Blind & A Yellow Spade

One of the many things that I've learnt from my friend Peter is that you should never leave home without a camera; I know other, saner people might suggest that having your pants on the right way round or carrying the front door key and perhaps some money would be better maxims. But for us, it's cameras.

On this particular day, deep in the forbidding, oppressive and terribly repetitive woods of New Hampshire, I came across this pool of water filled with what might appear, at first glance, to be old coins (just suspend your disbelief for a mo, please). I thought to myself - what a great setting for the yellow plastic spade that I just happened to be carrying.

And, without a camera, that would have been that. A tiny, illogical and immaterial art installation would have been lost. But it wasn't; the digits bear witness.

Later (nearly said 'back at the ranch' then - lucky escape) in the bathroom of my hotel I was taken with this projection of the sun's rays through a venetian blind (awful joke avoided there). I've spent a lifetime sticking beams of light though windows in the hope of emulating the sun but only nature can get those cool crisp parallels. Aren't they magic? If only we could get the damn thing to stay in the same place for the retakes.