This will hurt me...

The artist at work.

The view north from Salmanca Place in the evening, rendered as a 1980s synth-pop album inner sleeve. May 2010. Theme Thursday and I'm in a rush! What a surprise. WRINKLE. Hmmmm. Wrin·kle. Noun . (rngkl) Hmmmm. "1. A small furrow, ridge, or crease on a normally smooth surface, caused by crumpling, folding, or shrinking." Hmmmm. No . "2. A line or crease in the skin, as from age." No . "3. A clever trick, method, or device, especially one that is new and different." Closer . Far closer. "4. A problem or imperfection; a fault." GOT IT! Combine four and three and I can link today's theme with the photo chosen randomly last week. An unsteady hand, low levels of light and an unpredictable bus schedule lead to a series of photographs that exhibited a WRINKLE (that is, WRINKLE as outlined in definition four ). My WRINKLE (see definition three ), was to utilise mediocre significant PhotoShop skills and render said presentable image through a...

The MOMA FOMA festival of wank art and annoying noise sound is well and truly over (the sirens and the sandpit no longer outside of the office window). Despite this however, the needs of Theme Thursday have seen me dig into the grab bag of photos and yet again fish out a self portrait. The theme today is, if you haven't already guessed, MIRROR. Rather than hold up a MIRROR to my emotional and psychological state (and equally depress and amuse you all), I've opted for the easy strategy of a ambiguous self portrait. I've done a few , some straightforward , some with kids , and, of course , some alone .

No, that isn't ice on the branches there. I do like the way that it kind of looks that way though. This was taken somewhere in Hobart, although I don't truly recall where, or when. Lately though. It was taken of late. By the look of the angle of the sun, I'd be guessing late-morning. Tuesday Q and A ! It's an easy one this one. In the deepest voice that I can muster: Why are people so unkind?

Looking skyward on the corner of Elizabeth Street and Franklin Wharf. That's the sharp edge of the Marine Board Building, a tree and a street sign. I like the colours on this one, very 'cool', very 'early morning'. The locals hate this building, but it is interesting enough to feature on this blog a few times already . Anyway, enough of buildings pack with bureaucrats, we have a Theme Thursday topic to tackle! [Cue meandering post.] I might not have mentioned it already on this blog, but I have two sons . Both of my children are charismatic, engaging fellows with a flair for the dramatic. They share a gift for music; they are blessed with a natural rhythm that permits them both tremendous dancing skills; they have seemingly innate abilities in the field of manipulation persuasion; an enormous egotism confidence; immense physical stamina and strength; yet sensitive, compassionate natures. This curse These gifts that both share have led me to ponder the likelihood...

Pebbles. Water. Sunlight. I think that's all you need to have something halfway interesting. I took this one down in Salamanca, it's part of the statue/fountain combination dedicated to Abel Tasman and the Mighty Dutch Empire plucky little Koninkrijk der Nederlanden . Time for Sunday Top Five! Five Things Better Than The English Cricket Team Henry's toilet nous: we had another poo this morning. Ezra's standing abilities: not much falling over these days. Studly North West Coast swing bowlers: Hilfenhaus is the pick of the bowlers. How the poms wish that they could call up some Tasmanians! (Given that the past two English captains are South African, you wonder why they don't.) West Indian Scab Cricketers: the motley crew of strikebreakers are trouncing Bangladesh, and would no doubt wallop the pride of England (and Wales). Turnips: turnips are better than the English cricket team. Trust me.

Looking through a crack in a wall yields little result. At the very least I was expecting a fair maiden bathing herself. I'm still laid up with the dreaded flu. Not much more to say...

Self portrait taken out the back of the Hydro building on Morrison street last week. I like to think that this has a Leipzig '85 vibe to it. Oh the heady days of Leipzig '85, wie wir vermissen Dich !

There are a few of these fences dotted about the Battery Point area. I think that they are far more interesting up nice and close than they are when viewed from a distance. I had to go to Launceston for work yesterday. I hated it. I did, however, see a monkey eating an icy pole. Photos to come.

Here's a close up of a knot on a tree in the park. It was right at the top of the tree, but I had no need to climb it. Such is the power of the zoom! Here are five unimportant facts about me: I am 193 centimetres tall. I am considerably younger than my old dear wife. It is something like THREE months. I like lists. I hate Katherine Hepburn. I find her a ye olde version of Nicole Kidman, and I rank Nicole Kidman right up there with spinal meningitis. I am going to the beach right now.

