Neural Misfires

Graham Binns: Photographer, artist, writer, dreamer, geek.
Another Manchester street portrait. This is Michael, who accosted me in Piccadilly Gardens, saying “Gimme that camera!” 
I made a picture of him instead. Nice guy.

Another Manchester street portrait. This is Michael, who accosted me in Piccadilly Gardens, saying “Gimme that camera!” 

I made a picture of him instead. Nice guy.

He looks startled, uncomfortable. He might have expected angry confrontation, but not this. He takes my proffered hand, shakes it slowly.

"M’name’s TJ."

"Okay, TJ…" here goes, I think, what’s the worst that can happen… "Let me make a picture of you."

Over on my blog, I tell the story of making on of my favourite portraits to date, on the street, after a moment’s interaction. This is why I love making pictures of people.

I bloody love how Kodak Portra 400 looks when I shoot it in my RZ 67 Pro II. Not really a street camera, but it sure as hell gets people interacting with you.

I’ve got more film to scan from this little jaunt — just pressing the negatives between the pages of a heavy book to get the curl out of them. Watch this space.

(Images corrected only for skew and distortion due to curling film; otherwise untouched).

@WeAreAugustines — Nothing To Lose But Your Head, live on KEXP

Because some days just need this song.

morg-ana:

ohmymckirk:

so-um-yeah:

aloistrancyhive:

breathe-squeeze-follow-through:

26 Male Survivors Of Sexual Assault Quoting The People Who Attacked Them

http://www.buzzfeed.com/spenceralthouse/male-survivors-of-sexual-assault-quoting-the-people-who-a

This needs more notes.

no one seems to care if they are guys 

reminder that rape and sexual abuse happens to everyone, not just girls

reminder that rape and sexual abuse needs to be acknowledged no matter a person’s gender and “no one seems to care if they are guys” is a typical antifeminist theory that is disproven by the fact that this photo set has 100,000+ notes alone

(via theremina)

Proof of life. End of the first day of winter hours (8-5) and I worked an hour longer than I meant to… Wiped, and need to get used to this winter thing. #selfportrait

Proof of life. End of the first day of winter hours (8-5) and I worked an hour longer than I meant to… Wiped, and need to get used to this winter thing. #selfportrait

I can feel the isolationism of winter starting to creep in around the edges. All the trees are faded to the colour of old shoe-leather, the vibrant reds and yellows and golds of early autumn scuffed and decaying in the wet that’s finally arrived.
And that means that mood becomes more of a problem, until the brighter days of winter arrive and the air is crisp and cold.
Days like this are the ones when I struggle to make things happen, despite the pile of opportunities on my plate and the list of people to call, book and shoot with that’s been been at a steady length for the last few weeks. The weather seems to bring with it gremlins: the ones that whisper in the half-light of an autumn day and tell you what you really think about yourself. And they’re rarely complimentary.
Soon I’ll turn off Twitter, Tumblr, Google+, the whole smash, until the new year. When I’m in this sort of a mood it’s almost demoralising to see other people’s lives whizzing past at the speed of thought, even when just last week I’d have found those same lives inspirational or cheering.
Oh, I’m not sad, not exactly. I’ll be perfectly cheerful and happy and will carry on creating things — of that I’ve no doubt. But it will be that little bit harder, that little bit more of a struggle. I have to fight for it more at this time of year, and graphite skies rob you of the energy you need to fight.
But spring always comes, and this year I’m reminding myself of that more than I used to. Spring always comes. There will be daffodils and crocuses, birdsong and lambs. Winter is finite. The dark is finite. The world goes on.

I can feel the isolationism of winter starting to creep in around the edges. All the trees are faded to the colour of old shoe-leather, the vibrant reds and yellows and golds of early autumn scuffed and decaying in the wet that’s finally arrived.

And that means that mood becomes more of a problem, until the brighter days of winter arrive and the air is crisp and cold.

Days like this are the ones when I struggle to make things happen, despite the pile of opportunities on my plate and the list of people to call, book and shoot with that’s been been at a steady length for the last few weeks. The weather seems to bring with it gremlins: the ones that whisper in the half-light of an autumn day and tell you what you really think about yourself. And they’re rarely complimentary.

Soon I’ll turn off Twitter, Tumblr, Google+, the whole smash, until the new year. When I’m in this sort of a mood it’s almost demoralising to see other people’s lives whizzing past at the speed of thought, even when just last week I’d have found those same lives inspirational or cheering.

Oh, I’m not sad, not exactly. I’ll be perfectly cheerful and happy and will carry on creating things — of that I’ve no doubt. But it will be that little bit harder, that little bit more of a struggle. I have to fight for it more at this time of year, and graphite skies rob you of the energy you need to fight.

But spring always comes, and this year I’m reminding myself of that more than I used to. Spring always comes. There will be daffodils and crocuses, birdsong and lambs. Winter is finite. The dark is finite. The world goes on.

"Oh, crap, it’s October," cries the weather. And everyone’s mood plummets. #weather #autumn #Britain #SAD

"Oh, crap, it’s October," cries the weather. And everyone’s mood plummets. #weather #autumn #Britain #SAD