Running With The Pack

TEXT AND PHOTOGRAPHY BY DEREK CLARK

The grip tightens as the countdown begins. Dogs bark and howl in anticipation of the race ahead. It's bitter cold in the Cairngorm mountains of northern Scotland as the competitors take positions and ready themselves for speed.

Every year in the dead of winter they meet and race. Sledges if there is enough snow, wheels when not. The temperature is minus a few fingers below freezing and the snow is coming in sideways at certain points of the day, but the dogs seem to love it for all of that and more. This is what they do best and they know what is expected of them. They're pulling their master to the finish line. They're running with the Pack.

De Camille à Amy...

Text and photography by Vincent Baldensperger

Amy sculpte, dessine et peint, le sens de la vie au bout des doigts, Amy a de nombreux enfants. Chacun a son caractère, ses reflets sous le soleil, tous sont nés de l'élégance et d'une sensibilité rare. Marqués du sceau de leur créatrice, façonnés du bout des doigts à l'instinct, suivant plutôt les traces de Camille que de Rodin, ils habitent cet atelier, s'observent, se parlent en silence.

Matière vivante, la petite dernière est d'ébène pour la teinte, fragile encore sous les gestes d'Amy qui l'observe sans relâche, lui dessine délicatement le profil de l'enfance, révèle ses traits et sa personnalité, offrant enfin à la vie et en musique ce nouveau petit prodige, émotion pure sculptée de mains de maître…

Amy sculpts, draws, paints; life's meaning at her fingertips. Amy has many children, each with its own character, its own reflections under the sun, all borne of a rare elegance and sensibility. Marked by their creator, moulded by instinct, more Camille than Rodin, they inhabit the studio, observing, speaking in silence.

Already alive, the youngest is of ebony, still fragile under Amy's gestures as she observes her, delicately shaping an infant's profile, revealing  traits and personality. Bringing to life and music a new being—pure emotion from the hands of a master...

Charlene Winfred Joins KAGE COLLECTIVE

Photograph by Flemming Bo Jensen

Photograph by Flemming Bo Jensen

Text by Patrick La Roque

Situations can sometimes be too obvious, people too close for us to notice. Scratch that… Not so much notice as consider, for different reasons—usually the wrong kind.

For over a year now we had been witnesses, glancing over Flemming’s shoulder as he traveled the world with Charlene at his side, two gypsy warriors stumbling through dives and deserts, raves and rodeos. We had been watching from front row seats as both of them pushed and pulled one another, listening to Flemming’s voice but also hearing Charlene murmur in the background, moving closer and closer every single day… A whisper to a scream.

Today we are very proud and excited to welcome Charlene Winfred as the newest member of KAGE COLLECTIVE. She is an official X-Photographer, a speaker, writer and born storyteller whose voice we are thrilled to be adding to our own.

We believe her work speaks for itself but we do wish to make one thing abundantly clear: this is not a membership by association. We take our group and its dynamic very seriously and if anything the nature of that relationship held us back for quite awhile. But when the topic of Charlene’s membership was finally discussed, the reaction was immediate and unanimous: we look forward to her ideas, her vision and the stories she will tell. We’re pretty sure you will too. 

Plus, we finally get to dissolve our boys club—and not a minute too soon… ;)

You can find Charlene’s portfolio here.
More to come.

Note: We never made a formal announcement but our colleague Craig Litten decided to leave the group as we were preparing a video presentation for the Photon festival last April, which took us by surprise. Craig is pursuing other projects and we totally respect his decision. He remains a good friend whose voice is sorely missed.

For Joaquin

In a small corner of Buenos Aires is La Recoleta Cemetery.  A huge mausoleum of many thousands of souls.

I strolled, one day, through the gates and into this ethereal world.  The tombs of many of the rich, famous and notable members of Argentine society are here.

You can see them.  The tombs of the famous that is. Surrounded by tourists snapping away.  The resting place of Eva Perón is here.  Her tomb is polished, immaculate and rightly so, daubed with flowers every day from grateful Argentinians and benevolent foreigners.

Move around, away from the crowds, and I became lost in this city of the dead.  Crypts from as far back as 1822 line every walkway.  There are no road signs here.  There are no messages of information telling you where to go.  Each passageway has a final turn, each path is the final stop.

I felt discernibly uncomfortable looking endlessly at these bedrooms of the lost.  My own mortality and that of my loved ones was featuring in my mind. 

