Status Quo?

Status Quo?
Originally uploaded by TSHolen

It's been christmas eve. Here in Norway we open our presents in the evening and not the morning after. Weird? Well, sucks to be you, having to wait and all ! I realize that the time when the presents meant everything is long gone by now. Of course I am truly grateful for the stuff I got (some truly awesome things, thanks everyone!), but somehow it seems that my anticipations and expectations were far greater for the reactions the gifts I gave caused.

If you're not into photography or long texts of b.s. I suggest you stop here. Come back next time I post something..!

So this is it. One semester - half of the first year at my BA Photography is done. I have made some work that I am truly proud of (as Vince proposes I will not pass judgement of the mere quality of the work, but regardless of that I can very well choose to be proud of it). It was different, the course that is, than what I expected. I though I would have someone tell me that if you put light from this and this direction that would make good light for a portrait. I'll come back to this some other time.

I am considering different things:
- I just make a jump for it and spend the ridiculous £3k for the lens I have been wanting more than almost any other thing the last two years. A question to be asked here is whether it is probable that this lens will indeed help my photography or whether it'll only make me rely on the lens to create the ompfh in my pictures. Well this is a bigger discussion I'll come back to later. The thing is; I've been wanting this lens for so long, I'm just stuck with the obsession. I mean really if what happens is that I buy it, try it and find it doesn't add anything (indeed it only limits me to use that special effect all the time) and I wind up selling it again, that'd be really good. I'd have been there, done that. And the stupid unproductive lust for this lens would stop (there's actually a specific term that exists for just this).

- I give up all the focus on equipment and start doing photography with some stupidly basic camera that I loath (like canon starter DSLRs; 450d etc). Truly talented people, in any branch of art, are by no means limited by the tools they use. It's in fact easy to point out a truly talented photographer by the fact that he never mentions what camera he uses, and also that he might as well have painted, but found that photography was simpler or something. In terms of music, these are the people who could make a hit song out of a plastic cup and a rubber band (Timbaland actually made a song this way, never released it as far as I know though).

In some respects it is arguable that photography is a form of art where equipment is of significance in the process of making the artworks. The equipment leave a fingerprint if you will. A great person once said (well not so great, as far as I know, this has come out of my own imagination) that in photography as opposed to painting and drawing we empower the camera, lens and film to do decisions for us. When you draw you have to make every line in the picture, in photography you mainly have to decide which lines you want to include. To do another analogy; photography is like driving a car when drawing is like walking. The two are hardly comparable as means of transportation, speedwise anyways. No doubt would it in most circumstances be easier to drive a car - it simply moves faster, _that is_ granted you know how to drive the car. No matter how superior the car might be in terms of speed it is also obvious that the car would not move very well without a driver. And also a different car fits a different need. This means that while we should not rely on the camera, lens and film to create the picture for us, we can (and should) choose whatever is most suitable for our needs. And here comes another question, can one really know what is best (most suitable) equipment without trying everything?

My thing, - or what I like the most about photography is shallow depth of field. There are a number of reasons for this:
- Shallow depth of field is one of the most powerful tools in photography. For me it represents something that we cannot replicate with our eyes, something that is not easily replicated in paintings or drawings, simply because it is an optical phenomena. To a certain degree I feel it helps rid the camera of its 'never lies' reputation.
- Also I believe that it is when a lens is used wide open (at max aperture) it's true characteristics are shown. The lens fingerprint becomes evident, be it good or bad.
- Choosing what is in focus in the picture in turn directs what we as viewers focus our attention to. This means that it is easy to pick something out of a scene to make the viewer pay attention to it.
- The bokeh. This word originates from a Japanese word for out of focus. It has been interpreted and made into different meanings, but often bokeh now refers to how a spot of light is rendered as a bright, round dot when out of focus. While this is a fascinating effect, it is more an invited biproduct of the shallow depth of field than a main motif for me.

This is my comfort zone. This is what I do. I have been asked to do two important things during this course so far. One is: 'Learn to develop your ideas creatively'. The other is: 'Step out of your comfort zone'.
I think the only thing I have been able to really learn about photography (that exceeds what I've learned from my obsession) this far, is to try and have an idea behind the pictures. And I have been working so hard against it. I mean read a couple of these posts and you'll see it, simple as that. Still I believe it is the most valuable thing I've picked up this far.

I think my goal for next term will be to step out of my comfort zone. Try and do some 'stopped down' shots and try not to care about the equipment. It's gonna be hard for me, but it's the only way I'll learn more I believe.

And sorry for the horrendously long post, I had a lot to say. In fact I'm not sure if I'm even finished on this topic yet.

Coke And Airports

The Traveler III
Originally uploaded by TSHolen

This has been, at least in some meanings of the word, a pretty interesting day. Not interesting as in genuinely intriguing and entertaining, more in the sense that ALOT of stuff has happened. A day filled with action. This day is the one the plan was to go back home to Norway for the Christmas holidays. Well, we usually pay a little extra to fly with SAS. For one: because they usually fly from Heathrow which is the airport closest to where we live. Secondly: if they fuck up (airlines are rather good at that), then they are also responsible for getting us back to Molde from Oslo because only they fly there.

Anyways, we managed to run a little late for our bus, so that we almost missed the connecting bus that'd take us to Heathrow. As we left the first bus we waved hysterically to the next bus, so much indeed that it stopped for us. That is something I believe the bus drivers are strongly discouraged to do. Some good luck (we thought).

We got to Heathrow, and made our way to the right terminal and the right gate. Only, the plane was said to leave some thirty minutes later than it said on our tickets. Well, a little postponed then, maybe? I tried the self service machines which told me to contact the service desk ('go fuck yourself!'). We went and talked to a lady in the desk who could tell me that:

'Sir, you're in the wrong airport'

Fuckety-double-fuck! Really, this only happens in movies! We were faced with two options: pay £277 a head to change the tickets to Heathrow tickets (ARE THEY MADE OF GOLD?!) or catch a cab to take us across London in its very entirety to the correct airport (thirdly: just give up the whole damned thing). The correct airport was London City Airport. Now come on, who in the name of what's-his-face has ever heard of London City Airport?! Everybody knows the airports in London are Gatwick, Stansted and Heathrow. No LCA. No no no (the only LCA that should be allowed to exist is the brilliant Lomo LC-A camera, which inspired the whole trend of Lomography) And second of all, when did SAS start flying from that rubbish airport? And why didn't anyone fucking TELL US? (well they probably did several times, but I'm taking the liberty to be angry and accusative nevertheless).

Anyway, the cab driver pretty much laughed at us when we told him our destination. Ninety fucking quid did it cost us. Besides from the unnecessary 'Did you REALLY go to the WRONG airport?' he was pretty much our hero. I wouldn't know this, but apparently going from Heathrow to London Fucking City Airport in an hour is some kind of feat. He was pretty nice about it anyways.

So, well that's pretty much it for today. Some sixty-something pretty painful and expensive minutes in a cab through London, no time for tax-free shopping (in England anyways, plenty in Norway) and we actually managed to get home. And as I get home I realize two things:
my bed is just unbelievably soft
I am no longer the master of my own house, as I was pretty much sent to bed by my mom (hmpf!)

