Wednesday, 24 December 2014

What color of rage are you?

Slowly and surely approaching the end of my wits regarding the fair. I am so tired, the body keeps trying to get sick, although it isn't sure how and I am starting to get migraines during sex, as if being improperly fed and hydrated and having constant muscle ache wasn't fun enough. Drej and I are giggling almost all the time, in a state of perpetual shock/hysterics, two giddy idiots, finding almost everything funny. We are swearing like two drunk old sailors and threatening to be rude to people if they ask us another stupid question. (We've made a list.)

I am not saying this wasn't marginally fun. It's a week left, between both holidays, whi9ch will either be a complete dry season or will prove the sales amounts equal to that of last year (so far not quite). But either way, at this point I never want to sit on another fair ever again. But that's just me at the end of my wit talking. 

I did come up with some intense photography inner monologues, though. I mean, they weren't intended to be inner, I wanted these to be told to people, but I kind of just want to learn and understand them myself, first. I am glad that I truly live and breathe photography, unlike a lot of so-calleds. Example - my new definition of portrait (vs. reportage, in that example)

A portrait is not an event. Portrait is math with attitude on it. It is an open gate invitation to someone's life story. 

There's a longer version, with more words in it, but this is the nutshell.

I'll explain on example soon enough. If only my fucking batteries weren't dying so quickly in the cold...