Brighton

Give me five years and I'll be living here. First time round, I liked Brighton. Now I'm in love.

North Laine. Hundreds of completely original shops, cafes and bars.

The Brighton seafront. With the lights and cars, I simply had to get a good shot.

A Monday night, otherwise this pavement would be packed.

The Royal Palace ironically contrasted with drunken teenages partying in the park it's in.

Don't know the memorial, but the shot just made itself.

Blessed with amazing weather for the few days I was here. Had to take advantage.

A passerby on a beautiful crisp clear morning.

Brighton summed up: colourful houses, bikes and a retro car.

Come 5pm (yes its dark at 5pm) and cars replaces the foot traffic that takes over the streets during the day.

The seafront shops shut up at night.

Awesome clothes shop called All Saints that specialises in covering their stores in sewing machines. Best one I've seen is on Portobello Road in London but this ones pretty good as well.

Art

See the tab above about my progressive page on which I'll update upon creation.

My Art. My creations. My world. This page is dedicated to my own physical artworks and a few special pictures. Of course, the photography and writing on my main page is considered art as well. The photography in terms of its concept and visual framing and the writing in terms of linguistical creation. Its all original, all unique and all straight from my own head, heart and hand.

I consider art to be powerful as it is an expression of the inner self, converted to a more tangible product. But the true power derives from the affect this art has on others. People say, 'oh I can't do art,' 'I don't understand art', 'I'm not very good at criticising art' but I think instead they are simply not ready to open up their mind to what is before them. Not every piece strikes up a response in a person, but hopefully a couple on here do for you. Enjoy, no matter how little or much you can take from art.

Shadows

A little story I wrote up on my way to Salisbury on the weekend. Inspired from the other night on my walk home through school. The photo is from the streets of Prague.

I stay in the shadows. Still as the tree casting its darkness over me.

She stops. Looks. Tilts her head to as if to listen more carefully, then decides the chill of the howling wind is more of a threat to her safety.

Thank God for the wind. Not like I needed it but it certainly helped. My thick jacket and clean cut beard fended off the cold so I could concentrate on other more important matters.

I step back onto the gravel path, my rubber soled trainers and subtle technique of rolling my feet gradually onto the ground allowing me to move more quietly.

The timid leaves blowing in the powerful wind cover what minimal sound I am making as I continue for the moment, effortlessly. Shadows are harder to come by now as dull lights more frequently cast an ironically calm light ahead of me.

My palms are sweating despite the cold and I have to squeeze my arm to my chest to stop a drip of sweat travelling any further down from my arm pit. But I stay focused, eyes locked on her slim figure and flowing dark hair. She moves carelessly now as if she’s decided she is alone.

Then I trip. Badly. Shit. I break my fall and recover to quickly glance up... at nothing. Nothing but an empty dim lit wintery street. Then I look around and realise that I’m lost. Lost in the shadows.

Stranded at Christmas

A writing competition at Queen's, the school I'm working at, encouraged me to submit an entry. The scenario is that everyone has been snowed in on Christmas day in the school. No more than 500 words. It's dedicated to my little sister, Hannah, who I haven't seen in 10 months. The photo is again an extra for affect/inspiration, unfortunately I don't have the picture I had in mind when I wrote the story with me in the UK. Enjoy:
                                             

“Harry! Come and open your present!”

Ah Christmas; the time of being forced to give.

Mistletoe, a bit misplaced in a boys boarding house I would think, and a tall Pine tree with pretty decorations hanging from it. Oh a joyous celebration of wait, boys and girls, of what? Of course, the remarkable birth of Jesus; a minor detail forgotten at the sight of our first present.

I stood at the window letting precious snow flakes rest and then melt away in the caldron of my warm hand. The grand front lawn of my school and town, my distant and now turned magical town, spread out before me covered in snow. Mother Nature’s delicate gift covered the lawn gracefully, disrupted unsurprisingly by the foot prints of humans. Ah that’s right Harry; you’re a human as well. The same as all those other two legged beings indulging in their own world.

I turned around and let the warmth of the room comfort my soft cold cheeks and nose. Christmas paper and candy cane wrappers thrown to every corner of the room to make space for proper inspection of gifts.

I threw out a line, “Alright then, show me your best efforts William.”

We’d been told to make gifts for each other as being snowed in didn’t allow for a trip to Debenhams. The intricate ink painting of ‘Snow Blanketed Taunton’ I’d given to my ‘Kris Cringle,’ one of the jocks, wasn’t entirely appreciated compared to the crude cards the other boys had produced. Despite befriending William recently I hardly expected him to manufacture a product that would stimulate more than the cheap laughs the others had tried their best hand at making.

‘To Harry, we love and miss you.’

I was wordless. Thoughtless. What? Harry Tilton without words to grasp at. It simply wasn’t possible. Wasn’t allowed. I cover up the unusual fluttering in my heart and shakiness in my throat with a cough. A manly cough.

“William... ” I spluttered out. So much for those deceptive efforts.

“Well I emailed your mum in Australia and she faxed me the picture and message. Wasn’t too hard in the end,” Will replied cheerfully.

It was beautiful. She was beautiful. Innocent. Unconditionally happy. The only gift to my world and Christmas that could truly cut through me. I held the picture of my four-year old sister twirling in her ballerina outfit with a big cheesy grin on her face then slipped it in my left blazer pocket, just over my heart, and pushed back the foreign and unwelcome tears.

“Thank you Will. I... you... you shouldn’t have.”

“Well I did mate. You deserve it. Now you’ve got your family right with you to enjoy Christmas with. Come on, the pudding’s ready!”

“Thank you. Yes, let’s continue the Christmas festivities.” We leave the room and moment, now both with genuine smiles on our faces.

 “Hey Will, bet I could smash you in a snowball fight!”

Backpacking Europe

A teaser to the montage of my whole trip through Europe: check out the tab next to 'home' above.
7 weeks.
12 countries.

The pictures say the rest.

A thought that simply popped into my head this morning. I started to write and it all followed. Enjoy.

" We do not fully commit ourselves to our dreams, getting to know somebody or something at the chance that our further investigation will tarnish the idealisation or fantasy of such a goal, person or thing. Getting to know it more may reveal that what we envisaged isn’t what actually is.

Yet without such queries, questions and resultant knowledge or at least the attempt to obtain it, where do we take ourselves in life?

We remain in the queue; waiting, watching and hoping.

We remain balanced on the beam between life and death, never daring to jump, dance or sing along it and risk falling into the crevasse below and the experiences of life.

What is below the beam will forever remain a mystery as we focus on making it through life and making it across the beam rather than doing a somersault and teetering on the edge of it or even falling off into the slings and arrows of life below.

What is existence without a hop, skip and a jump along the balance beam of life? ”

            (Matthew Defina, Sunday October 3, 2010)

a lifetime of armour

Another quote I found in my 'notes on life' diary from March time. Reading back through some of my thoughts is really interesting, I wonder what it'll be like to look back twenty years!

This was all about people that don't fully live life. I don't want to say anymore.

I thought the artwork (a piece of mine from last year) fitted in quite nicely. Always good to have some visual inspiration as well.




" Is a lifetime travelled clad in armour a pure life or one even worth enduring?

Can those that will always protect themselves live just as enriching a life as those that fully embrace?

Or is that simply their Personal Legend, their destined path?

Either way, I’ll ensure I always remain dressed in nature’s own intended cloth; the skin I was born in. "

Matthew Defina (23 March, 2010)