Anyways I have to get up early tomorrow to have the dentist go on for about an hour about me drinking too much coke.
I have a theory about that. A theory of the type: conspiracy. How come everyone is totally addicted to coke? (and I mean the soda/fizzy drink, not cocaine, even though a lot of people are pretty addicted to that too) If you offer a cokeaholic (I am one, and proud) another type of fizzy drink, he will probably accept it (free stuff? yeah!) but he would by no means consider it equal or even similar to coke. Why is this? Coca-Cola was invented in the eighteen hundreds with the purpose to be some sort of medicine against nausea and headaches (I think). Anyways, everybody knows this, because this is what you would always tell your parents in order to get them to buy it to you (whether the headache/nausea was real or completely fictional). The coca in coca-cola is there because of the not-insignifficant content of coca leaves that used to be in coca-cola (cola is for the Kola nuts which is where the caffeine originates from). If you didn't know this, coca leaves are what you use to get cocaine. At some time the guys at cc decided it might be a good idea to reduce the content of COCAINE in the fizzy drink. So they started to use leaves which already had had the cocaine extracted from them. So-called 'spent' leaves. This is all, in accordance to the divine web page called Wikipedia (Wikipedia is your friend).

Oh, so it's not cocaine in it anymore... no no no, they 'extracted' the cocaine. I mean you really have to ask if there's not even the slightest chance that _maybe_ not _all_ of the _cocaine_ got _extracted_? Which again begs the question:

ARE WE ALL REALLY FUCKING COCAINE ADDICTS?!?!?!

I, The Terrorist

Originally uploaded by TSHolen

Done. I am finally finished. Damned essay. While it is on a subject of great interest to me (Magnum Photos), it's still something of a drag. That drag, was indeed the culprit that caused my project to go shit. I had two ideas. One was to photograph lobbies in skyscrapers. I like the design in them. I believe a lot of thought is put into these, seeing as they are one of the first things we see on the scraper.

The other project was to stop strangers on the road and take a picture of them, without including the head. The idea was to see how much you could tell about them from looking at the body (language), I also like the idea of fucking around with them abit, making them smile and stuff. Also that would make them anonymous, and anonymity seems to be something of a theme in my 'work'. In addition I like how people don't really like it when you ask them if you can take a pic of them, while they are photographed hundreds of times every day by mr CCTV.

I went to that business area close to Liverpool street, where that crystal thingie is and that building with the elevators on the outside (I believe they are known as the Gherkin and the Lloys building) are located. First time I brought up the Swede, a security guy came out of nowhere and had a go at me. I produced my precious 'fuck-you-I'm-a-photography-student' letter from Vince, the guy had a very very quick glance at it, but didn't feel that it made any difference. Anyways I left after considering for quite a while to snap a picture of him just for the hell of it. Next building and hard stares. I didn't really approach the building properly, and went on to the next one, which was more 'interesting'. I framed some architectural goodies and stood there for a while looking for someone to walk into my perfect picture. I suddenly noticed someone moving inside behind the windows. It's one of those blasted security guys, I noticed that he was walking towards me looking menacingly at me while seemingly talking to the air around him. Well obviously he wasn't. After I had tried to gesture that I actually couldn't hear him through those plenty centimetres of glass, I turned back to my perfect picture. And in it was a fucking security bastard literarily legging it in my direction. I turned and bailed pretty quickly (really should have just snapped a pic of him running towards me). After that I got the rather unpleasant feeling that every fucking security guy in the area knew about me. They seemed to already be looking for me when I came. I got the slightest inkling I might very well be mistaken for a terrorist. And being mistaken for a terrorist is hardly the coolest thing to do these days, so I left the place after this feeling slightly down to be honest. My feelings from Canary Wharf returned. What, REALLY, is the point in building these rockin' buildings if I can't fucking photograph them?! I mean seriously, did you guys seriously not consider that someone might be interested in photographing a building with the elevators on the outside, or even more a building which gives associations to giant didelydo? ! stupid stupid stupid!

Seeing as that project went to shit, I went to the Magnum Photos agency. I had planned going there, because I'm writing my essay about them and because I seriously dig their shit (well, not literarily though). After nearly an hour of looking after the agency (during which I stumbled over a Leica shop, fucking aye!) I finally stood outside. As I feared, they had one of those press-to-ring-and-talk things. Just as I was about to press it, I realized I had to say something to them. But WHAT? Really, what? 'I want to be a Magum photographer!' ? Like how many millions of others? Well anyways I babbled something about being a photog student and a nice lady let me in. She told me they didn't really do private portfolio reviews, and I was totally lost. I hadn't thought this through even a little bit. I mumbled something about internship, which I know they do have. She said they usually go through universities, and I suddenly realized that there's probably university courses whose sole purpose is to make people ready for Magnum-type photography. Needless to say I felt a little stupid, and I felt I really wouldn't be anywhere near their top choice. I mean seriously, if there was a list, no matter how long it was, I wouldn't be on it. No chance. Anyways she let me in to see an exhibition of magnum photographs from the revolution in Cuba. And even though I felt somewhat like that very young kid who they let join the football team just to be nice, but who's never gonna fucking play, I rather enjoyed being in there. A free magnum exhibition, very nice thank you.

Next day I did my strangers thing. You'd be surprised how short the gap is between gladly posing for a picture for a stranger, and saying how you don't wanna do it in a way that gives the expectations of a follow-up-punch. Out of the 50 people I asked, some 5 agreed to be taken a picture of.
They were:
only men (I guess it would be slightly more creepy for a woman)
walking in a natural tempo (I didn't even bother asking the joggers).

Two of them walked in the same direction as me, making for some minutes of uncomfortable silence after picture taking, two of them asked me what it was for, upon which I answered once that it was an art project and once that it was a photography project (the guy asked me if I did graphic design, apparently that seemed more natural than photography to him). Anyways, the pictures turned out shit, I'm not happy at all. Hopefully my essay is a better read so that these last three weeks have not been for nothing.

Everybody in Kingston, be warned. You know that German market by Borders? You know those guys selling pick and mix candy that is laid out on that big table? You know they do not under any circumstances let you taste before you buy? Yeah, well, there's a reason. You have to give it to them though, those huge chunks of chocolate marzipan looks friggin delicious! They are, in my honest opinion as a rather ventured taster of marzipan, by no means delicious. They are bricks of awful fudge which in an act of desperation have had some essence of marzipan or almonds or something far far different (you go ahead and imagine!) added to them and they are covered with a layer of a chocolate which under certain circumstances I am sure could have inspired both the Swiss and the Belgians to go to warfare. And we bought A LOT of that fucking shit, confident that they would taste so good that the rain that had been blown in making them wet, would not be noticed. I feel screwed over, and the fucking wet fudge melted out over all the other gooddies we'd bought. £8 we paid for it. RIP OFF! Just don't go there and buy that stuff, not matter how good it looks. If you ever consider it, come to me and I'm sure you can sample some, I believe I will never finish it all. The most stupid thing is that we'd been waiting ages to try that stuff, walking by saying that one day we'd buy loads. That stuff makes me angry.

