Every word, every photograph, every post that I share here requires a level of vulnerability.
That and courage.
All tagged streetart
Every word, every photograph, every post that I share here requires a level of vulnerability.
That and courage.
Aspirational dreams of freedom and creativity. The struggles and excitement of being true to yourself, of living your dreams whilst facing reality.
If it's a beautiful day but someone tells you it’s not, is it still a beautiful day?
It's as if we have been hidden away for such a long time and, now that the door had been unlocked and left open, people are too scared to step outside again.
It may look like what you think it is, but it’s not.
Things rarely are.
People rarely are.
And, as is often the way with a beginning like this, once she had actually been seen, well, she just seemed to stay seen.
And when the weather got wetter and wilder, it drove me inside to dry out and warm up. I chose the nearest and most convenient place and, by chance or by luck, take your pick, it also happened to be the coolest.
It tells me, although I already know, that we really are all alone in this world. Alone and fighting our endless battles.
There is an agenda, of course. There is always a reason, even if I don't yet know what it might be, don't yet understand. I suspect, and that is enough.
We moved from social club to cafe to our final destination on the number 88A bus and met a raft of kindness and smiling faces.
Walk the streets more often. That would be my advice to anyone wanting to open their eyes and to see beneath the surface of their normal, everyday world.
Madrid. A city of sunshine and colour. Of art and culture. Of people and cars and noise and life.
But perhaps the biggest contrast of all is when you notice, during those brief moments when the city decides to rest, that everywhere is quiet.
Sometimes photographs and words fit perfectly. They blend and support each other like an old married couple, clearly lost and alone without their satisfying connection.
There is something that feels very British about a wind-swept, freezing cold beach in winter. Almost deserted, with just a few hardy souls dog walking past rows of empty beach huts wrapped up against the storms and salt spray.