Many of the tombs have been forgotten and left to ruin.  Broken glass, litter and graffiti lead one's eye to the rotten remains of the caskets.  Aged photographs, dirty urns for pets and tiny urns for once-loved children huddle in the corners, comforting one another into eternity, abandoned generations ago.

Wander further, past the glitz and the bronze statue protected tombs of past literary giants, beyond the multi storey statues set to commemorate great Argentinian leaders and I found Joaquin.

Joaquin b2006 – d2011.

Joaquin.

Not many people will visit this place and notice Joaquin. Not many will mourn for him or wonder, as I have, about his story. All little boys are loved. No little boy should be forgotten.

Remember Joaquin, and others, as you remember Evita and the others.

Solstice | A Group Project

BY PATRICK LA ROQUE

For me it was an arctic cold morning and the sun had yet to rise. I fired up my iPhone and said hello to the guys who were online... I remember Bert saying he was sitting at the edge of a damp forest, a new hunter on his first big game outing. Derek was wandering through a dark, overcast afternoon and Robert had already enjoyed the warm onset of summer. Realities.

On December 21st 2014, all seven of us left our homes—wherever we were—and headed out with our cameras in tow. We were in different time zones, different seasons at various times of day or night and we'll be doing it all over again come June—the project is SOLSTICE.

The concept of a common project has been on the table ever since we first began imagining this collective. It only made sense. But geographical constraints, individual schedules and commitments, it all ended up constantly pushing any ideas to the sidelines. Over time, we also realized we didn't necessarily want to be bound by a single topic or anything that would force an agenda down the road. We wanted this first group project to reflect the work we had done so far; a tapestry more than a manifesto.

The symbolic nature of the solstice is extremely rich in meaning: it is at once the apex and the lowest point, both hemispheres plunging into either darkness or light. Historically and culturally it is the rise and the fall, the beginning or the end of a new cycle. Its very nature is governed by shadows, incoming or outgoing—something we've chosen to define ourselves by through our name. It felt like the perfect unifying theme.

We imposed no guidelines beyond the calendar date itself, no goal or motive beyond synchronicity. These are to be snapshots of where and who we were on the longest and shortest days of the year: the last solstice of 2014 and the first of 2015. Seven photographers searching their individual landscapes, aware of others on the exact same journey.

Obviously the project isn't over and until it is we won't really know what form it'll ultimately take; but we wanted to let you in on the secret and share some of the images with you. 
More to come.

Giant

Text and photography by Patrick La Roque

We’ve rented a small cozy apartment on Via Tolemaide—a few minutes walk away from the Vatican—which means every day we navigate the street vendors, the ticket scalpers and the lumbering hordes crowding the sidewalk, inching towards the gates for hours on end, rain or shine. 

This morning it’s our turn. We booked a skip the line tour and we’re glad we did: some thirty-thousand visitors will enter today—a veritable circus; a gigantic, awe-inspiring, sweat-laced circus.

Tour guides walk around with flags held at arm's length so each group can follow its leader, but the human tide is relentless and we get separated more than once. You can’t even fight it: you just ride, lost in rooms and corridors bursting at the seams with frescos and paintings, massive sculptures above you, others just scattered around the floors like bargain items at a flea market. Museum and warehouse all in one—like some vault waiting for the end of days.

In Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel we’re herded like sheep, security guards shouting “No pictures!”, “Silence!”, “Move!” every thirty seconds. It’s downright military. And that picture ban? It’s not about reverence or respect: a japanese TV network owns the rights to any visual representation of the chapel. Part of a deal made when it was last restored; Yeah, money makes the world go ’round… The things you learn.

But it’s still grandiose and terrifying, and beautiful and excessive. Four hours spent wading through two thousand years of human achievement, cramed into every corner. When we end our tour at St-Peter’s Basilica, we feel microscopic, dwarfed by the gold, the stone and the towering dome. 

And as we leave, we welcome the rain.
We most certainly welcome the rain.

Obsession

“obsession
əbˈsɛʃ(ə)n/
noun - the state of being obsessed with someone or something.”

PHOTOGRAPHY AND TEXT BY KEVIN MULLINS

Every March, they march.  From every corner of the globe they trot.  

It's the "World Cup" of horse racing, they say.  Something like 50,000 people each day, for four days, pass through the doors of the famous Cheltenham Race course for the festival.  10,000 of those travel from Ireland.

It's an emphatic collection of souls, sods and lucky ladies.  Broke men, happy lads and tic tac hand signals litter the side tracks and walk ways.

One thing remains constant throughout the day; the obsessiveness of humanity but all a gallimaufry.  A £2.50 bet or a £10,000 accumulator yields the same anxious faces.  Nervous sups of beer, twitching hands lighting cigarettes until the first horse crosses the line.

