I’m not going to make excuses for my recent absence, but if I were, they would involve garbled references to the running of film festivals, foolishly self-catering for 150 people at the opening of said festival, my best friend helping me throw clothes all over my bedroom floor for a week, and certain days I’d prefer not to elaborate on, which involve an unnamed, irrational but crushing terror which causes me to creep back under my covers and stay there.
These images are some of the things that convince me to get out. They might not be great photographs, but the people and memories they contain mean that each time I take them out of their packet I can’t help grinning and laughing anew.
St Kilda Community Garden, no-hands shots from the back of a hired bike, Tona and his best friends Vicky and Tom, sun on our backs, greasy paper bundles from the fish and chip shop, spinning circles and sour tomatoes.
“I just want you to liiiike me” – a night during which I finally met J’s uni friend Leona, and we confessed our mutual fear and subsequent relief that we actually really, really get along. A rained out Little Stevies concert, dumplings, sodden clothing, karaoke, arms around shoulders, droplets on the lens, Piano Man, three people asking what my costume was, hungry jacks in McDonalds and Leona dancing, alone, in the kitchen for three hours.
“Haa-app-ee Nu Yaaaar”
Painting strangers faces with eyeliner bought specifically, fairy lights, trailer trash, painting TinPan Orange, dancingjumpinglaughing, the guy from the Mediterranean food stall who shouted his blessings, accidental stalking, music and mud and memories.
Banrock goon, dry feet, dark chocolate smeared on new India journals, and laughter at the Woodford Folk Festival. Early bird tickets are absurdly cheap for what will surely be the best week of your year.
All from disposable cameras, which when collected at Big W caused me to lose my shit in the middle of a shopping centre.