It’s winter out here in Radiokop, the heaters are on, we’re waking up a little bit later every day, kind of waiting for the sun to make it above the neighbor’s roof and into the bedroom window before heading out from under the duvet. The days are a long oil slick of late night editing, coffee and the occasional venture out into the yard to see if summer is on it’s way. We’re not holding our breath.
We’re also tidying up, repainting the house, backing up old photos, working on the next portfolio, servicing the cameras, checking the batteries. In the last season I have gone through less flash batteries than I have ever before. I seem to be going back to my roots, unobtrusive, natural light documentary work. Natural light for me is all about the emotion of that moment, it’s about the atmosphere of the room and the little smiles between couples.
In an industry where the norm seems to be images that are lit by several off-camera flashes, sharpened to a crisp, having had the atmosphere surgically removed, I prefer the quiet moments, something more organic, not so over-sharpened and dehumanized. A quiet moment, captured quietly. I prefer the glow of candlelight, fairy lights or even a videographer’s spotlight to the hyperreality pumped out by a flash. I think that the atmosphere of the reception room says as much about the moment as the expressions on people’s faces. It doesn’t have to be perfect, but it has to say something. You know what I’m trying to say? Sometimes the photos look so very digital, they look like the life was sucked out of them. I prefer the imperfections. The moments not caught in a flash.
Anyway, the cats are wondering when summer will be back. I’m off to make another cup of coffee, I can hear the intro music to House on the telly.