Look at those rippling muscles. Look at that fine hand-eye co-ordination. Look at that steely determination to succeed whatever the cost. This lad has the makings of a champion, mark my words! Pros and Cons of Toddlers Part Three Pro #3: They're FORGIVING . One of my strengths weaknesses is my ability, nay gift , at holding a grudge. Quick to judgement, forgiveness does not come easy for me, as I am a hard taskmaster . While Henry is quick to judge, and sets exceptionally high standards , he is also rapid and absolute in his ability to absolve one of any potential antipathy or resentment. That’s something to admire in a man, I think. Con #3: They're TEMPERAMENTAL . I've already noted Henry's ability to swiftly offer pardon, this is matched by his tendency to violently and impulsively alter his mood and expectations. One minute you can be happily playing a game of chess, the next minute he’s thrown the board out the window and has a broken whisky bottle at your throat....

Is that Paul Newman and Robert Redford? A bit of post-production work in the endeavour to creative a 1960s film classic out of a photograph taken with difficult light. I'm considering it a success!

Some time ago I posted a similar shot , taken at a similar time, of who I think are the same pair. The difference is of course in the colour. Maybe someone of a more scientific bent can explain to me why this morning displayed a golden hue, and the previous shot was of a pinkish tendency. Now, I happen to like today's photo a little bit more than the one of a month ago. Now I want to know which one you like better? Why?

Ezra loves the vacuum cleaner, LOVES it. I would go so far to say that it is his favourite thing at the moment. If I let him, he'd vacuum morning noon and night. I like this photo, if you don't mind me commenting. There is a subtlety to the colour, tone and light that I wish I could replicate at will. I'm not one of those "straight out of the camera" Nazis, but this one was!

Although it's not a wet and eager Bo Derek slowly emerging from the surf in a one piece and simply dripping with charm , I firmly believe that the above glamour shot of Ezra is very much worthy of a 10 . You see, it's already Theme Thursday again, and this week's challenge was the word TEN . In the spirit of the motion picture about a horny middle-aged man from 1979, Ezra and I decided to do a photo shoot in a style that I like to call "late-70s Playboy". Customarily, this would involve an interior shoot on carpet, with broken sunlight swathed across a curvaceous brunette wearing little more than a smile and a strategically placed prop. Whether or not you have Brian Ferry records gently crooning off in the corner is entirely up to you. In the interest of good taste though, coupled with the fact that I am certain that Jennifer would refuse (and probably storm off), I decided stick on some Roxy Music and go with a [somewhat] dressed and slightly less curvilinear –...

Someone has made a run for it at the traffic lights at the corner of Davey and Murray, but it appears that they didn't make it. I once saw a fellow walk straight into heavy traffic here one morning - we're talking the busiest and most dangerous it gets here in Hobart - and somehow miraculously avoid being squashed. He did fit the profile of someone with comorbid mental health/alcohol and other drug affected (and believe me, I've had far more experience with that crowd that I'd care to relive), which would explain his not following my advice against wading into heavy traffic (and evading my grasp of his shoulder). Which reminds me, I am often given pause for thought on why the socially isolated and [ostensibly] mentally unbalanced , are drawn to me when it comes to public transport. Now, you know the ones that I’m talking about, the flotsam and jetsam of our society. The people that ride the buses for somebody to talk to and because they have little else to do. Those ind...

Here is another of my experiments in photography water surfaces. You might remember some of the others that I have posted in the past . There is one more thing that I would like to say: I love you all so much .

I like lines on buildings, as some of my previous photographs can attest to. There is a potentially cruel consequence from wandering around armed with a camera looking for interesting images: I'm starting to appreciate, and indeed even like Brutalist architecture . There. I said it. I had a Trini Lopez kind of day yesterday. Fair dinkum, I was like little Trini with his hammer nonstop. I hammered in the morning, I hammered in the evening, I hammered out danger, I hammered out a warning, I hammered about the love between my brothers and my sisters. Really, I hammered all over this land. Thank Christ I didn’t have a bell! [Yes, I am aware that it is Pete Seeger’s song, but there is a part of my heart that remains forever Trini...]

Henry has graciously agreed to offer up one of his photographs as fodder for an experiment in digital manipulation. This one has all of the hallmarks of great photojournalism. A body has been found, foul play suspected, yet no motive nor suspect to speak of. The police are at wits' end, and a keen amateur sleuth is called up to investigate, with little more than a magnifying glass, a stick and a keen sense of justice.

There was an international triatholon around these parts some weeks ago, and there were these metal railings scattered everywhere around town. I quite liked the formation of these and took a snap. I don't know who won, but I suspect that they were tired. I will admit that I find it depressing when I see the cool teens about town dressed very much in the style of 1986. To my mind, 1986 was a rather bleak period for fashion. Bad hair, too many colour clashes and ridiculous sun glasses. Why any young man would want to walk around looking like Brian Mannix is beyond my comprehension. I certainly would not like to deny the lad his right to do so, but I can't deny my inclination to shake my head at the Joseph and his techicolour vomit t-shirt. But it isn't poor taste that depresses me. Poor taste is pervasive in any era. What depresses me is that for Master Mannix-II, 1986 would equate to 1969 in McCracken lifespan-adjusted years. Am I really that old? Do people my age bore peop...