Justin Sullivan in Paris
The sky was a huge chalky surface which bled into everything it touched, transforming every edge into a prismatic mess. It casted a dirty light, which made the world look like it had been haphazardly glued together by someone who had never encoutered perspective before.
I let little clouds of imagination wander two and a half minutes. Among two-dimensionnal black trees, they almost caught a vibe of the second Lost jockey.
But in Paris there are concrete walls behind every stubby tree, and the walls are topped by railings, and the railings are topped by wire fences.
The imagination-clouds got caught in the wires. They ended up in tatters.
No sky, no light, no lost jockey, no imagination, no space.
In these cases, you go close-up. But then you’d better have a subject with a bit of personnality and a real good film if you want to do something even remotely interesting.
I guess I had both, and a keen lab which did work wonders on my slightly underexposed rolls…