Sun baked concrete, grey and tough as an elephants hide, hummed whirred with the cicada like chirrup of small wheels. Standing and observing these freewheeling souls crisscrossing the skate park in undulating lines one figure stands out; his lean torso and wiry arms garlanded with the lines of self-harm, his face a rough hue of effort and toil and yet, set steadily and with steel like determination, a pair of resolute blue eyes, blade sharp and piercing. I speak to him and he is at once conciliatory and engaged. His story is obvious; a huge sea of mental health trauma in which he barely floats, mostly sinks and drowns. Skating keeps him afloat. His nature is easy to see as sincere and authentic but I sense he spends a good deal of time, rocking back and forth like a purgatorial shadow.
My Boy
He’s growing up fast, gaining a sense of himself and the man he wants to be. I’m so proud of him. It makes my heart swell to bursting.
Bonnie & Clyde
They cruised easily through the park, the faint whine of the electric motor taking the strain off life. Like Bonnie & Clyde he was driving shoeless, she comfortably nestled on the back seat, owning her own space. Youth mixed blessedly with effortless equanimity.
Adrian & his Daughter
Her spirit and energy infected the park, her father looking on happy and proud. I’m still spinning from having traversed half the world, the coffee I’ve just had has yet to kick into my system and I’m not sure what time zone I’m in. The girl falls. Her father picks her up, their blue eyes come together like steel beads shot against their flaxen hair. I feel the pang of fatherhood, my own boys a whole half world away so I ask to make their picture. His voice is instantly English, his original home also half a world away but also here now in Sydney.
National Portrait Gallery Taylor Wessing Photographic Portrait Prize 2022
Being included in this exhibition has been a goal of mine since I started this journey. To be included in this year’s selection is beyond a dream and feels like the most wonderful validation of both my own effort and Ivan’s lived experience. Thank you National Portrait Gallery!
To see the full selection of images from the exhibition click here.
Midnight Cowboy
Early morning, just around sunrise, in Brighton is a magical time but following Brighton Pride it is more like a Lewis Carol fantasy. People drift like dandelion seeds on the breeze, drunk with fatigue, their sleep deprived forms delicately balanced between the drug induced euphoria of waking and the collapsing crest of a wave of sleep.
I met Oli wandering in just such a daze, crookedly rolled cigarette hanging delicately from the corner of a mouth turned up into a James Dean-esque sneer, Stetson cocked on his head and bare chested. He oozed sex appeal.
Ivan - The Divided Self: The View from Within
At night, sometimes I can smell sweet blossom in my room even though there are no trees near by
