I am attracted to imperfect and unpolished photography. Photography with some grit and grain. A bit raw, a bit solitary. Photography as a stillpoint in the eye of a turbulent world. Sometimes quite abstract and sometimes like this next series of photographs, with a grungy touch to them. It happens this style makes my photography being referred to as paintings. I kind of like that too. My camera simultaneously the lens and the paintbrush with which I aspire to capture the world as I see it.
Usually my photographs are without colours, but on some occasions, as when a robin passes by, there’s no way I can convey its uniqueness without showing its universally loved and recognisable red chest.
It was freezing cold and the air full of whirling snowflakes. Some settled on the ground and collectively created a thick layer of white, others whirled on, sideways, towards unknown destinations… A closer look on the robins feathers, you can see even they got ‘airlifted’ a bit. Several times I had to go out and break the ice for the birds to drink. Yesterday it was like a train station of winged visitors and one excessively cute creature… to be seen in following posts.
*John 3:8 (I feel no connection with any religion or belief system whatsoever, but this quote popped into my head as I was writing this post and I found it very fitting)
[…] post and introduction to the ‘Grunge series’‘Grunge – Robin; “the wind bloweth where it listeth” (I)’ Excerpt: “It was freezing cold and the air full of whirling snowflakes. Some settled on the […]