It all begun late at night walking the streets of Rome.
Me and a bunch of Italians, in our 20s where walking to a place I can’t quite remember now.
I can recall the excitement of the new experience ahead, a new thing to discover, having fun, drifting from one place onto another.
Coming back to art school, developing the photos, I realised having taken a photo of our feet, walking. This small and unimportant detail became the point of recall of what the hang out felt like at that point in time.
The style, became a thing over the years.
Photos of shoes on feet in places. They were taken when there was time to absorb the moment. When life paused. A documentary without the documentation, yet a personal moment of just being.
The following photos follow the trail of moments over the past twelve months or so, from early 2018.
This is something I wanted to do for awhile. There may be more from the past in blog posts to come, or of moments from further back into the past.
I’m one to preach loudly and stand for what I believe.
I’m the one that I will point to injustice.
I am the one that tonight also feel bad for pointing the finger at someone who I have contrary views to while they put themselves in the public eye to defend those views even though they are ‘out there’.
I don’t like confrontation but learning to present what I believe in more confidently.
Yet that’s only possible when the other party stretches out so they can hear clearer.
Because without that, nothing would ever be possible.
The post is devoted to my day today at the School of Oriental and African Studies, yet it is written with an individual in mind, unrelated to my day at the university, yet being a member of the uni.
Westward from the ferry port for destinations to the Cyclades and Crete, the port of Pireaus has a few hidden surprises.
Boats get larger and the space wider, abandoned warehouses as a backdrop, grafitti and murals galore.
The Chinese Road and Belt initiative will be redeveloping this area and on a beautifully sunny autumnal Sunday morning, I could not find an excuse to not document the blue of the sea with the yellows and blues of the ferries and the brownish grey concrete warehouses overshadowing the port streets.
I can’t predict what the port will look like in the future development, however I know for sure, the colourful ferries will still be floating on the beautiful coloured sea all the same.
On Sunday, London hosted the annual marathon event, with thousands of participants running the 26 something miles.
The weather was a sizzling 24C with clear skies posing a number of health risks even for the most experienced athletes.
I stood by in Canary Wharf, planning initially to stay only for a few minutes, which turned into hours, after seeing, and being mesmerised by the Kenyan athletes. Their energy is unfathomable, unaffected by the elements, running solidly on their feet, unstoppable towards their own personal target to a medal. Following closely a number of vehicles with cameras indicated the presence of someone important and there you had it, Sir Mo Farah powering through. I was saddened to hear nearing the end of his run that he was seeking a bottle of water, only to be ignored by bystanders wanting to take the best shots as up close as possible. The inhumane treatment of fame, in full display.
Wheelchairs, the visually impaired, following through continued the display of incredible strength of spirit.
Not too long after, people aiming for the 3 hour finish mark, powered through. Pouring sweat and having sustained a considerable amount of sun exposure, gradually more and more were slowing down, even stopping to a walking pace. That was the point, the energy of the crowds and their value, really shined through. At the point where really experienced runners were stopping crowds gathered to encourage on, shouting names of people they didn’t know, edging them to continue on. Strangers, flooding their energy to strangers. The effect was magic happening before our eyes. The runners’ faces lightening up, pace quickening, invaluable seconds saved.
The human endurance has layers unexplored by the majority of us. It doesn’t entertain fear or weakness as concepts. It merely facilitates strength. The psychological status is about completing the task with ease, and resourcing a little more energy for overachieving, unravelling that extra bit of energy as it replenishes itself from the invisible source of confidence.
The fear, and doubt gradually appeared in the lesser trained athletes. You didn’t need to have a discussion. Their feelings stood in front of their faces, attached like a bubble of energy, with rights restricted to the owner exclusively.The take over of these feelings, may as well had been rolled out in a banner. External conditions had made their internal challenge furthermore complex.
This in itself is a very intense experience. It places the human spirit and our conditioning, in the heart of the matter. Challenging mental energy and channelling as well.
Every year I forget… Until I stand by again to watch. And every year I read another layer, of someone running past, a different story, equally important as the very first one, let it be that of the Kenyans or Mo Farah for that matter.
The invaluable value of encouragement. One step at a time, through the stages of being and feeling.
Everything has to do with the mind, and with the limits we have put in and the fact we can overcome them to break them. And what I have done is doping of the mind.
Until the next marathon, exploring the well of our course.
For anyone finding themselves in Trinidad for carnival this time of the year, there is one thing you will be doing for sure: drinking all day, and some more.
Even without the alcohol, Trini carnival is a mind boggling experience. You would have passed the long queues at arrivals at Port of Spain International without being fleeced by some dodgy border official, through to the non descriptive arrivals hall, maybe welcomed by the sound of steel pan, if you are lucky.
Costume downtown Port of Spain taken between 2006 and 2011
Masquerade, POS, Trinidad
Father and son, J’ouvert, St James, Port of Spain, Trinidad
Jab, Carnival, St Anne’s, Trinidad
Boy costume on kiddies day, POS, Trinidad
Blue Devil on Carnival Tuesday, Savannah, Port of Spain, Trinidad
Girls in masquerade, Port of Spain (20016-11), Trinidad
Costume detail, POS, Trinidad
Police man, J’ouvert morning, St James, Port of Spain, Trinidad (2006-2011)
Finding yourself in Port of Spain or Arima or San Fernando, in the morning, among the peeps taking the slow moving vibes about their business, requires a couple of cheeky doubles on your way to your business of visiting mas camps, passing steel pan yards, buying tickets for all inclusive fetes in town.
The fetes would have been happening for over a month prior and mas camps are just making small size adjustments, with hours before bands hitting the road.
J’ouvert, the morning of carnival. Fear the blue devils blowing fires and hustling you with their tricks. Start 1am at St James. Dress in your worse, you will land somewhere around downtown even worse for wear, at sunrise or well after. The only things you need: drink, money to buy more drink, and someone to give you a ride home to your nearest friendly friend’s breakfast welcome and bed. Just don’t follow some guys up to Laventille, there are other places to drive through for that waterfall sobering bath.
With Jouvert done you are well on your way through the Trini carnival experience. If you can, climb up the hills of Paramin for their local jab jab Moko Jumbies J’ouvert. It is really out of this world walking between the village corners for yet another jab performance literally crawling down or up the steepest roads and paths you will ever see. If not grown up in the north coast, only drive in a jeep and with a local driver. Family cars driven by tourists abandon all hope. Taxi maxi, privately hired is another respectable method of arrival. I fell in love at jab in Paramin.
North Coast is not too far if you want to wash the petrol and paint off your skin with a sea bath. Just don’t drink and drive.
Carnival Monday and Tuesday are kiddies and adults days respectively. I don’t think there is much difference other than the kiddies go through town from what I remember whereas adults move faster to the Savannah and St Anne’s. Unquestionably you will see the best, biggest, most elegantly handcrafted pieces of mas on those days. For medium and large costumes the sheer weight of them on the masqueraders is a notable achievement in itself. When I first went to Trini Peter Minshal was the winning name of masquerade. Incredibly really talented artists have made Trinidad their home. Chris Ofili and Peter Doig are some among those.
I always thought of Ash Wednesday as an anti climax, not for one cause I stayed in the North Coast were thousands of people descent to hang out en mass by any sound system audible from anytime 8am onwards, to also whine and drink.
Then a fight kicks off, and another, so less people hang around and it all becomes sort of local again. Handed back to the really slow paced sunny humid sweet tasting bake n shark self. For the small but safe surf, head to Las Cuevas.