archived2014

Rock Star

TEXT & PHOTOGRAPHY BY DEREK CLARK

A cloud of chalk forms as Al claps and rubs his hands and fingers in preparation for the climb. Weatherbeaten skin, big arms and steely eyed determination is what you expect, and what you get when Alan Wilson arrives at the Bowderstone in the English Lake District. His fingers search out holes in the rock-face as he plots a route to the top. Reach. Grip. Pull.

Al is a Rockstar. His body is his instrument, the rock his stage and you are his audience.

Thanks to Fujifilm UK and Millican for setting up this shoot. Special thank to Alan Wilson for being a real (rock) star.

Incoming

Text and photography by Patrick La Roque

This is where I used to live — This house that remembers everything, where nothing ever changes. This house of everlasting flowers and clocks stilled by the weight of years and books and games on stand-by; everything forever on stand-by.

But there's a stirring...

Time is finally pushing against the walls. We hear it banging at the door, its wild face pressed against the window, screaming in anger. Objects have already begun to fade, quietly, and we know what's coming... We've seen that emptiness in the distance, riding in on thunderheads.

This is where I used to live, where everything still stands — for now.

I want to be a cowboy

TEXT AND PHOTOGRAPHY BY FLEMMING BO JENSEN

I grew up on a farm and for as long as I can remember, I always wanted to be a cowboy. John Wayne westerns were my favourite movies and I never missed a single one on TV if I could convince my parents to let me stay up. I wore cowboy boots and a hat and I practiced twirling my toy Colt sixshooter every day. I pretended my bicycle was a horse, even tying it to a tree. I never liked apple juice as a kid, but I drank it anyway. I figured the sour taste was the equivalent of a cowboy drinking whisky so I felt rather heroic drinking the juice in one go. We had cows on the farm so it seemed to me that I was a cool and authentic cowboy, even if I could not actually ride a horse. I wanted nothing else but to be a cowboy. 

Time travel forward many years and I find myself at the High School Rodeo in Truth or Consequences, New Mexico. I am still wearing boots, jacket and a hat. I use a camera instead of a toy sixshooter. I am surrounded by real cowboys and cowgirls, horses, ropes, hats and bulls. 

I still want to be a cowboy.

Whiteout

Text and photography by Bert Stephani

Gently at first, powder sugar
then more, much more
A thick white blanket muffling every last sound
Defeated by frozen water, the city goes to sleep early

A shovel digs into the frosted crust,
the sound of metal scraping the pavement
Life flows back into the city
through winding arteries of liberated concrete

White sculptures dotted around the city
Soon forgotten, liquid memories
Nothing lost, nothing gained
Just 24 hours of rare tranquility

A Field Guide to the Birders of Southern Ontario

A Field Guide to the Birders of Southern Ontario

The Limestone Islands in Georgian Bay, near where I grew up in Canada, are an official nature reserve; you need a permit to visit them - unless you're accompanied by someone who's been appointed a steward of the reserve.

These are my parents.  They're birdwatchers...