Just some last annoyances that I have to get off my chest:

1. A black border around a picture does NOT make it good (or art). It really FUCKING doesn't.

2. Neither does turning it into monochrome (b&w so you won't have to ask WIki). If you go for the jackpot and combine these two = seriously not art. I mean there's art with it. I like b&w pics with black borders, that's not it. It's just that if it's a bad picture, adding black borders and making it mono doesn't magically make it good, it really fucking doesn't. I can't stress this enough...!

3. Cropping a picture into 16:9 or 1:2.39 or other panorama/widescree ratios does NOT make it cinematic

4. And if you do go for a cinematographic aspect ratio, are you SURE you need to put black spaces above and beneath the picture? In all fairness, it's really only there because our tvs aren't in those ratios. I guess it's ok, as it gives a bit more of that movie sensation, but for fucks sake, don't overuse it!

There will be more!

The Daddy Test

LSS Miniseries
Originally uploaded by TSHolen

Well, it's been a day. That's for sure. I will not pass judgement on whether it has been good or bad one, mostly because I have not been properly awake at all today. We had another one of our Mondays. And that day, yesterday, was a pretty good one I think. At least from what I can remember. We did our normal thing; Lloyds first for cheapishly drinkin'. I was first as always, and I had finished of a quarter of a bottle of Russian power water and a cup of a certain type of Irish cream mixed with coffee before I came. All in the effort of making the experience cheaper. Afterwards: across the road to venerable(?) Oceana.

The good things I remember:

we did drinking games (less success this time)
we got the same sofas as last time
Matt reminded me of the N.U.S. card, saving me a precious £1 upon entering OC
the revolutionary and undoubtedly ridiculously important and influential B.E.S. was created.
something I've been spending a fair amount of energy thinking about got confirmed, couldn't be happier!
Matt put me onto some British Drum and Bass
The DJ finally played Cash In My Pocket after I'd asked him some embarrassing three times
I spent less than £20 !

People either like drinking games or they don't. I can understand arguments for both. I can appreciate how it might feel slightly uncomfy having everyone closely monitoring how much you drink. And there's always lots of those "Can't we just chill"s and "that's just silly"s. Well, it's a good ice breaker anyways. At least our 'crew' has few problems with it, or so it would seem. Actually some are rather enthusiastic at times. We did 'knock-off-a-penny'. I've never learned this game from anyone, but I'm not gonna pretend I invented it, it's just too simple to never have been played before (and even if I did invent it; 'congratu-fucking-lations you invented a drinking game, come on, here's a fucking medal'). Idea is to have a tower of pennies; knock of one and you're in the clear, knock of more: you drink (and we added: knock over the whole shebang: down it! ). While this was somewhat entertaining(?) for a little while, throwing ice cubes quickly became more fun. That is until someone sitting in the couch behind us (I have an inkling they were feeling a bit of collateral damage) shouted (I say, rather aggressively: ) "STOP IT!!".

LONG overdue we finally founded the B.E.S. The Bureau of Excessive use of Sarcasm. While I might have been the one to start the initiative, Sophie rose from head chairman (-woman?) to actually becoming the official queen of the bureau in course of the night. Only fair seeing as the bureau was created in honour of her somewhat ... well, sarcastic comments.

There are a couple of good reasons to cry (as in: tears down the cheeks, not the shouting thing, more reasons for that) in a night club:
A girl (boy) might have screwed you over
A girl (boy) you have a rather strong liking to might have given you the impression that they might do that thing above, save the 'over' part of it.
Well there are thousands of different variations of people poking fingers and stuff in your eyes making those tears appear.

I guess my brief moment in tears falls into that last category. You know when you drink and you do stuff that might be considered to be a bit stupid? Not like those stupid drinkaware commercials, nothing like: unwanted babies, bruises (well small ones maybe) or any of that stabbing/mugging stuff. Just the small things. Minor screw ups. I am a Master of those. Anyways, I had a shot of teq. Salt and lemon and the whole package. I might not have been too particular about getting all that salt off of my hand. It's all just in order to prepare you for the teq, the same way the nurse used to pinch you before setting the needle.. no..? Some people say it's about opening the pores on your tongue, making the alcomohol (Clare!) go straight into your blood stream. However appealing this sounds, I'm not sure that millisecond you have the teq in your mouth would move mountains anyways. Back to the point: I can safely say that it only became obvious to me that I had indeed not licked all the salt of my hand when I got the sudden urge to clap in rhythm of whatever FIYA the dj was playing, spraying all that salt into my eyes. Whether or not you have had this experience before, I am sure you can imagine that this really is not particularly comfortable. In fact it hurt like a mothafucka (thanks to: mr. S. L. Jackson).

Even though I spent only £20 yesterday (something of an achievement, no?), the reality is that I am rapidly closing in on that thing you know, that being broke thing. So today I checked my Lloyds TSB card for credit; £8. Smallest amount available: £10. Auch. My Norwegian card next. Ambitiously £40, expensive to withdraw so better get a proper amount when I first bother. Computer says NO. Starting to sweat, and when I pushed £30 I didn't really believe it myself. NO. £20? Please..? NoooO! Last resort please, just a £10. Oh no no no.. Fuckety fuck! Later deep dives into my financial records revealed that my balance was approx £4, but with one of those handsome - infront of it. Uncool.. Very much so indeed. Luckily I have some backup, but I realize I can't leave home anywhere near sober when we're going out in the future.

Today Michelle and Sophie came to me with what they thought to be good news. They said that next term starts 26th of January and not the 5th as earlier stated(?). I can understand how that might seem like good news. Here are two situations where it's not:

- when you don't really fancy staying with mummy and daddy that long (am I onto something miss Lawson?)

- when you've already paid for your flight from Norway on the 4th and you realize that three weeks without anything to do will mean three weeks where a substantial amount of money will be likely to fall into some big black hole, never to be seen again and also when you have in mind that your GF is indeed returning to uni the 5th, and that making her take all the flights and stuff alone might be a somewhat unkind thing to do. (breathe)

Life's a muthafucka (again thanks to mr. S. L. Jackson). What do I do? Thanks in advance for all the stupid suggestions with the likes of: you could to this and that for ME / you could do stuff that doesn't cost money / blah blah and a blah

The daddy test. An invention by dear Vince. When in doubt of what to choose; do the daddy test. Go through your options find the one that makes you cry DADDY. That's the one. Simple but genius. I think it relates to the phenomena of the holy Ompfh. Some pictures have it, some don't. It's not easy to point out why, they just have the Ompfh. And if they have it, I'd say it's likely they would also make Vince cry DADDY.

Art as it should be

Originally uploaded by TSHolen

Yesterday I attended the most enjoyable art and design history lecture this far in my life (with the probable possibility that I will feel the same way at eighty-something). Well, this guy (Space Hijackers agent Bristly Pioneer apparently) came along to give a lecture about his anarchistic protest organisation called the Space Hijackers (S.H.). He was there representing something like an activist branch of performance art. Other big players are Joey Skaggs and Reverend Billy & The Church of Stop Shopping. Both also doing some hilarious stuff.

