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DayFour issue 5 Winter Notes on Summer Impressions
Published 2006
Cover: Michael Bodiam
On June 7, 1862, Fyodor Dostoevsky left St Petersburg for a tour of Europe. He was 40 years old and it was the first time he had been outside of his homeland. Ostensibly, the purpose of his trip was to consult Western experts about his epilepsy. But he also wished to investigate Western society, the source of the ideas which he believed were corrupting Russia. Dostoevsky's thoughts were recorded in the travel journal he published the following February as Winter Notes on Summer Impressions. For the fifth issue of dayfour we adopted Dostoevsky's title and the spirit of exploration of his journals. Summer means escape and freedom. Throwing away rules and deadlines. Going where you want, when you want, and doing what you want. The worst thing about summer? It's that it ends. Always suddenly, but with the good days glowing in memory...
Contributors
© All photography and text in Dayfour is copyright the contributors. All rights reserved
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Mumi in Winter
Fresh off a month sleeping in the woods on the idyllic Formentera, tanned, with strikes of blond across her hair and a salty feeling about her, Mumi landed in London to stay with me for the three colder months of the year she spent travelling around Europe. She managed to make me savour all the fun I'd missed: the naked swimming on the island, the late nights out in Barcelona, the cycling in the sun all around Berlin. Last time I'd seen her had been three years before when I still lived in Buenos Aires. We became friends at college and always worked together. This time was no exception. Parked in a corner of my living room, smoking and drinking wine by the radiator and staring moodily out the window for the whole of the winter, she became my exclusive model during her stay in my flat...
Contributor Julieta Sans is a native of Buenos Aires. She studied photography in Argentina and Barcelona, completing her Postgraduate course in 2005 at Central Saint Martins, London. In 2007 she was awarded second prize in the National Portrait Gallery's Photographic Portrait awards. What's the best thing about summer? 'Sunshine, warmth, water, wearing pretty dresses, picnics.' And the worst? 'That it hardly exists in London.'
More Julieta at www.julietasans.com
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Bryter, later
I was travelling along the northern New South Wales coast with three other photography
graduates. It was that in between period after graduation and before steady
employment. We were camping in a beautiful and isolated national park
on the coast but it kept on raining. We stayed two nights before heading
to a motel to dry out; it certainly didn't feel like summer. We wandered the
coast together each contemplating our own fabulous future. These pictures were
taken throughout our journey from Cabarita Beach to Byron Bay, New South Wales,
1999.
Contributor Vikky Wilkes graduated with a Bachelor of Visual Arts in Photography from Griffith University, Brisbane, Australia, in 1998. She is now freelancing in Canberra, specialising in environmental and commissioned portraiture and documentary storytelling. What's the best thing about summer? 'The cicadas and the smell of grass. The worst? 'Having to climb into a hot vehicle that has been baking in the sun.'
More Vikky in d4.6 and on www.vikkywilkes.com
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Half Moon Bay
I sat down with a friend of mine in a breakfast spot not too far from my house. It had just started getting really warm and people seemed to be in an increasingly good mood. When we sat down to eat we weren't in bad moods exactly, but still kind of mopey or something and not very excited about much. After a fairly decent breakfast we were chatting up our waiter and out of nowhere he enthusiastically blurted out, 'This is going to be the best summer ever!' It caught us off guard and we sort of stared, smiling, at him for a second before he walked away. The thing is, when he said it he sounded so sincere that I believed him completely. The more I thought about it the more I was sure that he was going to be right. He was.
Contributor Jesse Pollock says he lives in San Francisco after Boston and Portland turned him down. Home is in the Mission district and he spends most of his time at the bar. When he is not drunk and can see straight, he takes photos of everything and anything. Sometimes they turn out ok. What's the best thing about summer? 'The way the air smells and the way the light falls. The feeling you get that says nothing needs to be worried about.' The worst? 'Mosquitoes and summer flings that end too soon.'
More Jesse at www.unpiano.com
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In Living Colour
I can picture my entire journey to work. Such is the repetitive nature of the majority of my existence that my daily journey has been burnt onto my retina. When I picture this journey it is a black and white silent movie. Nothing of note happens. I feel no emotions. It is a memory distinctly void of any memorable moments. Once every summer, a short trip away suspends my daily routine and allows me to file this vision into the furthest recesses of my mind. Presented with a constant stream of new sights and sounds, my senses are awoken from their winter-induced hibernation. With everything around me bathed in a warm summer light, I can once again see in full, glorious Technicolor.