And then.

And then, for a small amount of equine trustees, arms in the air, pats on backs and deep swigs of the drinks at hand before collecting their loot.

For the rest, the obsession continues.  And continues.

 

Camping for Education

PHOTOGRAPHY AND TEXT BY BERT STEPHANI

Flanders, the North part of Belgium, has a good and affordable public school system. That is: if you can get your child in. A lot of schools struggle with too little capacity for too many kids. And in more and more establishments, the only way to get your son or daughter in, is to camp at the school’s gate long before registrations open for the next year. My twelve year old son is very much looking forward to start high school in september, but to make that happen I had to go through the camping ordeal myself.

Last year people started to queue around midnight, so my plan was to drive by the school to check the situation the evening before registration. But at ten in the morning I received a phone call from a friend who told me that if I wanted my son in, I’d better jump in my car. I dropped everything and rushed out. Generally the atmosphere was relaxed as everyone present at that point was pretty sure to get their kid in. As the hours progressed more and more people, armed with sleeping bags, tents, camping chairs and food started to occupy the sidewalk. Food and drinks were shared with friends and strangers while laughter filled the air. 

As the sun set, the atmosphere stayed pleasant but some paranoia began creeping in. None of us knew the exact number of places available but we could guess by looking at the crowd that most spots would be filled by now—yet more people kept arriving. The first person in the queue had started a list and we all agreed that it was only fair to enter in the order in which we'd arrived. But would the latecomers respect this? Every parent knows how far a mother or father can go to get the best for his or her child.

 

Around midnight the temperature dropped to just above freezing and most retreated to their sleeping bags, trying to get at least a bit of uncomfortable sleep. After only a couple of hours, people started to get up, in desperate need to get their blood circulation going again. It was collectively decided to start lining up according to the order of the list. New people kept arriving and you could see some of them evaluating their options to bypass the queue; but people who have been waiting for a long day and a cold night can be a menacing crowd so luckily, none of the latecomers took the risk of being lynched. 

Eventually we were let in and one by one, we orderly registered our kids. I was exhausted but very happy I got my son in. The effort had paid off but I couldn’t help feeling sorry for all those people who would be told the school was full. My son got in because I have the freedom to arrange my own agenda, the local friends to let me know when the queuing started, the physical ability to endure a cold night and friends and family who brought me hot drinks and took care of the kids. But how would you do it if you were a single mom with three kids, had a boss who wouldn't let you take time off and nobody to help out?

I don’t blame the school or even the bastard who decided to start that line at eight in the morning. But I do blame politicians who don’t look further than the next elections. 

Behind The Scenes: On The Trail of Sub Bass

Setting up on the road, the production crew is very busy. A very cool unfinished bridge in the city of Odense is the venue.

BY FLEMMING BO JENSEN

I recently published the On The Trail of Sub Bass story here on KAGE. Join me as we go behind the scenes on the 25 image essay.

The "Bas under Buen" event itself is a classic in Copenhagen, and celebrated it's 5th year in 2014. It draws tens of thousands of people. I have photographed the event in Copenhagen several years in a row. This year was different though, this year for the first time, the whole show and concept was to hit the road and shake the foundation of the 4 biggest cities in Denmark with sub bass. I and my partner Charlene Winfred were hired to shoot all 4 events. What follows, are scattered thoughts from the road.  

Just before the first event is about to begin, packing my Fuji X-T1, Fuji X-Pro1 and perfect hair - image by Charlene Winfred.

Saturday 12th of July 2014

We show up about an hour before the event starts to say hi to everyone, friends and familiar faces and reunions, many people I have not seen for almost a year. The production crew is working furiously to finish the setup, for us photographers there is not much to do. Yet. Shooting the event for the third time means I have to think more creatively to avoid repeating myself too much. But, I also need to cover every artist. The location lends itself well to some fantastic images, the highway overpass has a grungy look that makes for a perfect roof of leading lines in the images. 

The Copenhagen event goes as planned and is epic as always. The last hour or so featuring 10,000+ people raving under a highway overpass is always a very impressive sight from behind the DJ booth. Towards the end the event is so overwhelming, the crowd so intense, the music and bass so loud - that it is easy to get carried away, forget everything about content and composition and create crap images. I have to listen carefully and get in groove with the crowd and music, but at the same time I also have to block it out whenever I shoot.