The general idea is to fuck around with the capitalists and the authority as much as possible without getting a serious offence for it. The best way to do this, as agent Bristly Pioneer (who've only been arrested once in the ten years he's been doing it) says, is to only do things that have such a great element of humour in them that Bobby will either look stupid trying to stop you, or (even cleverer) he will only join in on the action if he tries to stop.

One thing they usually do is that they go to bars dressed in proper cricket clothing, get mashed and start challenging businessmen to a cricket match. Capitalists against anarchists. Anyways, police turn up trying to think of a good idea of how to suggest that playing a cricket match in the middle of a street in London at 2 in the morning differs slightly from what they think is cool. The funny thing about it (and what I believe S.H. really is trying to produce from this situation), is that the £500-a-suit-clad businessmen is fighting alongside self pronounced anarchists against the police. Apparently some of them pointed up to enormous flats in skyscrapers above saying things like:
"I live/work up there, why (the fuck) shouldn't I be allowed to play a little cricket down here?"

Apparently they meet once a month to organise stuff like this. They check that no one's undercover cops (specifically coloured underwear), get pissed and come up with ideas. There's a big arms fair every second year in London that is rather unknown for people outside the industry. S.H. however, are very much aware of its existence. Once they figured that all that fascination about guns and weapons were compensations for their own personal (sexual) shortcomings, and bought a shitload of dildos (funded by some art benefit thingy), went on the DLR (public transport) where everyone going to the faire was, and tried selling them. Apparently, neither them nor the police thought this was a very right thing to do. The year before they got hold of a similar load of prosthesis' only to be able to go down and sell arms at an arms faire.

Before this year's faire they had a meeting and someone proposed they should get a tank. This was considered a laughing matter, that is, until sufficient amounts of alcohol were consumed. So they decided they'd do that. The idea was to sell it at the faire to whoever wanted it. They needed to raise £5000 to get hold of one, and did this by selling tshirts and having fundraiser parties. After some hard work they had the tank. So, what to do with it before the faire..? By this time, the police had gotten properly interested in what they were doing. So they had to hide the tank, in the middle of London. As easy as it may sound, they did have some trouble hiding the tank. The vehicle that brought the tank couldn't make the 'sharp' turn at the end, so they had to take it of. During this, I can imagine, rather stressing situation, two police officers just happens to stumble upon a load of people trying to get a tank of a trailer. Rather shocked they were. They froze the situation, and started taking pictures of themselves posing in front of the tank, making phone calls like:

"Eh, sir, we stumbled upon a tank"
"...."
"yes sir, a tank"
"..."
"In the middle of Hackney, sir"
...

They got away because all their papers were in order. Back in the days when agent Briskly Pioneer got his driving license, they weren't too specific about types of vehicles and all that stuff, meaning that he could actually drive the tank. Also they conveniently managed to insure it as a minibus (!). But after that they pretty much had police on them everywhere they went. They wanted to move the tank once and made phone calls to arrange it, and all of a sudden retroreflectors and neon yellow was everywhere in the middle of the night, making them conclude that their phones were being listened to. They had loads of fun with this, making phone calls about moving the tank just to have a laugh at the police rushing to the scene.

On the day of the fair they tried to get the tank out, only to be met by a wall of police. They performed a silly demonstrative check of the tank to decide whether it was eligible for travelling on public roads, just to stall time. When it became obvious that they weren't going to be able to get going from there, our friend agent Bristly Pioneer got up on top of the tank with a megaphone to address the crowd that had gathered:

"I'm sorry to say that we're not going to be able to get the tank to the faire. The police simply won't let us. I'm terrible sorry to disappoint everyone that came to see this.

However, the REAL tank is already on its way to the faire..."

He produced a picture of the second, secret tank closing in on the faire, while telling that they got a bicycle charity to give them loads of bicycles so that everyone that wanted to go down to the faire could grab one. The police, proudly having made a blockade of some sort, didn't have a chance to get moving that fast. And again phone calls were being made (hopefully not by the same people):

"Sir, there's another tank"
"..."
"Yes sir, but there was one more"
"..."
"Yes sir, this one was a decoy, the other just crossed the bridge..."
...

The tank arrived and was auctioned with bids starting on an Ipod. Mission accomplished.

I took the liberty to fill in some of the things I didn't remember properly, if someone else attending the lecture notices something I've got wrong, please let me know. I also just realised that a more complete and better version of the story is at the Space Hijackers home page. Anyways, my conclusion is that as far as ART goes, this is probably about the coolest thing you could to.

The following evening, we decided to go out. Matt, Sophie, Trude (actually made it this time), Dan and late but trusty Michelle and Claire, and yeah, I was there as well. We started out at Lloyds, ordering pitchers of liquid hell (vodka+mixers) which went down rather rapidly. Drinking games as usual. Afterwards followed a totally bitching night at the local night club Oceana, during which I spent more money on alcohol than I have at my whole stay prior to this. Apparently I managed to down 6 or 7 shots of teq and some awful (but cheap) jack and coke on top of the jugs from Lloyds. Didn't even get sick. Probably the dancing. Maniac-like dancing. Dan was the star.

Though day today, although all of us were proud and ready for lecture in the morning. Rather impressive in my opinion, actually a better turnout than normal (good job Dan!). Mental presence maybe not as strong as some of us had a tendency to doze of at times. 2'oclocko and time for my presentation (prepared the last 30 minutes before 2) and seeing as no one else of the presenters turned up (one almost believably ill and the other claiming to have fainted earlier in the morning. Wow, GOOD imagination!) my pictures were the topic for the whole hour. Vince told me to look at photographer Brian Griffin, who besides having a rather strikingly recognisable name, produces some whopping good pictures. Apparently he didn't get a job after he'd finished his MA in photography. After a while he just took a (rather unattractive) job as a staff photographer in some business magazine. Seeing as they had hired him and was paying him they very well had to use his pictures. He discovered he could do whatever the fuck he wanted, and they had to publish it. This ended with a photograph published in a business magazine winning loads of prizes. Pretty awesome.

Memorable quotes from today:
"...then maybe I can stick my stick in your thing...?"
(Frankie asking whether she could use my mac to present if she didn't get hers before she had to present. The stick in question is type: memory- )

"Hunter S. Thompson is a fucking genius! People watch the movie (Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas) and think it's funny. I've read the book and it's fucking scary! That guy talks about drugs that _I_ have never heard of in my life before, and I funded art school by dealing drugs at the university for fucks sake!"
(Vince after I brought up the topic of Hunter S. Thompson as a photographer)

Upon being asked what would be a fail on the art and design history essay, our tutor suggested:
"Well, if you shit on a piece of paper and hand it over to me..."

The funny thing about this (as Sophie pointed out) was that you could actually tell that about three seconds after he'd said that, he got the mental picture in his head and started making faces, as he realized what he'd just said. Good stuff !

I'm going to bed in two hours ago. Never seem to get that stuff right, it's simply too easy to stay up.

