Expanding energy

A photo that tells you squat about the performance, but I like it.

After seeing

a fun performance by Jolika Sudermann and Alma Söderberg (it was called A talk) I went to see Kunsten A Bli Tam (well, I did pop in on a small concert on the way). The last performance of the day showed a dying old man, a  little red ridding hood, a 3D projected scene and a part that reminded me of Soylent Green (or at least I think the scene I have in mind is from this film - but as I have seen it only once in 1985 I might be wrong) - which I unfortunately did not photograph as that part was too quiet (so you have a similar scene that was louder and I could photograph here). But the scene I have in  mind is when the old man (in the film) went to be euthanised and turned into cookies (or sausages or whatever they were turned into). He laid down on a bed and was given a choice of 3D (sort of) scenes that he could watch while dying peacefully. And he chose the forest and a deer that reminded him of the time the world was not so screwed up. And in this play there is a similar scene. There is a man lying on what is a hospital bed and the forest in 3D surrounding him. And as soon as I saw this I remembered Soylent Green and the whole scene was suddenly heavily burdened by the idea of the world that is witnessing its destruction.

But what if we

never make it to our village?

I know

it is not Jupiter, but I managed to capture a band member with a celestial body (yes, it is the moon and not a spotlight). So now, go and search for the clues :)

Capital on sale!

When we have sold everything we had to sell
when we have told everything we had to tell
when we have fallen as  deep as we can fall
and when we stand a mere one inch tall

Fear not, we will raise up into a cloud of smoke
throw some dust in your eyes, make you choke
We will make you  buy some more worthless capital
because only this  will make you feel somewhat special

As

far as you are concerned, we are the ones who decide. (Isn't it so often the case that it is the wrong ones who decide?)

Hush, hush

Sometimes the life of a performance photographer is the same as that of an industrial spy and this is one of those days, so I can't reveal anything about the photo as to where and when, but I will just show it to you and you treat it as an abstract photo that needs no placement.

What dance does to me

Sitting in the backstage, sipping G&T, talking to my friends, when suddenly I see a reflection of a ballet dancer in the glass cube in the middle of the square. As I grabbed my camera from the table and ran (like the wind) all I could stutter was: 'dance' . I was gone in a second (sorry Nataska & Matjaz, I am afraid my manners fly through the window (even at an outdoor event) as soon as I see something I want to photograph), but maybe, just maybe I can redeem myself with this photo.  

Festival

is coming to town, and we have a marching band to prove it. (Guess from where you will be seeing photos in the next days.)

Can

you tell from this photo whether it was punk or pop (or anything else for that matter)?

Some concerts

are better than others. And usually they are better when you see the band is having a good time. You know, having a laugh, seeing one of them smile at something the other band members, they, or somebody from the public has done. And then seeing another one smile because of something. And then smiles eem to overcome the stage... These are the little things that make a better concert... Because believe me, if we wanted it to be all perfect and robotic, we would just go and buy an overproduced CD and listen to it at home. And this concert reminded me of one of their first concerts (in the same venue - but indoors and not at the same time (festival time) of the year, but quite a few years ago)... you could see they enjoyed it. I am sure the reasons were different, but the joy was back.

Continuing with

my escapology. This time to the picnic that marked the end of another festival (it seems that I have inadvertently become a festival person, but hey you have to love them, don't you), not far away from my little black shoe box (see previous post for explanations regarding the shoe box). And guess what? The picnic and the concert at the picnic finished so early, I actually had time to make it to another concert, at another festival, back in my little town.

After

a millennium of being locked in a small metal cage the size of a shoe box (shoe size 41.5) , I decided to make a run for it. In the long nights that I have spent in this jail I have managed to chew through a dozen steel bars that blocked my way to freedom. Not even the fact that I wore my teeth down to the bone stopped my chewing on the metal bars, I just started gnawing with my jawbones.
Anyway, this afternoon, at a carefully selected moment, when I knew my guards were having their (what they thought well deserved) afternoon nap, I knocked the steel bars out of their place and made a run for it. I haven't seen the sun and the outdoors world for over one thousand years and I found it incredibly hard to label anything I saw. It all seemed so dark, foreign and most of all terrifying. I was not sure whether I can survive outside, but now I was here I decided to give it a shot. I looked at the people, and as there was no sparkle in their eyes I couldn't decide whether they were all robots or just a new race of semi-dead people. (I did wonder about my eyes, have they lost their sparkle?)
I decided to head out of town, into uncharted and unclaimed territories, marked on maps only with the words 'There be dragons'. As I knew no better, I decided to follow the river upstream, in the hope that it will lead me out of the dangers of this city and into the dangers of There be dragons land.