Contributor Michael Bodiam studied photography at the Arts Institute at Bournemouth, graduating with a BA in 2003. He has worked in photographic post-production for the likes of Nick Knight, Paolo Roversi and Craig McDean. He was shortlisted as a finalist in the 2004 Next Level/Audi Vorsprung Durch Technik Competition. Michael is based in London. What's the best thing about summer? 'Leaving the country and exploring somewhere new.' The worst? 'When it ends.'
More Michael in d4.6 and on www.michaelbodiam.com
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Body heat
There were seagulls in the air. They weren't flying but floating, all at different levels, playing some kind of magic bird game. Jerome came towards us like a pirate among sailors, dark eyes, olive skin, shining white teeth. He came from the mountains where Evian is made and danced alone like a wild thing. She watched him, eating truffles that were so good it was like having someone's tongue in your mouth. And a butterfly with black, laced wings flew out of her lips and whispered in his ear that she was glad he would always be in her life.
Contributor Tina Hillier works as a photographer, freelance picture editor and researcher for clients including CNN and Conde Nast. What's the best thing about summer? 'Long balmy days, evenings outside pubs packed with people catching the last rays after work. Brown skin, waking up early with the sun streaming in, street parties.' The worst? 'There's nothing bad about the summer in Britain as it's never long enough to get bored of!'
More Tina in d4.6 and at www.tinahillier.com
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South Beach Summer
Photography and time are inextricably linked. Photographs freeze moments and stop time marching onwards. As summer turns to winter, and winter comes and goes, so does our time. Photographing different places and looking at those pictures much later always reminds us of time gone by, another era. South Beach Summer is a series of photographs taken over a long weekend in August 2005. And looking at these images now reveals how much time has changed this place and me. I realise nothing will be the same. After returning home to New Orleans from this trip, only a few days later, Hurricane Katrina hit. We fled New Orleans and have basically never returned. It is now winter and I look back at these photographs, made only six months ago in the heat of summer, and they seem a far away, long ago memory.
Contributor William K Greiner's photography has been published in many books and exhibited at venues ranging from the Contemporary Arts Center in New Orleans to the Center of Photography in Bombay, India. His photographs are in over sixty permanent museum collections, including the Museum of Modern Art, New York, the J Paul Getty Museum and the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. William: what's the best thing about summer? 'Summer usually means its time to travel.' And the worst? 'June first, the start of hurricane season.'
More William at www.williamgreiner.com
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In the Beginning
These phototgraphs were made while my wife and I were on honeymoon in 2004. On the surface they are straightforward visual explorations of the subtle drama and unique beauty of the Scottish landscape. Yet for me they possess underlying currents of personal reflection and emotion regarding the beginning of our lives together: lush greens and gardens signifying the fruition of our relationship, various paths and signs indicating the journeys ahead, several houses alluding to the home we will build as a family, and so on. At the time we didn't know that our son, born eight months later in the depths of winter, was, in a sense, travelling with us. But today, looking at these images with him beside me, I recognise both the freedom and the naivety they represent, and at the same time I find myself discovering traces of his wonderful presence in their details, as if they were knowingly made on the cusp of fatherhood and family.
Contributor Aaron Schuman's qualifications include a BFA in Photography and History of Art from New York University's Tisch School of the Arts, and an MA in Humanities and Cultural Studies from the London Consortium. He is a Lecturer in Photography at the Arts Institute at Bournemouth, a Visiting Lecturer in Photography at the University of Brighton, and the founder, director and editor of online photography journal www.seesawmagazine.com What's the best thing about summer? 'Sixteen hours of daylight.' The worst?' Crowds and sunglasses. Can't stand wearing them, or trying to hold a conversation with someone who has giant mirrors for eyes.'
More Aaron in d4.6 and at www.aaronschuman.com
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Vacationland
Vacationland is the official nickname for the state of Maine, USA, owing to the importance tourism plays in its economy. Aside from my interest in the kind of population that migrates there for the summer months, I like the word's rapport with other, fictional, lands – Neverland or Wonderland – and the idea of a utopia dedicated to holiday-making. Using my family and acquaintances as subjects, I began photographing the activities and small events that fill a day that needn't be filled. These inconsequential pastimes take on a surreal tinge, so wholly disconnected are they from our daily routine.
Contributor Stephanie Cardon is half French, half American. She studied History at Oxford University before throwing caution to the wind and becoming a photographer. Stephanie's work has been exhibited in solo and group shows in Europe and the US. She is based in Paris. What's the best thing about summer, Stephanie? 'BBQs, watermelon and being barefoot.' The worst? 'No doubt about it, mosquitoes.'