Jante meets megalomania

Non- / Chalance IV
Originally uploaded by TSHolen

I'm not entirely sure whether it is because I've grown up in a small town or if it is something that is particular about me. What I do know is that I am a city-addict. I love the metropolis. I am still wandering around big-eyed, taking in everything about the city, the architecture, the people - the stereotypes. This is the main theme of all my photography this far on the course, just interpreting the city. I believe I see it differently than people who have lived here all their lives. This last project I found this incredibly cool place called the Barbican, and I took loads of pictures there. I noticed that the Londoners were hurrying by seemingly ignorant of the beauty of the place. That inspired me to try and put something into the pictures that would stop this nonchalance. I went back to the same places and took similar pictures with a human figure in them. I wanted it to be an anonymous, iconic figure whose main purpose was to attract attention. I wanted to create a figure that would seem intimidating and puzzling. This was the idea behind my project, which I have now posted to flickr. It has received pretty much attention, so I guess that has to mean that they weren't that rubbish after all.

And about that, I tend to try to and be humble and not have delusions of grandeur. It just so happens that a good friend of mine (Karoline) lives next to a fella called Ian who studies photography at Brooks Institute in California (apparently that's the royal shit within photo education). We started talking, comparing courses (mine= artsy, his= professional), and I explained about my (stupid?) dream of moving to New York to try and make it as a photographer (C L I C H É !). And he (the American) said I ought to do it. And not only that, he couldn't possibly understand why I wouldn't. Americans are known to be a little cocky and arrogant and are always on about their american dream, while europeans are more humble and have less faith in themselves, those who in fact does have ambitions go to america to realize them. I hope I'm not offending anyone.. I'm coming to the point soon. Which of these are right? Talking to lovely Ian, who honestly couldn't understand why I wouldn't have enough faith in myself to try and go for it, I wasn't that sure anymore. We (Karo and me) had to try and explain about the european (scandinavian) culture, and I introduced terms such as 'delusions of grandeur' and the Jante Law. Upon reading the latter Ian reacted saying it was totally crazy. And I did really come to realize that it is. It's totally fucked up actually. The thing is that we've grown up in a society which still very much cherishes that law, even though everyone you ask will deny it. It's deeply imprinted into our culture. It's neither right nor wrong, it's just the way it is in Scandinavia. I'm not suggesting we change it, I'm pointing out that while a lot of you fellow europeans point at americans saying how bold and cocky they are, take a look at yourself (and maybe the distribution of power in the world) and reconsider what the fucking ideal is.

Anyway, back to my project again. I've been bitching quite a lot about the way the idea behind the pictures seem to be more important than the actual pictures. I came to realize that I was a little wrong about that. I think some of my frustration originated from something else; I'm in the first year of a bachelor in photography and everyone is at different levels of skill at this point. Some of us presented what we considered to be finished bodies of work. Others were just messing around trying different stuff. And while the products are difficult to evaluate and compare, I overlooked that it was indeed the progress we were being awarded for.

Yesterday I went through all the pictures of me on facebook. Some two hundred and somethy-something. And besides from giving a rather stunningly complete documentation of a lot of the best parties I've been to, they got me to realize that at 19 years of living I have indeed had a lot of fun already. What also strikes me is that it is the parties where someone carried a camera that you remember the best. I also tend to black out my memory completely when I drink, which is the reason why I was armed with a disposable almost every party throughout a year. Funny thing about this is that you only get the pictures back quite a while later, so some parts of the party would only be rediscovered maybe the next week. My cousin's husband (Paul) have the same memory problem and he said something pretty cool about it:
"When you don't remember anything from the parties you've been to, then you experience them twice. Once when you are there, and once more when people tell you what actually happened". I agree with that to a certain extent, but if no one's there to recap everything to you right away, then it feels kind of useless spending that much money for having a black hole in your consciousness. So I started bringing disposables loaded with slide film, b&w and loads of other stupid stuff, to document the parties. I have to admit that in between the vast ocean of shots of people posing/making faces with their drinks, there are some rather good stuff. In fact some photographers actually do this stuff for real. Seamus Nicholson for one and Jamie Stoker, who is a rather talented british photography student, currently in Brighton I believe. I just happened to come across his blog. Some good, inspiring stuff. In Alex Garland's 'The beach' the (notoriously super cool) main character talks about whether he wants to carry a camera around on his travels. The argument was that you only remember the actual moments in the pictures and nothing else. It's hardly a fair thing to bring up (comparing blacked out parties with international travels and all) but I'd say that I usually manage to connect the dots. I'm gonna start bringing cameras to parties again.

On a completely different note, I have decided that the best way to cross a road is to walk halfway over looking like you own the place, and when you realize the shitload of cars are coming faster than you thought: run like a crazy fella!

Non- / Chalance

Non- / Challance I
Originally uploaded by TSHolen

I presented my project today. A self initiated project we've had for four weeks now.
I focused at interesting places and shapes in London that most of Londoners walk by without even noticing. To emphasize this I placed an anonymous, iconic person in them, trying to make them more noticeable. I.e Nonchalance vs Chalance. 

Upon presenting my work I got the following feedback:

"I like it"

"I like it too"

and then Vince came and helped me loads:

"I think the mask should be black"

Thanks, I'm definitely going to be a much better photographer now. I would really love to have someone be completely honest with me. Rip them apart...

Apparently it's not really about the aesthetics. It's the idea. And it's not enough to have an idea for something aesthetic, the idea has to be based on something like: "The flowers represent how my mother got ill and died" or some other long-shot symbol of a deep feeling, and then if the actual pictures are shit, it doesn't really matter that much. 

In other news, I went to ASDA today, and I realized that the shelves with laundry washers smell more like candy than the actual candy shelves. So much for helping the blind guys. Anyways I went to pick up a package of flour. Obviously I grabbed the ASDA smart price thingy, 68p or something. A guy stopped me just as I grabbed for it, to ask me whether that flour was any good.

For one:

Do I LOOK like a guy that would know the differences between brand-name flour and ASDA smart price flour? (I really don't think I do. I look far too cool and stuff)

Secondly:

Is there REALLY any difference? (Again, I can't possibly imagine that)

The guy was in his mid forties I'd say, and to be fair, I'd suggest that the probability that his flour-experience by far outranged mine is rather large. Anyways, I mumbled something about not really minding and went away.

I haven't been able to write much the last couple of days, which is good seeing as that means that I actually have things to do. Tomorrow I'm gonna try to start my essay once more...

Going postal

As I hinted earlier I'm supposed to write on my essay today. It just so happens that I have not written a single word of it as of yet. I have not really read a single word of research for writing it either. Nevertheless I am writing this. It proves one time for all that it's not the act of writing that is repulsing, it all has to do with what you write about and even more important, what motivates you (or not) to write. This isn't really news, but you remember that smart-ass chick back at school who hated and subsequently failed all the essays she was given, claiming she didn't like to (or actually all together could not) write, while she wrote more text messages than the rest of the class added up as well as being a notorious starter of chain e-mails. While she was unable to write about the history of literature, she could easily think of a couple of hundred things that would happen to you if you do not send the email on to so and so many people. 

Anyway, I bought a russian viewfinder (with meter) for my precious hassie off of ebay. The cool thing about the british postal service is that they bring the packages to your door (that doesn't happen a lot in Norway), the not so cool thing about it is that if you're not there when they try to deliver it you have one week to hit the post office and pick it up. Seems fair enough. Except the post office is open from 7am to 2pm mon-fri and 7am to 1pm on Saturday. I can see how some people might find it troublesome to get there within those times, and if you don't make it..? Well it's all shipped off back to the sender (in my case: Russia). Not so much fun.

