shakin' with the bluebottles

I had never heard The Bluebottles when Mic asked me to take photos for his new band. But that didn't matter: Mic had reference shots for me. Seeing as it was, apparently, an instrumental surf guitar band, the images we were working from were straight outta the sixties. Cheesy and over-the-top; just a bunch of good clean white boys having fun with guitars. (A side note on this particular image: in Googling around for info while writing this post, I came across what may be the only ever example of a drawing based on one of my photos. Awesome.)

We used colour and black and white because the old bands tended to use a lot of both, but because the reference shots were largely studio shots and we weren't in a studio, we had to accept that there would be some photoshopping necessary to get that flawless, smooth sixties look. (The photos here are the originals, though - I don't put any photoshopped work on this blog! Hence the unsightly white sheet in a lot of them.)

Getting the cheese to flow, so to speak, was pretty easy with these four - primarily because Rich and Jim have it in abundance, with or without a camera present. It made for a highly entertaining couple of hours, as well as some amazingly hilarious images.

Yeah, they were pretty great subjects. Even from these portraits it's clear which two like to pull faces. But evidently, the need for tomfoolery was merely encouragement for these two - encouragement to take it much further than anyone needed it to go. And so I leave you with a few of the unconventional gems of the day - photos that definitely couldn't (or shouldn't) be used for promotional purposes.

the many faces of holly

Caught off-guard.
Concentrating.
Show-off.
Ravenous.
Camera smile. 
Pretending not to pose.
Cracked it.

Or:

Beautiful.
Beautiful.
Beautiful.
Beautiful.
Beautiful.
Beautiful.
Beautiful.

yellow fever

Taking flash photos of people late into the night appeals to me immensely. There are two main reasons for this: it's quite simple once you have the settings right, as you don't have to worry too much about lighting; and depending on where you are, late into the night people are often (usually) a little intoxicated, making for some interesting, if not technically perfect, images. Take this one, for example. One person isn't even in focus! But that's ok (or so I think, anyway), because there is enough character here to redeem it.

In the past, I have used the multi-colour flashes for colour photos on my plastic cameras, or a bright white flash for my high-contrast 35mm black and white images. I have always been reluctant to take colour 35mm photos using a flash, because the speedlight tends to wash people out, unless you are an expert with diffusers and bouncing techniques (which I am not). But then it came to me: put a coloured filter on the speedlight! And so we have these canary-tinted photos from early 2012.

It all started with Saskwatch. Liam worked really closely with me to achieve a pretty specific vision for the latest shoot we did (more on that another time), and one of the things we decided to pursue pretty heavily was coloured flashes. So I bought some filters and experimented to see what they would do. This shot probably won't be used for promotional purposes (I always get a lot of these, as you would know if you happen to read my blog even semi-regularly), but it is a wonderful picture of nine particularly unique personalities who somehow manage to work beautifully together.

The yellow flash does for colour what black and white does for everything: smooths bad complexions and gives ordinary scenes an element of the extraordinary. But it's not only people that benefit from the kiss of the golden light: inanimate objects take on a pretty fascinating look, too. These flowers would look stunning no matter how you shot them, but this hue turns the photo into a real curiosity, because we're seeing something very familiar in a way that we most probably haven't seen before.

All the other photos here are taken on a very straightforward colour film; there isn't a need for special film, because the flash does all the work. But I did try it out on slide film, which I thought was a bit of a waste at the time, but I needed to finish the roll and so I shot with the yellow flash. I'm so glad I did! Look at the gorgeous greens that come out as a contrast to the warm yellow. And look at that dress! Have you ever seen such a vibrant red?! Well, you probably have, but still - this is pretty phenomenal. An expensive endeavour, as slide film always is, but totally worth it in this case. (Probably much like Rhiannon's dress.)

So, ok, the yellow flash gives something special to the ordinary, or takes something lovely and makes it unusually lovely. But then there are those images that, aside from any camera adjustments or fancy film, are always going to be special. And by special, in this case, I mean marvellously absurd. There really isn't much to say about this that you can't tell by looking at Tom's eyes, and at Meagan's overall expression. Yellow flash or otherwise, this is one damn good photo. Which is always, always the aim.

portrait of the week: d'arcy

When I take portraits of people, I usually get in pretty close. Faces are fascinating, and surely the reason portraits are perenially appealing. Maybe that's why I struggle to determine an opinion on this image - I'm just not used to this type of composition. I definitely do like it, but I'm not sure how much and for what reason(s). One thing I am confident of is that it looks much better when enlarged - being able to really see D'Arcy's face enhances the image immensely - so click on it before making your judgement.

I took a lot of photos of D'Arc that day, and some of them are lovely. But I'm not sure he thinks so - he had been up almost all night working madly on an application for an elite filmmaking course (which succeeded! hooray!) so he wasn't feeling super photogenic - and here one of the benefits of the long shot reveals itself. Instead of looking overworked and underslept, he looks merely pensive and intellectual! And perhaps, instead of seeing someone wishing for a warm bed free of the deadline blues, we can look at him here from afar and imagine that he is hatching a brilliant idea for his next celluloid masterpiece.

another trip to the amphitheatre

Golden Plains was pretty special this year. I mean, most Aunty Meredith devotees would say that every event is out-of-this-world amazing, regardless of weather, line-up or company. But this Golden Plains Sixxx hit it out of the park on all fronts: wonderful company made up of a group of close friends; weather that demanded bare limbs during the day and jumpers after sundown; and a diverse line-up that included everyone from world-class soul icons (Charles Bradley) to bright young things (First Aid Kit) and even my dear friends and photographic subjects Saskwatch (who, in a moment of great albeit unwarranted pride for me, had the entire amphitheatre ecstatically involved).

Somewhat surprisingly, I didn't take many photos. I think it was a case of wanting to enjoy the festival, make the most of the ambiance and avoid missing anything because of a camera over my face. This is probably not great photographic practice, but it made for a wonderful festival.

But I did take some photos. And while they're not brilliant, and they're certainly not plentiful, they are unmistakably of the moment, and enough to ensure some memories of the long weekend will stick around for a while yet.

portrait of the week: megan

There's not much of a story to this one; it's just one of those shots that was taken along with many others, late on a Saturday night, at a party. There are some good images and there are some ordinary images from the night, but this one stands out from the rest on account of two things: it's a gorgeous portrait, and it is a bit of a photographic non sequitur. Why is she on an old-fashioned phone? Why is there an old-fashioned phone on top of the fridge? Why does she look so wonderfully serious about the phone call? It doesn't look like a party shot - there is no one else around - and Megan looks so convincingly business-like, even the way she is holding the receiver!

The truth is, it is at a party. It is after midnight. Megan had been drinking most of the day (who would know! She looks so great and bright-eyed!). The receiver was some kind of digital novelty that plugs into a mobile phone. There was no one on the other end of the line.

An unexpectedly fabulous party portrait.

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.