I walked upstream and the river was becoming narrower and faster. I was enjoying the cool, fresh air that smelled somewhat differently to the stale air I had at disposal in my little black box. No more black smog, no more guards spying on my every minute move (couldn't do much more than minuscule moves in the small black painted cubicle, with no light once the sun went down).
I ran further up, splashing through the cold freshwater, feeling the joy of the cold water hitting my skin (I forgot how good it feels as cold freshwater covers your body), not knowing where it will lead me, but just enjoying the newly found sensations of freedom. I came to a clearing





and saw three cows in the field. Roaming around freely. The last time I saw another living being was... well... who knows how long ago this was... The only living being I saw during my involuntary stay in the metal shoe box were the guards, but even for them I was not sure if they were not some sort of hybrids between people and steel, carbon fibres, a few microchips and some faulty electrical wiring. I had to stop and consider this for a moment. The idea of having space, walking, strolling around, grazing in the sun, with no worries (at least not immediate ones). I am sure that is what life should be all about (does this mean I should be a cow (or maybe a bull?)). But I knew I had to press on, I knew they would be looking for me with all their devices and gadgets.

I ran towards the mountains. Down the long and winding road (but not yellow mind you). I learned from the von Trapp family that you should always head for the Alps, for that is where freedom is (or is this just something my brain  made up in the darkness of my (ten times) a hundred years of solitude (in an attempt to preserve my sanity?)). I ran as fast as I could. I could hear the helicopters behind me coming ever nearer. They were on my tracks. I ran for my life, I could no longer breathe, and yet I kept running. Blood was trickling from my ears, but my brain still my kept yelling: 'Run, run, this is your last chance.'

This is how close I came to the Alps. To freedom. To starting a new life. To living outside the small black box. But then they caught up with me. Locked me in and drove me back to the huge buildings full of small black boxes. After weeks of painful torture, they threw me into a new black box. This one was the size of a shoe box for toddler's sneakers.
But still, I had my five minutes, and now I can plan my next five minutes in a few thousand years.

This post will not mean a lot to most, but to those who will see anything in it, think of it as my message in a bottle (for a full understanding of this you will have to listen to The Police's song Message in a Bottle).

The Book of Numbers

Still need to figure out what this is all about.

The joys

of summer picnics. (Need I say more?)

Free Pussy Riot

'nuff said.

They did

it again (I guess). The whole 26 hours of improvised theatre. And if I hadn't had so much work on my plate, I truly would have tried to spend all the hours with them... But with all the deadlines in the week, there was just no chance.

Ich bin

ein berliner picnic. Next time I need to try it in Berlin.

You know

you are in big trouble when not even a Parisian girl can lift your spirits.

It seems

that works of art from out of space have infested the bathtub (maybe this is why I don't have a bathtub).

Waka Waka?

I had absolutely no idea that this was the band that accompanied Shakira at the Waka Waka song, so I was quite surprised when they finished off with it (and no, Shakira did not magically appear at this small festival). But football or no football, they certainly were one of those cutely and contagiously energetic bands.

It is nice

to see band members get along well, even though they obviously had a huge fight with the sound technician on the night (I really have no other idea how to justify the crappy sound otherwise).

Paul

Tschinkel. He seems to be doing something I could see myself doing. But only I would prefer to do it with photos and not video... even though a bit of video might be interesting. 

It was

hard to find the moments of rock'n'roll in this impro evening (even though it was called Rock'n'Roll Impro), but I believed they would not give it the title if they didn't mean it, so I managed to find a moment or two that seemed to fit the title.

On air

and on stage. An old school redio show parody.

Another

evening at what used to be my absolute favourite festival. And then I got a peek into the machinery behind and became slightly disillusioned. 

Some

very old school, ska and punk all the way from my hometown.

And back

to an artist's studio, to take a photo or two of a statue and the little tool he uses as his aid (on this photo).

The flower

guy came to the concert and gave the singer a flower.