PCB promo video

http://www.exceptiongroup.com/sectors/oil-and-gas-drilling-home

A link to the footage/ video that I helped out on during Easter break with camera man Duncan fairs and his director James.

Song of the day and then some.

Working on our current live brief given to us by Mother, in coordination with arms around the child, an aids orphan charity. 


After brainstorming all day, I came back to research Phenomenology. 


And of course a nice little relax with henna and doodling:

Norwich Lanes

Inspiration from 'The Red Balloon'

Yesterday we had a viewing of 'The Red Balloon'. Having only heard about it from my dad I was intrigued to see the film. Only half an hour long the story of an isolated boy friended by a balloon on his way to school one day really made your heart melt.


We in turn made a video which was inspired by the story. We changed the perspective and questioned the motives of each character.

Enjoy.

Courtesy of:

@rose_enever     @burtifly     @SarahLMita     @Frankyfullstop     @HarrietRonn     @NatFairs

Song Of the Day

Domestic day: Cleaning the crap out of every inch of my room. Stress relief for the domestic. 

Photography is the answer what is the question. Stories.

Police Tape (Picture one)

Feeling his breath on my neck. Foot steps, closer and closer. Walking faster. I don’t want him to catch me. I don’t want him to know I’m scared. Heart racing. Panting. Sweating. Unable to look behind, I trip. My hands almost stick to the dirt ridden floor. Knees cut. Trying to brush myself off. Slowly standing. He’s everywhere. Presence over whelming me. I can’t think. Now he’s almost there nearly touching, breathing on me. My skin prickles, burning. I can hear my heart beating, frantic. Slow motion, I can’t move. My feet stuck body paralyzed internally screaming. He’s on my neck, kissing. Pushing. Hurting. I’m squirming, repulsed, sickened. I want to scream but all I can do is muster whimper. I fall to the floor broken, ripped clothes. A pathetic shell of my former self. I can’t fight anymore. A prisoner between a wall and a body.

It’s over. Hood up he runs, alert. Paranoid. Satisfied.

Shoe (Picture two)

Sodden moss covered. Confused. Where is my other half? He knows I was never made to be alone. I remember the good times used, abused, alcohol and mud infused. Beautiful evenings. Kick back and go out. It’s been years since. Here I am still alone, still in the dark. What the fuck happened?

Last thing I remember was being attached to the sticky floor at some wonderfully seedy bar. There was this lush pair of stilettos. Dead cheeky. That’s when he got involved. Nike Blazer- Hi, thought the bloody world of himself. Pretty sure that’s when it kicked off. We left, went a short cut home. No wait that was the Wednesday before. The stilettos were definitely involved. Maybe it was Adidas’ birthday that was a Saturday. Yeah all the lads and the stilettos. But she wasn’t interested anymore. Or that one house party they had sticky floors n’ all. Every single night merged into one it’s been years I’m old now. No home. A bum in the woods. If only I could remember, maybe I went for a walk on my own. Tried to get us on a shoetree. See that’s why laces are useful.

The Hat (three)

Lonely cloudy day windy for the first time in months. Windy enough to move me on.

I was here. When it happened. Not alone. I was happy. We all were. Tommy was seven and he came to the park every Wednesday and of course we were there. Routine, every Monday, Wednesday and Friday 5-6 o’clock. Same every week, of every year, ever since she went. But now it was different. We were less alone. Tommy came and fed the ducks, while his mum drank alcohol infused coffee. Tommy was fine, the ducks were an innocent escape for a seven year old.

This calmness had to end soon. Simplicity was ironically, never simple. Marie came walking over proud, pissed, strong. “What the hell do you think you’re doing with my son?! Well?!” We were in a state of shock Tommy sat solemn, quiet, scared. All three of us were unable to move. “Tommy come here you little shit. Don’t talk to old perverts.”

“No… No I don’t talk to him I just sit , its our place.” He started speaking. Panicking. This is when it all changed. Tommy was in tears. By this time the screaming drunk Marie surrounded us with mums. Scorn spread quickly it was wrong. She was in the wrong. Not us. I felt him shaking beneath me. Emptiness spread. He stopped shaking. The memories tainted by this poisonous woman. He got up. The wind moved me and I drifted of his head landing on the chair, where he once sat. Routines change. Communal hate ruined good memories. He left me. Never to return.

In me, in her, he would always be here. 

The Pram (four)

A small suburban town. If it were America white picket fences would be everywhere.

That’s where Sunny and Michelle come in. Moved to number 43 Chapel Lane, recently married.

Fast-forward a year. Michelle’s just left her job. Sunny’s furious. Misunderstanding how ecstatic he’ll be in the next 5 minutes. The street seemed dead. Inside number 43 a baby cries. Sunnys’ up again bottle-feeding the youngest of three. Toby is now 5 and Michelle’s going back to work soon. Suburban bliss for a family of 5.

Moving on is hard but necessary. Sunny and Michelle have been gone for a year. Toby Bradley and Elle are all in school now. Left I the garden. I know I’ve done well. Kept them safe dry and warm. Future’s not too bright for a 4 wheeler who only has 2 wheels and 3 legs. Otherwise I’d be second had raising the next bunch.

Que sera sera. I couldn’t be happier.