More Stephanie in d4.6 and at www.stephaniecardon.com
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School daze
Hiding in school summers where every contact in crowded hall or under initial scarred desk, accidental or shyly calculated by boys as frightened by it all as I was sent an unfamiliar shiver over my innocent body, and you know it really seemed to mean something, back when everything was full of possibility and it felt as though every fleeting glance or touch could really last a lifetime if I could only bring myself to let it.
Contributor Kirsty Hulm is a student of Visual Arts at Monash University, Melbourne, Australia, as well as working freelance and designing artists' books. What's the best thing about summer? 'Running across hot sand to the water as a child.' The worst?' The wind whipping your hair through your ice-cream.'
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The Lost World
Maybe it's realising that my children won't stay children forever, or turning 40 suddenly made the clock hands speed up... These photographs were taken during a six-week-long school holiday: at home, on days out to the countryside or beaches in Norfolk. My children were at an age where they were comfortable with being watched, just about. Still reassured by the presence of grown-up eyes, at an age when doubt delivers the dilemma, 'do I jump or do I climb back down?' Old enough to pout or sulk when peered at for too long, but ok if you kept your distance. Eventually they became so used to me pouncing forward, sizing things up through the viewfinder that my presence soon became, well, invisible. Fierce concentration on their part meant that I was off their radar, or at the very least logged, recorded but ignored as no great threat or no great opportunity. I became adept at anticipating my own degree of involvement. When to step in, when to stay back, and when to put down the camera and RUN!
Contributor Jeremy Webb is a freelance photographer, writer and tutor based in Norwich, England. During 22 years in photography, he has served as an expedition photographer in Tanzania, a cruise ship photographer in Miami, and a commercial photographer in his native Norfolk. Jeremy has taught photography part time at Great Yarmouth College and writes for a variety of websites and periodicals. Jeremy says henever intends to retire, even if he could. What's the best thing about summer? 'Swimming pools and the sea.' The worst? 'Getting too hot and being nowhere near a swimming pool or the sea.'
More Jeremy at www.refocus-now.com
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Park Life
During a time of personal entrapment I came to this place site for relief from solitude. I began to see the popularity of the park for urban dwellers in the summer sun. Set between road and residential, the rolling green becomes graced by joggers, dog-walkers, sports fans and sun-catchers. Beautiful parkland introduces leisure time, space, and freedom amidst the urban environment. Such an open space is in danger of becoming swamped by road, rail and habitation. It is precious and allows us to let go
Contributor Dayna Clark studied photography at the Surrey Institute of Art and Design. Her work has been exhibited as part of the degree show exhibition at the Old Truman Brewery, London. She lives and works in Cambridge. What's the best thing about summer? 'Long evenings and people smiling.' The worst?' Working EVERY weekend for my Dad's catering company!'
More Dayna at www.storiaphotography.co.uk
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Horizon
It's winter back home. Not the kind of winter that deserves a coat, more a cardigan, but winter still. The berries aren't out and the regattas have long since finished. The room as I remember hadn't changed. A different coat of paint, newer curtains of course. But the memories are there, a constant like the bloom outside and the clothes in the wardrobe waiting to be aired. I left from Southampton at 4 o' clock. The afternoon it was. The twenty-fifth of November 1963. The ship was called Himalaya (I liked that name. It felt safe) and it was sailing to Australia. I thought I'd never come back. But then we did. Last summer.
Contributor Patricia Niven studied photography in Brisbane, moved to Sydney to manage a large photographic studio, and has been living and working in London since 1997. What's the best thing about summer? 'Swimming in the sea.' The worst? 'Other people's hideous body odour.'
More Patricia at www.patricianiven.com
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The Emptiness of a Land with no Fences
My whole life I have dreamed of going to Mongolia. I always imagined it as a magical place, unspoiled, a secret place of untouched open landscapes and huge skies. Even today Mongolia seems like the end of the earth. Outside the few major cities you begin to wonder if you have stepped into another century rather than another country. The life of a nomad, and therefore the life of Mongolia, is inextricably linked with the environment and the animals. The horse is the pride of Mongolia. For each Mongolian, there is almost exactly one horse. Nomads learn to ride as soon as they can walk. They spend about half their time looking for stray animals because there are almost no fences in Mongolia. My dream stirred up visions of wild horses galloping over vast steppes, bright coloured costumes muted by dust, nomadic families living in gers, camels wandering in the heat of the Gobi Desert. Dense forests, mountains as far as the eye can see, alpine lakes and the emptiness of a land with no fences.
