Teddy Bears and Machine Guns 

While we are on the topic of Teddy Bears Gary... I thought the above image might be appropriate. I found this machine gun shrine, Christmas shopping at the local mall... (excuse the bad scans)

While Joshua witnesses brutal bashings on the street I thought I would share with you what I witnessed yesterday on the street. Big, buff, naked man strolling around the center of the city with not a care in the world. I saw him walk right past two police officers. Thought for sure he would be questioned. Nope, he just continued to stroll on by. I hope he found something that fits him in the sales. Girl's reaction on the left says it all.

A Clockwork Orange 

Out of sight (almost out of mind)

Im not exactly sure how to explain the image below. I am not a photojournalist, that should be known, nor am I a writer but I going to try and tell this story anyway so please excuse, spelling mistakes and bad punctuation.

Early 2008, CBD, Sydney, Corner of Regent Street and Dwyer Street.

Its peak hour traffic at central, people are walking the streets after work, there are pedestrians everywhere. I have my camera out, about to begin doing some street photography, when out of the corner of my eye I see a scene unfolding across the street. An indigenous boy is taking elongated strides and carries with him a bottle of alcohol and a bottle of orange juice. Darting through the crowd behind him, a stocky white man hunts him down. The two bottles smash and the boy is dragged by his neck, through a crowd of people and around a corner into a quiet side street. Out of sight (almost out of mind). 

Everyone who was close to the action is kind of overwhelmed by it and seem to awkwardly go about their normal actions again. Being across the road with a bit of distance, I walked up the street, to peer up the alley and saw that the stocky white man had the boys head in the gutter and was beating it with his fist over and over. In front of me a man who's name (for the sake of this story is Terry) I still don't know is also watching and he begins to shout at the violent man (perpetrator), "stop". After a few bellowing "stops", Terry turns and tells me and another bystander to follow him across the road.... so we did. When we get close up to the scene the indigenous boy is almost unconscious. 

Terry pleads with the perpetrator to stop punching the boy, after the perpetrator looks up and sees everyone staring at him, he stops. I called the police and we all waited together, there was an intense feeling in the air. The perpetrator would not get off the indigenous boy and had turned him over on his front with his arm twisted around his back. The boy was groaning and not in good shape.  Terry tells the perpetrator to get off the boy and an argument breaks out... 

"He beat a women around the corner" the perpetrator claims

"I don't care, all i have seen is you beating him and twisting him now." Terry replies

The perpetrator shoves his knee into the back of the boy.

"Your an animal, if I had not pulled these people over here and stopped you, you would have killed the boy" Terry yells

"he probably deserves to die" the perpetrator replies.

The police arrive just as the perpetrator is getting fired up and wants to fight Terry. When the perpetrator sees the police, he jumps off the boy and walks purposefully over to them, claiming the boy had beaten a women around the corner. The police immediately handcuff the boy, who is lying in the gutter and bleeding. Terry starts screaming repeatedly "You have the wrong person... its him you want to handcuff!", pointing at the perpetrator. The police begin to subdue Terry... during this commotion someone behind me tells me to take a photo "its injustice" they say. Not knowing what else to do, I did and the image below is what resulted. After the police took everyones statement, the perpetrator walked free and the boy was taken off in a ambulance.

This occurrence has had a pretty full on effect on me, I got depressed and paranoid about the government, and went a little crazy. The really weird coincidence was that at the time this happened I was reading a paper named 'photojournalism and malice' and I was also reading the novel by Anthony Burgess 'A Clockwork Orange', which deals with some really full on social issues. It was like a physical manifestation of what I was reading, a real life experience to stop me from thinking conceptually about these subjects. The person who pulled my across the street (Terry), taught me a valuable lesson on being a citizen and dealing with violence.

 I am extremely uncomfortable with being the photographer who created this image... but I guess for some reason the image needed to be taken and it is with a heavy heart that I sit here, on Australia day at 2:40 am and grapple with the telling of this story. One thing is for sure, this moment in time changed me.

I ran the gauntlet with George Voulgaropoulos yesterday. I watched him in action. I soon realised he has a very different photographic approach to me. He is much braver. George is not afraid of pointing a camera at a stranger at close range. Full eye contact. Always forced to explain why he’s taking their photo. Small confrontations. I can’t do that. Those confrontations zaps my energy. By talking to everyone and constantly photographing the same community over a long period of time he will eventually earn their trust and things will get easier. I enjoy feeling like an outsider. Even in my own backyard.

