete wall.

Similar to the bridge distortion on display earlier, this image has another prominent plastic-camera side effect: the light leak. This particular feature of plastic camera photography is alternately a blessing and a curse. There is a very fine line between a leak that adds character and a leak that completely ruins a photo. Happily, the light leak in this instance performs the former function.

While the light leak is great, for me it doesn't compare to the brilliance of the incredibly gothic colour tones in this photo. The atmosphere evoked by the location, the colours, the serious expressions on each face - and even the fact that Rob looks like he's disappearing into the shadows - is really beautiful. Unfortunately, the film is slightly underexposed so this image represents a rare occasion where I have had to do some relatively significant digital setting alterations in order to get a workable result. I don't usually do that, but in this case it is one hundred per cent worth it, and I'm sure the adjustments could be made in a darkroom too, if I'm getting really pedantic about the authenticity of my photos.

There were some great results from the 35mm shots too, but it's wonderful to be reminded that these often unreliable plastic cameras are capable of producing results beyond abstract shapes and colours. That there are so many variations in the plastic camera photos from the day make this project even more rewarding, because while I will never gain complete control over these notoriously temperamental pieces of equipment, it's nice to have a vague idea of the excellent images that they are occasionally capable of.

being social, documenting it

I've posted black and white social photography several times before, and it's something that I'm still very much interested in. It seems that this time each year, the social calendar starts to fill rapidly, which continues at an accelerated pace until the end of January - or even the end of summer in some cases. Having attended several of these calendar-crowding events already, I have quite a bit of visual documentation of people in the night of Melbourne.

Andrew is the brother of one of my divine housemates, and he was staying with us while visiting from Adelaide. I took this photo at our friend's house party late on Saturday night, when Andrew was evidently intoxicated enough to pose with little inhibition. Thank goodness! What a photo!

Speaking of housemates, here they both are with Andrew's lovely friend Craig (also known as Creg). It's a wonderfully animated moment - the kind that were rarely captured before camera phones became ubiquitous. Those moments that you look at in days following the event and wonder, What was going on here? Why is Shasta doing that to Craig? Why does Craig have that expression? What does Megan think at this point? While the digital photo revolution means that we see more of these moments captured, it is something else to see them captured on beautiful film, with a good camera and with composition that doesn't recall the work of a three-year-old.

The family photo is a time-honoured tradition whereby members of the same clan pose with their loveliest faces on display so that their image, as a family, will be on record for future generations to treasure. If you take into account alcohol and a group of siblings that are awkward (Imogen), spacey (Liam) and excessively modest (Portia), then you don't really get a conventional family portrait. The thing is, those personality traits I just attributed to each subject, and which kind of ruin the photo, are also some of the most wonderful, endearing things about this irresistible group of siblings. I love you guys! And I love this photo. It's got character by the truckload, and isn't that the point of portraiture?

We took another photo that was much better, but it was so much worse. It was boring.

Like the dancefloor image above, this is another pretty standard scene - people talking, people drinking - but there's a lovely symmetry here and again, it's full of character. This particular film has been giving me a lot of trouble lately, hence the smudging and scratching (particularly that lethal-looking tear on Laird's neck), but let's just say it adds to the authenticity of the image and accept it for what it is. And smugly revel in the fact that an iPhone app would never do this.