Swarm

It was as simple as ‘get to the top of Finland and turn left’. 

At least that is what my memory tells me.

My days had been spent discovering just how big moose are, enjoying the elation of entering the arctic circle for the first time and floating through time, exposing film after film, as Finland morphed into Norway and trees shrank in size while the moss grew in stature.

As I pulled up at a T-Junction, further north than my wildest dreams had ever taken me, the day was calm and sunny, my windows were open and I was taking in the smells and sounds of Northern Scandinavia. 

Look left.

Sublime.

Look right.

Perfect.



Look left again. 

No one, nothing, deserted – just me, all alone in the arctic circle. 

All my dreams come true.

Yet something  – not much, but enough to attract my attention – was not right.

I registered a low hum, a deep bass…just enough to make me glance right again.

There was nothing there, but I was in absolutely no rush, life was good and all was well with the world. 

So I kept looking, breathing, relaxing, waiting.

The hum, rising gradually in my chest was spreading into the rest of my body, as there on the horizon, cresting a slight hill, an insignificant speck morphs into existence.

I stare, I wait.

The hum increases.

The speck becomes a motorbike.

I have no desire to pull out in front of a bike, even if it is still way away in the distance.

I stare, I wait.

The hum increases, more than it should. Way more than it should. My body is now resonating in a worrying way.

I stare, I wait.

The bike spreads and grows, morphs into many, many bikes. As if it is leaving itself behind – It is getting closer, yet at the same time not leaving the horizon. 

I stare, I wait.

Ready?

A streak, a flash, a rumble, my neck pivots, my head spins and the child in me starts counting.

One.

My head spins back, but already five more bikes have passed.

TwoThreeFourFiveSixSe…

The adult in me stops counting, registering a hopeless task when it sees one.

The bike – for surely it must be recognised as a single entity now – is simultaneously blurring past me, and appearing over the horizon, singing to me, seducing me with its deep rumble of a heart stopping voice.

The child in me grins, laughs and enjoys.

The adult in me starts to feel impatient.

The child wins.

There is no rush.

Harleys, beards, tattoos, choppers, handlebars, chrome, leather, goggles, cliches…all flash, blur, flash, flash, blur past…a feast for my eyes, a feast for my soul.

I sit back and I watch, I feel and I wait.

Ready to turn left.

Latest

Blog_Cover_Swarm_500x345

Swarm

It was as simple as ‘get to the top of Finland and turn left’.  At least that is

Blog_Odadahraun_Desert_Iceland_Aug_2015

Blink and you’ll miss it

Iceland. Never has the essence of a country so closely resembled the way in which I see the

F01-33D_blog_cover

Under the Stars in Madagascar

There are times when writing about memories from as far back as my eighteenth year feels wrong. How

Blog_Viewpoints_Cover

Viewpoints

The Rooftop Collective exhibition edition VI Tempus Fugit. So they say. Here we are again, another Rooftop Collective

Memories

Blog_F01-33B

The shitting fields

India 21-04-11: Driving towards Delhi from Mathura, early in the morning as the sun came up, mist rising,

Blog_Knee_Deep_in_Prayer

Knee Deep in Prayer

I stood knee deep in the water and prayed. Prayed. If ever a word had connotations, it’s ‘prayed’.

Blog_F06-06A

Failed trips or the art of flexibility

Failure can be a strong word. It’s no big deal, and not something I am particularly hung up

Jim_New_Delhi_Airport_March_2011

Brown carpets and rotating Y-fronts

Arrival in India 13-03-11: An airport is an airport is an airport. And Delhi airport is an airport.

Randomly Selected

Blog_LAPC_with-Fraser_Miles_June_2014

Q&A with the London Alternative Photography Collective

It was the icing on the cake really – a wonderful private view for my exhibition at the

South_Yemen_Flag copy

Confiscation in Aden

This was one of those moments when something inside you withers away and dies. I was only just

Blog_Joe_Plage_de_Saleccia_Sunset_Corsica_August_2016

No Strings Attached

Photography has become my art. Photography has become important. Laden. Very serious. Photography has become entangled in a

Blog_Putting_your_foot_in_it

Putting Your Foot In It

Some things in life are constant. As babies we grow into childhood, dependant on certain things not changing.