Contributor Kerry Dean is based in London, where she works as a fashion photographer. Her personal work is fine art/travel based. Kerry's solo exhibition, The Emptiness of a Land With No Fences, took place at London's Muse Gallery in July 2006. What's the best thing about summer? 'Cycling, being in the park lying under a tree, sitting on my boyfriend's balcony, being barefoot, drinking shandy, driving home on the A40 and seeing the urban sunset.' And the worst? 'Sleeping in the heat, driving, public transport, shooting in a studio.'
More Kerry at www.kerrydean.co.uk
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A Walk on the Wild Side
Iquique... a ghost town called Humberstone... Calama in the middle of the night.. traditional Chilean rodeo in Santiago... San Pedro de Atacama. This is where I wanted to be. So small you could walk from one end to the other in twenty minutes, with a street grid like a noughts and crosses game, but with so much raw charm it instantly puts you under its spell. Here I walked up a volcano at four in the morning to catch the sulphur spurting out of the ground from the lava streams beneath. I went horse riding through strange lunar landscapes and galloped through the open desert. Within cycling distance there are warm crystallised salt lakes you can bathe and float in. On the way back in the evening you could sit by an open log fire in a restaurant and soak up the atmosphere. It was simply the best place to be.
Contributor Petek Sketcher was born in London and grew up in a small, idyllic town in Germany. She studied at Central St Martins and Chelsea College of Art and Design. Her photography has appeared in publications including Adrenalin, Blackbook and Jalouse. What's the best thing about summer? 'All the lovely people I met during my trip to Chile last year'. The worst?' That it didn't last forever.'
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The Last Resort
Rahim is the only friend visiting me here, but lately he's always in a hurry. Today, again, he didn't stay long. He left the food, had a quick look around, jumped on his bicycle and left. And so did everyone else, but that was four months ago. I can't believe how empty and boring this place is right now. In days like this one, my only entertainment is to think of the past and remember... Warm mornings. Umbrellas. Sleeping in the sun. Couples in love. Sweat. Elderly couples and whining grandchildren. Colourful toys and inflatable beds. Long walks. Muscular beach tennis players and chubby ladies with tupperware full of meatballs. Salty skin. Loud music and free drinks. The heat. Dirty cars and 'I love Greece' flip-flops on smelly feet. Watermelon and ice cream. Sandcastles. Mysterious loners and... Julie of course. If only her parents were not so suspicious of me... But it all seems so far away now and I'm stuck here walking up and down in this garden. I've lost sense of time. The last day I remember meeting anyone apart from Rahim was two weeks ago, I think. It was these two guys who jumped the fence and started taking photographs of the things around. I went to ask why they were doing this. They started talking about melancholic landscapes but I'm not sure I understood what they meant. Anyway, it felt good having them around. We took a walk and watched the sunset together. They offered me the leftovers of their sandwiches, got in the car and disappeared like everyone else. I was alone again... thinking of summer.
Contributor Ioannis Drakoulidis graduated from the Arts Institute at Bournemouth. Ioannis's photography has appeared in magazines including The Sunday Telegraph Magazine, New York Magazine, Image and PDN. He is a contributor to Millennium Images. Ioannis lives and works in Athens. What's the best thing about summer? 'Shadows'. The worst? 'Mosquitos.'
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Dead Time
The swimming pool is Janus-faced. It can speak to us of tinsel-town hedonism or of the chlorine, goggles and rubber caps of schooldays. Whether municipal or members only, the pool is a space shaped by its patrons. Captured out of use, obsolete in the winter chill, these familiar spaces stand outside time. Curved light breaks up the horizontal rigour. The comfort of transparency gives way to reflection and shadow. What is cedes to what could be, and the ordinary is transformed...
Contributor Alys Tomlinson grew up in Brighton, studied English Literature at the University of Leeds, and attained a Postgraduate Certificate in Photography at Central Saint Martins. Alys is now based in London and shoots many of the Time Out City Guides, including Miami, New York and Barcelona. Alys's solo exhibition 'Dead Time' took place at the Swiss Cottage Gallery in summer 2006. What's the best thing about summer? 'Blue skies.' The worst?' The tube.'
More Alys at www.alystomlinson.co.uk
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Late in the Day
There are still bodies on these silent surfaces. Rigid, splayed, without emotion. Carefully held and positioned for maximum exposure. Glass pools are broken under duress as whistling screams are held in icy water...