I had one thing to do this Saturday, that was getting the package. I was fully aware of the opening hours, but nevertheless I managed to only get out about half past twelve. I found the (rather out of the way) post office at 12.45 (having taken a 90p bus ride some enormous two stops - I was in a hurry!) and I knew it might be ambitious to think that I'd get the package within those 15 minutes. There was a queue. Fucking big one too. Out of the packed post office, out on the parking lot thingy and onto the actual road outside.

Ironically this made me get my hopes up. The mere fact that all those people still bothered to stand there had to mean either that:

the queue was moving fast

or

the nice postal service people would finish the people in the queue even after 1 o'clock.

No such luck. The queue moved fast enough, in fact just fast enough for me to get into the office at pretty exactly 1 o'clock. This was, however, also the time when the guys behind the tills basically just bailed. They turned around and left. I think it is fair to say that people did not particularly care for just this. In fact, one of the bitter old women in the crowd (probably picking up some rubbish mail order stuff that she never in her years alive would even have anywhere near her house, at least without christmas wrappings. And which she intended to give to her closest friends for christmas, while complaining loudly over the rubbish presents she'd get in return) started yelling at a rather generous-figured postal employee. Something along the lines of "If you got of your fat bottom and got behind the tills we would have all gotten our packages today!". As much as I admire her ability to address figures of authority in such a sweet, sensible way, I must admit I was doubtful of the effect it would have had to have another guy behind the tills. I would also suggest that maybe he had being doing something else, maybe even something important.

Then all hell broke lose (not really, maybe some of it though). A guy standing startlingly close to me started pounding his fist into the air shouting "WE WANT SERVICE!" repeatedly in the way they shout slogans in bad movies about strikes from the nineties. The only problem was that at first no one really joined in (I suspect because they were having the same associations as me) but after some three solitary shouts people chimed in, at which point I left. My efforts only brought me there 15 minutes before closing time, and as much as I'd like to join the fist-pounding and repeated shouting thing I had to appreciate that this just wasn't my battle. Best of luck to the others though. The whole situation really made me realize how good the expression 'Going postal' actually is. I was ignorant of the way the postal service really works. Next time I go there (tomorrow probably) I'll bring some spiked bats and a gas mask.

Maybe I'll try writing/reading something about Duchamp now (for my essay), or maybe I'll just skip the ambitiously optimistic pretending and realize that it will indeed not happen today. Whatsoever. 

Gathering Dust

These are my contribution to the Gathering Dust exhibition. Nothing fancy, just some shots i had completely forgotten about, like was the whole idea of the exhibition. 

It's raining badly today, I don't want to step outside the door. I have stuff to do for uni (an essay) but chances are that I'll rather spend more time  writing a proper post here.

"Forgotten portraits of remembered people" :

The Camera Nerd

I'm not really an art knower. I'm expected to be that now, apparently. There's something called modern art and something called contemporary art. I wouldn't know the difference (I'm probably supposed to know it, though), all I know is that normal rules don't apply. It doesn't have to look nice, in fact it doesn't have to be anything remotely art-like at all. Apparently the more spaced out, the better. 

I'm only saying this because we had an exhibition called "Gathering Dust" at Uni today. A good initiative; bring stuff that you've never shown before, - and it could be anything. One of the guys there actually decided to bring himself. I'm not speculating whether he's out a lot, but if I had to comment on that, I'd say that there's a good chance he does not have a whole mountain of friends to chose from. The guy was wearing a skin coloured bath hat, some Ali G-type glasses and a keyboard on his back (if you pressed the right button, allegedly it would detonate a nuclear bomb). In a rather convincing german accent he presented himself as a german techno artist called, appropriately, Techno Spoof (http:/uk.youtube.com/user/Technospoof71, - either he's 37 or there's at least 70 other techno spoofs. I can't decide which is more probable - or pathetic). He was his artwork. I will upload some pictures of him later.

 

The answer applicable for every stupid action in the world: 'It's art'. If it has indeed come to the point where this is art, I'd say we go and push all the buttons on this guys keyboard. Entertaining: yes. Art: no(!).

Well, today I have been in colour darkroom almost continuously from 10 am to 5 pm. A lot of people do not think of this, but there's a big difference between the prints you get from the photo store and the ones you print off of your printer at home. Where as your printer drips small drops of ink onto the paper, the photo store exposes light sensitive photographic paper. The viewable difference is mainly that you can se the lines where the printer have printed each line of information, and you can also make out the tiny drops. In addition, the colours greatly depend on the right light to be rendered correctly.

When you print colour pictures the old fashioned way you do approx. three prints to get the exposure right and three more to get the colours. All the printing is done in pitch black. I spent 5 hours to do three prints. And I only just managed. Think about that next time you pick up a couple of hundred prints from the local photo store!

What is a photograph though? Granted that you say you're holding a photograph in your hand. Are you then:

a: holding a print in your hand

b: holding a original (negative/positive) in your hand

?

And what about digital photographs? You can't really hold them, can you? You can hold the prints, yes. But the actual photograph?

If you say that the print is the photograph, then what happens when you have several prints from the same original. Do you then have several photographs or several prints of the same photograph?

Also consider this:

I: Is a photograph better the bigger it is? No? Pixels don't mean shit then..? When you're considering that 12 Mpix camera, ask yourself this: are you REALLY going to print in skyscraper-wall-poster-size? 

II: How do you really want your pictures to be viewed? Have you considered that maybe the lcd screen of your pc is not the best way to view your pictures? To quote my teacher, Vince, 'Prints are FUCKING cool!"

Cameras. Germany, USA, Russia and Japan. That's what counts. And Japan very much so.

Germany: Schneider Kreuznach, Carl Zeiss, Franke-Heidecke, Leitz.

USA: Kodak.

Russia: Kiev, Zorki, Zenit, Lomo.

Japan: Ricoh, Nikon, Canon, Panasonic, Sony, Pentax, Olympus, Samsung, Bronica, Mamiya, Yashica... the list really does go on.

If there ever was such a thing as a photographic war Japan would, with no great effort, blow everyone else out of the water. Big Time.

Sorry for the techie output, but as it happens I have worked in a photo store for four years and adapted an semi-insane obsession for old cameras and lenses as well as developed an unhealthy relationship to film. It's like candy to me, at least the good films. Anyways, I know the stuff, and I like to talk about it.

I am a camera nerd. But being a nerd is really only a bad thing when that is the only thing you are. I am a photographer too, I think.

Yes, I am alright. Thank you very fucking much!

About a month ago I bought a shit load of vouchers for E6 (slide) processing at this lab out in Guernsey. Of course about a week after I got the vouchers they announced that they were closing down the E6 processing december 1st. No doubt I was pretty happy about that..

