plastic summer

Whenever I see sun-drenched, washed-out images like this, I can't help but think of this song. Like the tune, such photos automatically bring to mind memories of wilting in front of fans, feeling the heat rise from the footpaths, aching for the ocean, tasting sweat on your upper lip. Sure, a lot of these things are unpleasant, but their very existence implies greater things that only summer can deliver: quenching that desire for the sea in one glorious dive, walking barefoot through the balmy air of a hot night without the need for a cardigan, embracing the sweat and giving in completely to the all-encompassing feeling of heat. It's a pretty marvellous thing.

The weather is brilliant in its capacity to pardon behaviour that would otherwise be deemed somewhat inappropriate. Like lying on the couch with your housemates all day, taking turns to spray each other with water from a $2.99 Kmart spray bottle, because your beautiful old house is badly insulated and you don't have air con and there's not a damn thing else you can do.

Driving in the summer. Everyone remembers what it was like to take family trips in a car where the air con consisted of four windows wound as far down as they could go and the wind matted your hair and threatened to blow all your eyelashes off while it was at it. Hell, if you're anything like me it's not even a distant memory; who doesn't have a friend who drives a bomb? I reckon Craig here is in a car that would definitely have air con, but perhaps with an eight-hour, hungover drive to Adelaide ahead of him, cool air isn't that great a consolation.

Well it wouldn't be summer in Australia without alcoholic refreshments, and it wouldn't be summer in Melbourne without a bloody beer garden or two. The smoking laws mean that beer gardens are utilised year-round as those craving nicotine are happy to brave the crisp air, even in the depths of winter, in order to indulge the addiction. The upside of this is now we have even more choice when it comes to outdoor drinking in the warmer months. Providing blessed shade while the sun is fiercely high in the sky, the umbrellas soon become redundant as that gloriously gentle setting sun creeps under their domain and bathes the drinkers with an early evening embrace. Warm, golden sun, ice cold cider, the promise of a joyously warm night ahead: is there anything better?

Summer in Melbourne can be pretty ruthless at times, but I say roll with it, take the lows with the highs and give thanks for the kind of conditions that we can only dream of during those brutally icy mid-year months.

portrait of the week: maydia

I couldn't decide what to post about today so I have gone back to the portrait of the week idea in order to stall a little before I post a larger entry. But this photo is actually worth more than just a fill-in between 'proper' posts. There are a couple of reasons why this is very deserving of its own post. Firstly, it's my sister, stupid! So naturally she should be entitled to stand out on this blog. Secondly, this photo is fantastic! Anyone who has visited this blog before would know that I'm crazy about the black-and-white film/flash combination, so that automatically adds appeal to the image. Then there is the expression - so full of character while at the same time extremely flattering! Win-win!

The story behind this photo also adds some interest, if only to me. We were at a house party in Fitzroy while Maydia was down for the Christmas break, and quite late into the evening we went into the bathroom. Why? Hmm, admittedly the memory is a little hazy here. Possibly to discuss something away from the crowds and the music, but more likely we both needed to use the bathroom and were sufficiently inebriated not to worry about sharing the experience, so to speak. In any case, Maydia was sitting on the edge of the bath, and when I decided to take a photo of her, this is the expression she pulled. Thanks, Maydia!

I've written before about the benefits of taking photos late into an evening, when the drinks have been flowing. This is more proof of such benefits - because not only do I get a completely uninhibited portrait, but I have captured a memory that I'm pretty sure wouldn't be there without photographic evidence. Admittedly, I treat my cameras somewhat poorly after a few drinks, but with results like this, I have to say, SOZ, CAMERAS. You're going to be bashed around for a while to come.

putting your cutest feet forward

Even the most straightforward photos of kids are invariably gorgeous. Everything we know is miniaturised and injected with a whole lot of innocence, and it's a combination that is sure to melt hearts and elicit a lot of 'oohs' and 'aahs'. I recently spent a couple of hours with three precious kids that I am lucky enough to be very close to, and I took a couple of rolls of film of their irresistible faces. But I found myself completely (and surprisingly) drawn to their feet.

It got me thinking about photos of feet. Feet don't have a face with which to express emotion. And while feet and legs are relatively flexible, there is a limit on the number of ways you can make feet look different. I mean, feet are feet. Some are less attractive than others, but really, they all look pretty similar. So why do they make interesting photos? Well in the case of the top photo, the interest is definitely in what you can't see: where is she that enables her legs to dangle like that? The fence in the background is subtle but adds a nice element of the ordinary, and perhaps of backyards, which leads to the idea of playing. The different placement of the legs also suggests that the owner of said legs is climbing. So it says a lot about what's happening without showing much at all. I adore that photo. The one immediately above this paragraph holds the answer to the initial riddle: the kids are on a swingset. This one isn't as effective as the top one, but I still love it because there are so many things in it that are universal signs of childhood: bare feet, classic swingset, climbing as play, backyard/fence, and perhaps getting up to mischief by climbing above the swing instead of swinging on it.

Feet are absolutely the star of this shot. For starters, the only part of Holly that is in sharp focus is her feet. Her gloriously dirty feet! Secondly, Holly is looking up at the owner of the feet on the slide - but we can't see who it is, so we wonder what the interaction is between the two kids. All we have as a clue is the first child's feet and the direction of Holly's glance (and the expression on her face!).

So adorable. While it looks out of focus (and largely is), the sharp focus exists on that very small part of her body - yes, her feet. Probably appealing because it's just a little different to usual photos of kids on swings, both in the focus and the angle. And the fact that we don't see a face - the character is discerned from her sitting position (very childlike and unladylike - very like Holly), her clothes, and her gorgeous little half-painted-toenailed feet.


This black and white image is such a spot-on portrait of Holly. Unbelievable. She is defiant and stubborn - and the position of her feet leads me to imagine that she was standing just so, with hands on hips, ready to argue with anyone game enough. She is a total dag, and almost tomboyish, which is in complete opposition to her wonderfully girly sister Jas, and you get that in this image, too: she is evidently OK with dirty feet, wearing only one thong, and wearing that thong on the wrong foot. What an amazingly cute kid.

And here they are again, making another grubby appearance. This is great because you can tell she is on a swing as her legs are dangling, so it adds a kind of movement to the image. And again, it has so many elements of childhood - the bare feet, the willingness to get them as dirty as possible, the joy of feeling dirt between your toes and not caring at all, the grass, the toy in the background. The narrow depth of field enhances the photo too, and for me lifts it above your standard snapshot.  I also love this because it goes some way towards explaining why her feet are so grubby in the other photos!

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.