Contributor Stephen Ledger-Lomas was born in Liverpool and studied photography at the Arts Institute at Bournemouth, after living in Canada for a year and realising there was more to life than a History BA at Warwick. Stephen is now Art Buyer for Winkmedia. What's the best thing about summer? 'The smell of sun cream, white Magnums, rain hitting hot pavements, the Notting Hill Carnival, general tomfoolery, Brick Lane, Easyjet to Europe, brown feet, cycling to work, sleepless nights, drinking cold water, couscous, rum and ginger, England at the World Cup.' The worst? 'Being grown up and realising you won't be getting a two-month holiday, idiotic fair-weather cyclists, Oxford Street, any form of public transport, smog, summer blockbusters, Monday morning after the Hillier pool party, Dalston on Saturdays, mini-milks, England at the World Cup.'
More Stephen in d4.6 and at www.stephenledgerlomas.com
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Tax Free
143 years after Dostoevsky's journey to western Europe I created this series of photographs. Dostoevsky had two aims for his trip. The first was to consult with Western specialists about his epilepsy, and the second was to see the source of the ideas he believed were corrupting Russia. Nowadays a lot of Latvians share Dostoevsky's scepticism about Western politics and the flow of Western ideology and products. My works are a self-reflection on the country where I live. I think that photography is invisible and everybody can find what he or she wants to find there.
Contributor Alnis Stakle was born in Livani, Latvia, and studied at Daugavpils University, Latvia. His photography has appeared in group and solo exhibitions in more than a dozen countries. He is a lecturer in Photography at Daugavpils University, and Photojournalism at Stradina University, Riga. Alnis is a member of the Moscow-based photography agency, www.photographer.ru. What's the best thing about summer? 'Going to Mexico.' The worst? 'Seeing your next-door neighbour sitting naked on the balcony.'
More Alnis at www.lapas.dau.lv/alnis
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Now and Then
How appropriate to do winter notes now, just after the big snowstorm here in New York City – twelve inches. There is nothing more beautiful than the first snowfall in a city you love. Funny how snow quiets the city, calms it and makes everything feel so still. Summer in this city is so frantic, sticky, smelly – and beautiful in a whole different way. Usually when its winter, I wish it were summer and vice versa. The last summer I spent in Moscow was almost two years ago. Some of these pictures were taken then, others during previous summers. I think there may be even be a few from my NY summers in the mix, when I was still coming and going between the two. In my mind, these two cities reflect the most extreme seasons of the year: winters in Moscow, summers in NY, and when one wasn't working, I would reverse the equation
Contributor Hellin Kay was born in Russia and brought up in the US. She studied at Bard College, New York, graduating with a BA and MFA in Film and Photography. Hellin's work has been published in magazines including iD, Nylon, Visionnaire, L'Officiel, Elle, and Harpers Bazaar. What's the best thing about summer?'The beach and white cotton dresses with open-toe sandals.' The worst? 'The heat, the smell, the sweat...'
More Hellin in d4.3, d4.6 and at www.hellinkay.com
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A Sense of Place
As the summer comes to an end and I contemplate going back to the moods of autumn, I naturally give some thought to the flavour and vision of the summer that is quickly fading. What will I remember about the summer of, say, 2005 when I think back on it in maybe 2020? All summers have something memorable about them, something that colours them and gives them expression, even if what stands out is that it wasn't a particularly eventful one. I always feel sad when the autumn approaches and this is the period that will probably stay the most memorable and colourful in my mind. I will always think of my London summers as unpredictable and rather haphazard, as though they have never belonged but just visited the city as and when they pleased. I would normally travel, but for the past few years I stayed put and that made me see the city and remember it in a different light and colours that I never knew. I will remember it in a quiet and empty mood associated with the events that happened around that time and that most definitely reflected on my perception of today's winter. Especially so that I can now see it looking back.
Contributor Katya Evdokimova began her studies at St Petersburg School of Music, Russia. She continued in the UK, at University College London. Katya's photographic work has been exhibited in group and solo shows. She has won several photographic awards including, in 2006, one of the Guardian/Penguin Cover Competition places for Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment. Katya, what's the best thing about summer? 'Growing up in St Petersburg meant the White Nights [when daylight lasts into the early hours]. The joy, as a child, when you can play outside until late, watching the sunset at midnight, and knowing that in a few short hours you can watch the sun come up again.' The worst?' That the White Nights come only once a year. And after June 22nd the days begin to get shorter and the nights longer.'
More Katya in d4.6 and at www.begemotfoto.com
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