MAERSK

MAERSK employed me some time back to travel to the Ports of W Africa to make a document of their activities. While cleansing my drives I chose these shots to compliment a earlier post called 'Take your Style'

These portraits are out-takes.

Laurent, the guy with the Ray bans, saved my bacon in a Cameroonian slum.

bisyllabic

Often considered malformed by prescriptive language users I have decided to call the post... BISYLLABIC.

It has become clearer to me that a large part of my subconscious motivation for making photos stems from the actual name, or the name that springs to my mind, of the object in frame. A file called bisyllabic now sits in my 'b/w' folder and contains some of the following shots.

What mean?

1. b/w_diegang
2. b/w_foghorn
3. b/w_hifi
4. b/w_kalus
5. b/w_rattrap

You Leica?

Tools only interest me inasmuch as they do what they are supposed to without making a racket or breaking-unless they are speakers in which case they can exhibit the former trait.

This is my favourite tool.

Produced in the late 70s it's diminutive body meant that it cut into the larger machines' sales. It was hastily discontinued. I think the best lens for it is a 40 mm. This is what I have. All the small-format b/w shots on this blog are made on it.

Those two chickens are friends.

30 14 36 38 25 43 07 04

The Leopard

When I was last in the mountains I spoke to Simon Madlala who tends to the thatched holiday house.

He told me that he had seen a leopard near the forest and that his plan was to trap the Leopard and sell the pelt to the local chief for a large sum of Rands.

On a day when he needed supplies I lifted Simon to the trade store. When we passed the place where he had spotted the leopard I tried to impress the logic of conservation onto Simon. I said that if he killed the rare leopard his son would never get to see such a beautiful animal. Simon stared forward through the windscreen and laughed a bit.

He dismounted from the Jeep at the trade store and soon afterwards I saw my father and told him the story.

'Dad, Simon has seen a leopard at the farm. He is keen to kill it and sell it to his Induna.'

My father smiled and said,

'Maybe the leopard will kill Simon'

My dad wears the tux and Simon carries a fire-fighting tool.

Last N1 Lightjet Contact Print

Cressida(the long dog), Frank Chong and a Guy Called Gerald

This is my dog Cressida and this is Frank Chong and his Toyota Cressida. Gerald and his Toyota Cressida also appear in this post.

I named my dog after the car which I believe represents South African motoring. My dog represents South African dogs. In Xhosa she is called 'itwina' which means something like a very typical hound of medium size. Cressida was bred by a hunting man to run down quarry. She goes like a fucking bullet from the barrel of an expensive sniper's rifle headed with ultimate precision towards the depression of an unsuspecting temple. I digress.

Frank Chong(small butchery owner) was very surprised when I came a knocking and asked him if he would pose near his Cressida in Rosettenville, Johannesburg. His surprise soon turned to a sort of shy Chinese glee which can be seen in his face behind his sunnies. I liked Frank Chong a lot.

The other dude is called Gerald. His mode of self-presentation is a little more sophisticated. This could be due to the fact that his kids were pulling the piss out of him as he leaned on his white horse. Note the enigmatic positioning of the hands.

1. I am a ninjite, back off!
2. Shit, I just dropped 5c
3. Pull a move with my hands and this photographer wont notice that I cut the 8 in half to make a '3' for my house number

Photograph for a travelling salesman

Half way between Cape Town and Johannesburg, on the N1 highway, is the Palomino Motel. It is comprised of two slim, white blocks which sit tucked against a hill in tiered fashion at about 40 degrees to eachother. They overlook a broad valley flanked with mesas like wily, slit-eyed sentinels. For 24 hours each day the changing of truck gears can be heard.

The Palomino boasts neat barbeque facilities and the rooms are decked out in the most pallid of mauve and pink tones. Expectant pitchers and cylindrical glasses await the thirsty traveller.

Here's me, the view, a pitcher and glasses and a photograph for a travelling salesman.

If you ever get to the Palomino make sure you have 'Static on the Radio' by Jim White. Become a parody of yourself and wear the fox hat.

fuck policy

When I was an eager tennis playing youth my mum used to drop myself and other drinking Lendls at the KOKSTAD tennis tournament. Between heavy swigs of Old Brown Sherry I caught sight of Mr Matthew Louwrens ripping around the court complex.

In later years Matthew sought to rectify a couple of society's ills and ended in the maximum security division of a psychiatric institution.

When he left he married my friend Jo and the two gave birth to Frances.

Fuck policy.

rehabilitate

The coolest chick around-in treatment.

Laos

Some time ago I was commissioned to spend time in Laos photographing the impact that hydro electric power was having on the mountain populations.

The effect was not good-flooding of burial grounds and general exploitation of the local populations. Norwegian machines. Simplistic. Email me for the politics of it all.

Here are some photos I made.

In case any of you have to photograph a hydro electric installation in low light requiring a 30 second exposure in a structure that is rattling like a gattling...on large format...

TIP:Park your tripod as firmly as you can on the floor and have faith that everything in the vicinity will begin to vibrate at the same frequency. It works. The money shots were these shots of the main generator shafts.

I traveled for 2 days on crap planes and in sawn-in-half B52 bombs on Mekong tributaries to reach these locations. On reaching the buildings which housed the generators I realised that there were serious light deficiencies and vibes de luxe. I screwed the ribber shoes on my tripod over the metal leg-pins and then retracted them in order that the film and the subject jig together. On returning to Berlin I was happy to check that all was sharp-sharp.

The old geyser was 114 years old then and I was late for my plane when he arrived. He is a living talisman and, on account of his age, travels for free in any medium. He was excruciatingly slow to answer questions, but hey, at double one four who wouldn't be drawn out.

The dam wall has a log on it. The trunk is about 60m long and was chucked up in a flood.

DIN1.COM

It's my birthday next week Saturday and I will celebrate it in style, if swinging arms wildly, drinking clear spirits like there is no tomorrow and supplying the assembled with teutonic beats constitutes style.

I have registered din1.com in order to promote the occasion and post mixes to. I can Dj Okay. It's the Deutshe Industrie Norm which will preside-angular synthesised noise will underpin the event, which will be more of a 'art event' than a cranking techno party.

My old friend Felix Laband will step up as well. It was in the small town of Pietermaritzburg that we met many years ago. His father was my History Professor.

My efforts at the podium have been mainly confined to smaller parties catering for the the dedicated listener and dancer, and on a couple of occasions very large parties. If you are dedicated to listener then roll up. I will tell you about my in-club take off and landing.

Please find 2 flyers attached from previous times with F Laband, and a screen shot from din1.com. Go there-check it out.

And Yes, I am Davy Crockette(Monsieur de la Croquetagne)