This, however, is the reason why I went to London today for no other reason than to shoot four rolls of 120 (medium format) slide film. I'm not very good at exposing my medium format slides, so doing it in a rush is undoubtedly not a good idea. Anyways I went to Canary Wharf, which is this huge collection of skyscrapers and generally new and trendy architecture. Pretty ambitious stuff. Very photogenic. I knew on beforehand that the whole place is actually a private estate and that it is prohibited to photograph there at all (without a permit that is. Wonder what I'd have to go through to get one of those..?). I was photographing with my hasselblad. This camera is of the same size as a semi professional video camera (which I believe is the reason why a lot of people seem to think I am filming with it) or a small machine pistol... well at least it's not very unobtrusive.

When you do street photography you tend to learn some things about people. For one, if the theory that you can know when someone's watching you is true (I very much believe so), then I have a further theory that it is roughly ten times easier for people to feel that you are pointing a camera at them (if not twenty). It's actually almost fascinating the way they seemingly always turns your way that millisecond before the shot. When they do realize that you are pointing a camera at them they react in one of these ways:

1. They jump out of the way, saying that they are terribly sorry (as if I owned the very area they were standing in and had every right to throw them away from there). Often they do the jumping away in a rather clumsy way, which tempts me to actually take the picture anyway. I almost never do.

2. They look at you in a menacing way, kinda saying 'I'll kill you if you take that shot' (or something along the lines of that). I usually just take the shot really quickly and either walk fast in another direction or look distantly past them, making it clear that I was indeed photographing something far behind them (I do this ALOT when I get busted for trying to take someone's picture). It's cool because it also implies that they are rather self centered and arrogant if they argue that I was indeed taking a picture of them (sorry sir, you're not that good looking...).

3. Every now and then someone looks at you and then after some seconds of eye-contact (mine through the lens/viewfinder, but still) they actually go back to what they were doing. In a way saying: 'I'm actually okay with that...'. They may act slightly unnatural, but this is still by far the best response to get. It doesn't happen a lot though. It happened once with a shoemaker in Croatia (he did the posing thing, but a rather handsome one) and it happened today. Some guy were standing in some very handsome light, carrying a several bags of flowers he'd bought in some (I'd guess, rather expensive) flower shop. He saw me, I did the looking past him thing, but he caught my eye and I was slightly at loss of anything to do, and then he just turned back and went back to doing what he was doing before (I imagined looking for the woman to give the load of flowers to). Bless him!

The Croatian Shoemaker

Anyways, back to my 'big camera'-situation (oh don't do that 'perverse association' thing..!). One guy approached me today, saying 'You know they make digital cameras now!' while pointing at my hassie. Apparently, this is, from what I've read on forums and stuff (flickr group threads) a very common thing for people to say when you're carrying an old camera. I've never got one before. I usually get the 'Is that a real Hasselblad?!' continuing with: 'My dad/uncle/brother/mom/granddad was/is a photographer and he used to have/has one of those'. Funny thing is, often they comment on the hasselblad in a 'wow, have you actually got one of those'-sort of way, while completely ignoring my Leica which by all means is worth a lot more. I don't really mind, not wanting to draw attention to the fact that I carry a rather expensive camera (expensive really only for being an analogue camera, dslrs usually cost more).

Second guy to notice my camera was one of the two rather large security guys (it seems I don't mix too well with security guys lately) who could indeed inform me that I was not allowed to take pictures in the building, or even on the whole of Canary Wharf area. Security reasons, they said. I'm sure terrorists carry around hasselblads and wear new era caps when they do their reconnaissance. Stupid stupid stupid... What is really the point in making loads of really cool and photogenic skyscrapers if no one is allowed to photograph them?

Anyways, I upped my scandinavian accent and informed them that I was really sorry and that I was unaware of the fact that it was prohibited to photograph in the area. I believe the fact that I moments earlier had been trying to open a door that was not being used (I accidentally missed the big poster stuck to it) did wonders to make my ignorant state more authentic.

Afterwards I went to an expensive burger place. One of the waitresses seemed fairly new in her job. She dropped a tray (an empty one, luckily) to the floor. And after the noise, startling nearly all of the people in the restaurant, had died out, she did the 'I didn't do anything wrong'-thing rather than apologize. Afterwards she decided to stop me mid-bite to ask if everything was alright. I said a simple, polite: yes, but thought otherwise (Yes, I am alright. Thank you very fucking much!). Good burger though...

Train home. And now I'm writing this while watching pictures on flickr. My girlfriends coming from paris soon. 'til next...

Water Fights and Nicking of Sofas

Yesterday (Monday) we arranged to have a poker night with the class. We've had one before, and if they continue to end up like these I'm not sure that it is justifiable to call them poker nights anymore. On the first one we actually played poker for some generous 10 minutes or something before alcohol took over. This time we didn't even get to take out the cards (this is a metaphor as we actually used them a lot for drinking games).  Of the twenty-something we (I) invited, only 8 showed; Frankie, Michelle and roommate Claire, Matt, Dan (who apparently wasn't even invited.. my bad!), Frankie's 'friend' Zac, Sophie and I. It was at Frankie's. She has a spacious (for london area standards anyways) living room. She was wall-to-wall carpets (do you actually call them that?) in every room besides the kitchen and maybe the bathroom (we have the same situation at our place).

We did:

The Circle of Death/Ring of Fire (Michelle had to drink the jug, which had a serious portion of guinness in it, together with some spirits making it a liquid pukyfier) Due to some unlucky waterfalls Frankie got it worst this round.

The Bus Driver (I can never remember the second half of this game, and seeing as it seems to be norwegian, I'm not getting any help here)

My very own modified "I have never" game. You state that you have done something, people say if they believe you or not. Those who are wrong have to drink. Simple! (and doesn't get the same repercussions the day after as the conventional game does when you, say, spill a bit too much about your bedroom activities and someone (Matt) decides to record the whole shebang on his camera)

Then we did some sort of version of beer pong with my newly acquired ping pong balls (2.90 at Argos!). Boys agains girls. Boys were loosing badly. Zac had to finish something that was mixture of guinness, vodka, whisky, more vodka and maybe some alcopop-mayhem.

Then we started throwing ping pong balls, and after I'd thrown a few at Frankie she decided that throwing a glass of water at me was probably something I'd greatly appreciate. This escalated into a vicious water fight, where Frankie barricaded herself in the bathroom with the shower head, and apparently she was feeling slightly trigger happy. Matt was our team leader, and the fight that did little to encourage further use of 'wall-to-wall carpets' only ended when Matt felt we had to retreat and close the door while my and was holding a class through it. Frankie, a glass shorter and rather wet, went to bed and the rest of us went to trusty Subway and I caught a bus home after an hour of talk by the bus stop.

This morning, my dear girl managed to convince me to come out of bed. I was slightly reluctant, but we have these talks on tuesdays, where professional photographers come and talk to us. Interesting stuff! - Usually that is...

This guy did not find anything even a little bit wrong with talking to a photography class for an hour and a half about psycho analyzation. It did not, by far, seem anywhere near worth it to get up to see that thingy. I was not happy at all.. I was bored and tired, and admittedly slightly hung over. He talked about this Baader-Meinhof german activist group. They are featured in a new film, which I might actually see (hopefully that one won't be about psycho analyzation). 

