If it ain’t brack­en, don’t fix it.

I refuse to apolo­gise for that pun, you’ll just have to suffer. Here is a photo I took of myself recently in my dad’s garden. I can’t remem­ber the last time I had a new photo of myself bar a few awkward phone snaps when I’ve been out. Perhaps you could say I was commun­ing with nature when I took this photo, but I was sat on a plastic bag to avoid sitting in anything nasty hidden under­neath the plants, so I don’t think I was that in touch with nature. Luck­ily we don’t have pois­on ivy or danger­ous snakes in this coun­try, I was more worried about the milder perils of sting­ing nettles or fox drop­pings. I was also a little limited with angles and fram­ing, because stick­ing a wide-angle lens in your face is rarely flat­ter­ing, but I couldn’t get the distance to use my portrait lens because I didn’t have a tripod with me.

Fotoauto­mat

There was a b&w photo­booth round the corner from my hotel in Vienna that was €2 a pop. I took a strip most days to docu­ment what I’d been doing . I also had some with Delal, and some of me hold­ing up signs, but I’ve cut them up for zine use now, and I can’t find what I did with the photo of the whole strips.

In the Flowers

Two self-portraits from June test­ing out my £2.50 remote. I’ve got a big back­log of photos to organ­ise.

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