There are no rules for good photographs, there are only good photographs.

It's all about your perspective. Marieville Esplanade looking up Napoleon Street, the Sandy Bay/Battery Point border. July 2011.

I always think that if you find yourself out and about armed with a camera and don't come home with dirty knees, you haven't done all that you can do in pursuit of a halfway decent photograph. Granted, the older I get the more difficult it is to get back up without straining some muscle somewhere or dislocating a kneecap, but are we not supposed to suffer for our art?

Now I'm not talking about nailing one's old fellow to a two by four or self flagellation atop a canvas. I just mean get down in the dirt and check out those parallel lines. Tired of another photo of the clouds? Try it lying flat on your back. You might be surprised at what you see if you mix you angles up a bit.

Comments

Mo said…

I agree.

7 July 2011 at 17:26

Carola said…

I agree too. But for sure you have to have the right aperture.

8 July 2011 at 19:25

Kris McCracken said…

It appears that we have agreement!

13 July 2011 at 08:53

If you want to be loved, be lovable.

Henry admires the view.

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral

Zeal, n. A certain nervous disorder afflicting the young and inexperienced. A passion that goeth before a sprawl.

Here I have tried my hand at the homemade sepia-toned photo. I wasn’t happy with the way that the sun had washed out some of the colours in the original, so had a bit of a fiddle because I like the look on Henry’s face, and didn’t want to pass on posting it. I have a tip for those of you burdened with the great, unceasing weight of parenthood. I have a new recipe, in the vein of the quick microwaved chocolate cake . Get this, microwaved potato chips . I gave them a run on Sunday, Henry liked the so much I did it again last night. Tonight, I shall be experimenting with sweet potato. I think that the ground is open for me to exploit opportunities in the swede, turnip, carrot and maybe even explore in the area of pumpkins. Radical, I know. I’m a boundary-pusher by nature. It's pretty simple, take the potato. Slice it thinly (it doesn't have to be too thin, but thin enough). Lay the slices on the microwave plate, whack a bit of salt over the top and nuke the buggers for five minut

This will hurt me...

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