Tragicocomedia

Venice, near Rialto Bridge, March 8, 2007

Purely and simply, I love the spontaneous drama of this shot. It has accidental classical connotations with the expression being derived from the choice of mask – tragic or comic – and in that sense, contains the essence of tragicocomedia. If I may say so myself, I think the vectors in this image are great. The eyes are so expressive in their diagonal focus, while the position of the hands, the direction of the forearms and the tilt of the shoulders, like a rolling boxer, lend the image a light, dancing quality in contrast with the darker mood of the mask.

The tender and self-absorbed manner in which the young girl is examining herself, has real pathos – both delicate and sad. The polar-necked woolen top was a fortunate choice in that it situates the mask so seamlessly, making these two elements a natural fit despite their obvious contextual differences. The juxtaposition of the masks on one side and humans on the other also frames the subject with the two worlds married in the middle. The bandaid on the subject’s forefinger is a cute reminder of the everyday divide from the decadent glamour of the Venetian Carnivale.

I was drunk when I took this photograph. Drifting around Venice in gorgeous sunshine, toting a two litre bottiglia of vino da tavola and smoking way too many cigarettes. It was the last day of an eight-day campaign across northern Italy and I really felt like cutting loose. I remember that day very vividly as one on which I spent a lot of time looking for public toilets and took some of the best photographs I’ve ever taken. Around two in the afternoon, I took a prime position at the peak of the Rialto and shot down the grand canal for the next couple of hours. This shot was taken just prior to that, on the approach to the Rialto Bridge.

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Ranakpur, Rajasthan, India, March 27, 2010

This shot was taken at the Jain Temple in Ranakpur, Rajasthan, in March 2010. It probably goes without saying that it is the clarity of the main subject in this photo that I like most of all, but without the hanging bells, I don’t think this would be as effective. This was really just a case of patience paying off – hanging around the temple and waiting for people to walk into my chosen line of sight. The angle and swing of the bells was equally fortunate.

The Jain temple at Ranakpur is one of the most remarkable buildings I’ve ever visited. It’s impossible to get any sense of it from this shot, but if you’ve not been there, it’s well worth Googling just to see the interior. Constructed in the middle of the 15^th century of mostly white and off-white marble, it is famous for having 1444 exquisitely carved marble pillars, each of which is different from the others.

It is a beautifully clean and peaceful place, far lighter than the gothic cathedrals of Europe, though equally if not more elaborate in its detailed reliefs. The stone also seems less heavy – despite their often soaring heights and delicate design, Gothic has a weightiness which was only relieved in its overly baroque perpendicular incarnation. The temple at Ranakpur seems almost to float, something greatly assisted by the less confronting and far more pleasing themes depicted in its reliefs. As lovers of animals, the Jains adorned their temple with all manner of cute beasts, unlike the spoilsports of western Europe with their terrorising visions of ghastly gargoyles, imps and grim, serious men. Just make sure you leave your leather belt and shoes outside, as the Jains don’t like anything made using animals inside their temples.

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Mostar, Bosnia, June 10, 2006

When taking this photograph in Mostar, Bosnia, in June 2006, I knew it was something of a clichéd juxtaposition of war and peace – the flower against a backdrop of bullet-holes. All the same, I was so excited to have an opportunity to shoot such a juxtaposition – how often does one get to have a bullet-pocked wall as a backdrop outside of war-zones? – that I probably spent an inappropriate amount of time relishing the subject matter, despite its tragic significance. It was a beautiful sunny day and the town looked especially lovely in the early summer sunshine – adding a mild air of surrealism to this contrast between the peaceful present and this evidence of past conflict.

This photograph was taken during a week-long visit to Bosnia – one of the most interesting, moving and sadly beautiful places I’ve ever visited. Mostar, which had much of its historic centre, including its magnificent bridge, destroyed during the Bosnian war, still bears the very visible scars of the conflict, despite huge efforts to reconstruct what was destroyed. I’m not sure what their long-term goal is with regard to all of the still visibly damaged and abandoned buildings, but I hope that some might remain as a testament to the horrors of the conflict.

Both Mostar and Sarajevo are well worth a visit, not only for their beauty, cultural diversity and history, but also for their Burek – the best I’ve ever eaten. Despite my feeling an almost perverse fascination with the evidence of devastation, the sadness was so palpable and undeniable – like a slow-burning rage that something so barbaric could happen so recently in eastern Europe – that I came away wanting to investigate further and write about it at length. This resulted in a poem of mine, inspired more particularly by a visit to the tunnel museum in Sarajevo, which was published in P N Review in 2007 – something of which I was very proud. It was very pleasing to be able to make a contribution, however small, to commemorating the bravery and suffering of the people of Sarajevo.

We don’t hear much about the Bosnian War any longer, but they are still picking up the pieces and the tensions have never really been put to bed. Clichéd or otherwise, I like this photo because it triggers a range of memories – of the pleasure of that holiday and of the horrors of the conflict – the sort of bittersweet contrast to which I am partial. In the local language, stari most means “old bridge”, and I still find myself singing “stari, stari most” to the tune of Starry Starry Night – which got stuck in my head during this trip – perhaps a glib response, but the tune is so deeply and sweetly melancholic that it seems appropriate.

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Brooklyn Bridge, New York, April 21, 2007

I was sick as a dog during this visit to New York in April 2007.  I got the flu the day before I left and it hit me like a brick upon arrival. It was then and still remains the worst case of the flu I’ve ever had. I felt absolutely smashed – sore muscles, joints, headaches and enough phlegm to drown Belgium. I was also feeling emotionally moribund, having just broken up with the person I was supposed to be travelling with. She was, in fact, from New York, though living, as I was, in Cambridge, UK, where we’d met. We had planned this trip together before breaking up and thus she was in New York at the same time as I – though, fortunately, an incompatibility in our schedules placed us on different flights.

Her presence which made the whole trip seem all the more loaded, a nagging case of what might have been – despite the fact that it was my call to end it. I had been very much looking forward to New York, but hadn’t been banking on getting sick and feeling lonely and confused. I’m inclined to quote Alain de Botton at this point –

A momentous but until then overlooked fact was making its first appearance: that I had inadvertently brought myself with me…

This was my second visit to New York and I was determined to see everything I’d missed the first time around. Fortunately, a cocktail of cold and flu capsules, Sudafed, codeine and shitloads of coffee got me out of my hotel on the upper west side every morning and kept me going most of the day. I did a hell of a lot of walking and sightseeing, but come early evening, I was absolutely exhausted and had no strength or desire to enjoy the nightlife. One great positive from all this was that until this point I had been casually smoking. During this bout of the flu, cigarettes from other smokers caused such a sense of disgust and repulsion that I never wanted to smoke another cigarette after this trip. Despite the occasional pipes and joints, I’ve had a grand total of 1 cigarette in the last 7 years.

This photograph was taken during a lovely walk across Brooklyn Bridge. A beautiful spring day, the air was cool and the sun was warm – a perfect combination. I spent a lot of time shooting the people crossing the bridge, which, with its grand stone arches and draped cables, makes a magnificent backdrop for any subject. The symmetry in this shot was accidental – I hadn’t realised exactly how well the background had aligned itself inside the frame, which made me all the more pleased on first seeing this shot. I’ve always liked the way the people are packed together in the bottom right corner, with so much space on the left side of the frame. They seem like the obvious subject of the photo, but are ultimately overwhelmed by the bridge itself, whose tall arches loom like vast eye-sockets.

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