My mind is tired...exhausted hands write these lines of defiance. Do you know why wild roses became my favourites? They grew out of a pile of rocks by the roadside,knocked about and constantly cut. Still beautiful. Still sharp and bright. Though dirty and torn..
Push me, leave me, deport me, ruin me, I will still create. I will do this til it kills me and then blood can pour through the memories because This Will Last. Because it has to. Because I need it to.
A new era of my photographs is starting, has started already. It will be darker. Grittier. Closer. But more alive. It's pictures of a lost and chaotic transition through poverty and the people that follows me through it. One day this will all be over. In the meantime..I'll call this part of my artistic exploration "on the edge of destitution".
Let's begin.