The photography course have this 'production space'-area at our disposal. Apparently they fought really hard to get it last year. This seems weird because no one really use it. Anyway, they're threatening to take it away if we don't start using it (bastards!), so we started making plans of how to make it more habitable (it's on the 4th floor. ALOT of stairs). Me and Matt have discussed getting a sofa up there. And by encouragement of my crazy-cool teacher (his name is actually Vince) and by inspiration from the talk we decided to start the Sofa Thieves Activist Group (we didn't really, I did now). Anyways we just nicked one that wasn't being used. We did some reconnaissance (damn, I actually managed to spell that correctly on the first go!) first. We checked out the lift and ran into this smart-ass security guard fella. He was digging for info, but we didn't give him any. We went in, got the sofa (our plan was to simply look really important so that no one would stop us. The guard wasn't there so it was all good (except that the sofa was heavy as fuck! and the lift was slightly too small.. didn't stop some art weirdos from insisting to join us in there, though). Finally we had to bring it up some stairs and into the production space. I went down to get the cushions. When I went to the lift the second time, the security guy was there and he was nosy once again. Wanted to know where I'd gotten the cushions. I replied that Vince asked us to get them (as he instructed us to say). He was smirking and looking slightly defeated. Once I got up I sat down there and looked through some photography books for about an hour before Matt came along telling me that we had to take the fucking thing back down again. We decided not to do it today.

You know the feeling when someone seems to be inviting you to punch them in the face? I met the security guy again. Same smirk - this time victorious. He could inform me that we had to take the sofa down again, as he had indeed hinted was going to happen. Punching a security guy is never a good idea, and I'm not the violent type. 

I went home. Made some curry. My girlfriend (Kornelie, if you didn't know it. Here she's called Nell, same way I'm called Theo) was going to London tonight because she's going to Paris tomorrow. She actually managed to forget her passport, so she had to go back, and I had to go to the train station with it, wearing shorts (pretty cold I tell you). When I got back I started this blog, and I felt I had to recap the last months before I started on today. So, there it is. It's beginning...

Now I'm going to bed.

So. What's been happening?

Well, I'm in Kingston Upon Thames for the time being. I'm studying a bachelor of arts in photography. And apparently it has honors as well. I wouldn't know what that means. I've been here since August 18th. Uni only started September 17th, but due to some sloppy reading we landed a long month too soon. Well it could've been worse. We could have decided to stay at a YMCA together with drug addicts and criminals. Oh wait, we did that too..!

Anyways, I have a crazy-cool teacher (I guess they're really called tutors but what the hell...). He is by all means not afraid of using strong language. I can illustrate this with this one situation where he approached me when I was scanning some photographs with my lovely girlfriend at my side. I asked him how he was, and introduced my girlfriend. He said:

"That can't be your girlfriend! You're too fucking ugly to have a girlfriend"

I must admit to being slightly at loss for anything to say at that point, so he continued without any intervention.

"If you have a girlfriend everyone in the world should have one. Everyone's better looking than you!"

I think that I had been there about a week at that time, and while I'd already understood that this was the way this guy was, I'm not too sure that my girlfriend had the same intel. I think she was slightly shocked actually.

Upon another occasion this same teacher was mistaken for another teacher by some students that'd never been in our department before. They were returning some photo-equipment. And when they asked him whether he was indeed Niall (he isn't), he answered the following:

"What?! Dipstick! Are you on drugs?"

"No, I'm not. I just thought you might me Niall"

"I'm not... Sure you're not on drugs?!"

And speaking of which, we had a situation in one seminar, where one of the students (Matt) kept falling asleep. First time this wonderful teacher of mine noticed it, he merely asked him whether he was alright. Matt had allegedly been working so much with his project that he didn't go to sleep until early in the morning (no way I was buying that). Still, we continued. The second time it happened my teacher had this to offer:

"You should take some drugs! That will help you.. Cocaine should do the trick. Or amphetamine... Yeah, amphetamine sulphate, that used to be the shit..."

He went on a bit like that. I don't think it would be an overstatement to say that just about all of us thought we had fallen asleep as well.. This had to be the thing of weird dreams. No such luck.

Well enough about him for now. We've had three projects.

The (somewhat unexpected) summer project was to consider the notion of space in areas around you or in connection to some words (or something like that).

I chose to look at Urban Space and Mindscape.

Second project was called Time Sequence Memory, mine was called "the Journey".

Third was called Transposition and Transformation, where we were supposed to reference some other artists work. I referenced my favourite photographer, Tommy Oshima's "Graffoto" series. These consist of pictures on a wall. I went out and found street art, took pictures of it and put these on a wall making my own street art. Took pictures of these again with a large format camera. Cool stuff.

The one we have now is a Self Initiated Project. And this is twice as long as the others (four, not two weeks). I'm presenting next week, think I'm done taking pictures actually.

Other than my pictures, I'm expected to present research. My problem is that I don't think I really do research. I'm not really sure what they mean by that. What I've picked up is that the idea is as important (if not more) as the actual pictures. This is slightly problematic for me as I usually do street photography. Obviously it's challenging to have a specific idea and get random people to make it happen. I do conscious choices, but I have a hard time explaining them. I'll try some other time. Anyways I'm supposed to look at other photographers, I do this ALL THE TIME, I'm a flickr-addict. But they want me to take notes and do bad prints of everything I look at and stick them in a beat-up book together with a bunch of writing about the idea. I'm just not that type of guy... enough about that.

I realize that if I intend for anyone to actually read through this, I need to write less.. I'm stopping here.

The Blog. An Introduction

I've been debating for quite a while whether or not to take part in this phenomena. I don't really care to much for the way a lot of bloggers publish their lives in what seems to be no more than an effort to get a feeling of those 15 minutes Mr. Warhol was talking about. Another thing that has held me back is that I am a formidable half-asser. That is, I have a tendency to start out with things (ideas, projects and stuff) and not finish them. This is why photography is so good for me. 'Click' and it's done. Well, it's not really that simple, but I guess I'll come back to that some other time. I thought it might be difficult to do it, making the blog (I had a sneaking suspicion that it was indeed fairly easy, but it was another more or less good reason to put it off). I study photography, which I guess could mean that I won't have any problems with putting pictures in this thing. I do all my photography on film and therefore there will be some delay between events actually happening, and me posting pictures of them.

I am in England, away from my land of birth. And several people have suggested blogging as a way of giving updates. For reasons given above I have waited quite a while with this. But it just so happens that I have a lot of time on my hands, and while I do not hope that the blog will become an all-time-consuming thing, I will try to write every now and then. Today was the day to start it. 

Another debate has been whether I'd write in English or Norwegian. I'm fairly sure you'd be able to guess what the outcome of that debate is. Seeing as I gave giving-updates-to-my-Norwegian-friends as a reason for writing this thingy, it would be natural to write in Norwegian. To be honest I've been somewhat bothered with the fact that I know a language that I can speak to 4.5 million people with (and maybe slightly (mis-)understand another 10 m) while I live in a city with more than twice that many people in it. My university has more students than my hometown (incidentally a wicked song by Adele) have inhabitants. Norwegian is simply too limiting. Anyway my mother needs to learn English badly, and if she ever discovers this thing hopefully there'll be so much stuff on it that she won't be able to get someone else to translate it to her.