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In a number of my earlier posts I’ve had good reason, I believe, to spend a little time on the words, to fashion something commensurate for the image they will support. It’s an undertaking I’ve mostly enjoyed, occasionally struggled with, though too often been frustrated by. It’s never straightforward, ultimately, getting down the lines that must communicate, sometimes at once, the changing light on the tall, hard sides of a metropolitan sunrise, (the ember red of first light, the bruisey blue of shadow). Or then, those that can negotiate, familiarise and then capture the solitariness of city life (or its counter, the escape). It’s the stuff, the alchemy even, of distillation. Of the picture, of the moment, of the same stirring impetus that once pressed the shutter that now presses the keys. For within both lies an uncomplicated ambition to reach.
This time however almost none of the above applies. Why? Because the centrepiece of this post, as can be seen in the photo, shows a man in the exalted throws of a very personal kind of ecstasy, recumbent on a chair whose makers probably hadn’t envisioned either its quite extraordinary levels of comfort or evident versatility, and whose owners, McDonalds, similarly didn’t picture it’s use for anything beyond a burger and an altogether different kind of shake.
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I found this shot recently. I remember taking it, of course. It was in a McDonalds not far from where I used to live, below a station called Mikawashima. What do I remember about Mikawashima? It’s where I used to start my Saturday journeys, when I would go and see Kashiwa Reysol, emboldened by a cold Let’s Liosk Asahi inside me and a second in my hand. Good days. Also, it’s where I went when my bike got ‘towed’ after I had parked it in the wrong place, and the subsequent recovery costing me five large. Finally, it’s where I took the picture for the post entitled Cosy. It’s not the best part of town.
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An LX3 snap.