Elizabeth

I went through all my negatives in early 2009 and collected all the photograph I could find of Elizabeth. There were so many. One evening I began to scan through them with the idea that I might have a show focussing on us, our relationship. I still have all the negatives bundled separately. After 8 hours of scanning, I had only got through about 1/8 of the pile.... I never revisited the idea. Its been three years since then and I have no doubt collected many more images of her.

Photography has always been a struggle for me. I often find myself half living and have gone through stages when I have not even picked up a camera because I didn't have the ability to place it down. Its all a blurry thing to someone who has obsessive compulsive tendencies. A conundrum... Photography seems to have attached to it a sense of wanting. At times I feel like it actually chokes life but then it also seems to enrich it.

I find Elizabeth to be the most intriguing character, her mind, her physicality, her passion for art and life. I know I am fortunate to share time here with her.  I look at these images and they have a certain sentimental quality to me. I don't know if they are good photographs. They are just apart of the landscape of my life. Its like they are stitched onto me or something.

"Our approach to photography is completely different."

Met with Garry Trinh yesterday to catch up and have a chat about our new collaboration. After sipping on some Turkish tea, we headed out for a walk around Auburn, chatting, with cameras in hand pausing occasionally mid sentence as we anticipated a scene. *click* *wind to next frame* ... pause... *click* "Why did you take my picture?" comes the confrontational question. A common occurrence for me in Auburn so I'm armed, my spiel loaded and fired in retaliation. Accompanied with a smile (always), I explain my project and assure them to trust my use of the photographs and quickly move on already surveying the area for another photograph.


We continue walking and it isn't too long after 2 or 3 consecutive explanations that Gary turns and says, "You know what I realised. Our approach to photography is completely different." 


At the beginning, I was the same, a quick snap on the run, a smile and quickly moving on. Most days I wish it was like that, "staying in the zone" cruising around. But then I started seeing the same people every time I headed out for a walk around Auburn. I started to build friendships with the shop keepers, sitting on corners or walking along the same road day after day. The same group of Sudanese men at the intersection of Queen St, the old Turkish women sipping on tea, the Afghan men holding their prayer beads chatting, the Somalis drinking coffee or the Iraqi's hanging outside the barber shop. Surely they deserve an explanation, right? I quickly became that guy who works for the newspaper, always taking photos. 


Reactions for the most part have changed, greeted by a smile and a wave by the shopkeepers and regulars. Not the reaction I want for a photo but still better than a scowl or a trip to the police station (only happened once). Slowly people learn to ignore me but the dynamic is constantly changing. With a huge influx of newly arrived refugees filling the streets, no matter the reaction, I'll keep on smiling and taking their picture. 

What you are looking at is the new Canon G1X. Successor to the Canon G12. Currently not available anywhere in the world. This one's a fully functioning prototype. I ran into a Canon representative over the weekend who was running some test and only allowed me photograph the camera after telling him I owned a G10 and G12. The G1X will drop in Australia in March for approximately $850. My money's already on the table.

I honestly believe if I wasn't pointing my camera at this drunk guy asleep on the bench, the pedestrian standing next to him would have stolen his wallet. I stood around long enough until other passengers came to the bus stop and the guy woke up. 

JH: Between Amizera and Elearha, two swelling city's the Merzouga desert gave birth to.

JH: I lost ten bucks watching the silver balls and lights.. I was lured in by this image.

JH: I feel pretty guilty about being white. There is this sour taste in the back of my throat all the time.

As I made my way into the mens' room of this family restaurant, a teenage girl and a young boy made their way out. She had a cheeky grin on her face.

She just fell in.

This was painted across the road from a pet shop.

Beached.

I felt bad, he stood on his tippy toes all night.

I saw the crying women again today. She had stopped crying.

Shit my dad wears.

Down for whatever.

She was walking through the park bare foot, crying hysterically. Tears streaming down her face, choking back raw emotions loud enough everyone in the park heard her pain.

Caught by the wind, cornered, colours dance around producing endless combinations all of which at that moment made magic. I can't hear kids crying, parents teaching or feel the sun burning my skin. It's just me, the breeze and a pile of trash.