There is one big change from the previous couple of years - it rains! It lends a different more gritty atmosphere to the event and creates some nice situations of people raving in the rain. It also means the photographers get absolutely soaked when they ride their bicycles home after the event. 

Normally, this would be it for Bas Under Buen - not this time, because one week later we do this:

A bus full of artists and crew, on our way to the first gig on the road.

Saturday 19th of July 2014

"The future, always so clear to me, had become like a dark highway at night. We are in uncharted territory, making up history as we go along."
- Sarah Connor.

Well sort of. We're not hunted by a Terminator but taking this show on the road is indeed uncharted territory, and the world may very well experience Judgment Day when the sub-bass kicks in around the country! 

It's 10am and all artists, photographers and some crew are piled in a bus heading towards the town of Odense. 10am is an early roll call for musicians, and some of the guys nearly miss the bus. The rest of us get to sit and laugh as they struggle to catch up on bicycles.

We are all tired but excited. And slightly anxious. Will anyone show up at all? Does this event have a life outside of Copenhagen? We have no idea. 

Summer has kicked in, finally. It's a warm sunny day and as we arrive at the Odense site an hour before the event starts, our fears are silenced. There are already people here hanging out. Slowly, people arrive during the afternoon and bask in the sun, soaking up the rays and the sub bass.  Turnout is good and the crowd is into it. I have a proper diva my-ego-stroked moment when people in the crowd recognize me and say nice things about my pictures.

Later in the day, the sun dips below the bridge and shines through sand kicked up in the air by the dancing crowd, lending everyone a golden halo. The night creeps in and brings darkness, the proper light and setting for this event. The music intensifies and the crowd responds. Submit to the sub bass, there is no place to hide. This works, taking this show on the road actually works!

A completely normal view inside the bus. Image by Charlene Winfred.

Friday 25th of July 2014

We are driving further, to Aarhus the 2nd largest city in Denmark, so we are leaving earlier today. Amazingly enough, everyone shows up on time. The bus ride is a blur. Everyone is tired. The fun happens when we arrive in Aarhus and discover the 2nd largest city in Denmark is doing road construction on half the inner city roads. Our bus driver swears and breaks a lot of traffic laws getting us to our hotel. He's a proper bass pirate too, living entirely on coffee and pipe tobacco.  

Eventually we manage to get checked-in and our driver swears some more and gets us to the event site at the harbour. It's quite a setting but it is wide open, on gravel, with nowhere to sit and chill. What little crowd has arrived is getting toasted by the sun and walking further away to find something non-gravel to sit on. I shoot a few images here and there to cover all the artist but it's clear the good shots will be coming around sunset at 9pm and later. 

One of the transport vans is parked behind the stage. It will be a great platform to stand on and capture an overview of the scene. I figure my non-existent parkour skills will be plenty to get me on top of the van. As gravity betrays me, I just manage to think 'alcohol may have played a part in my judgment', I come crashing down with my arm under me, bending two ribs and causing a fair bit of pain. As I dust myself off, master electrician Johan (clearly knowing more about gravity than me) comes running over with a ladder. I need a new ribcage too, and my ego repaired.

Apart from not being able to breathe well, the ending is especially epic here in Aarhus. A ship in the background has a huge search light turned on, making for some dramatic scenes. I have my ladder and climb carefully onto the van. Mission accomplished, with bruised ribs and ego. 

Saturday 26th of july 2014

After we got back to the hotel last night we had to backup all our cards and charge all batteries. That and the fact that our hotel is right smack on the biggest party street in Aarhus, it's hot and there's no aircon - meant sleep was a luxury not included in the room price. Oh yeah, my ribs hurt too. Life on the road is hard for a grumpy old man! 

We wake up early—well, we were hardly sleeping in the first place. Today the sub bass bus show will take us to Aalborg. I'm tired but quite excited about this. It is close to where I was born and part of my family have agreed to drop by and be exposed to the bass. 

We arrive in Aalborg with time to spare, so we walk around the city a bit. I used to go to school here when I was a young 17-year-old IT-geek. I have not seen the town in decades. It looks a lot nicer now, they really re-did the city center and harbour area well. We have lunch at Jensen's Bøfhus (steakhouse), you cannot get anymore authentic Aalborg than that.

Aalborg is notorius for being rock-oriented but there is a surprising number of people at our event. The stage is under the famous brige 'Limfjordsbroen', the crowd is baking in the sun and really getting into the beats and the bass. The mannequin doll leg turned beer bong is proving especially popular here in Aalborg. The best moment is when most of my family drop by to say hi to us. 

The evening is a blur. Time seems to have stalled. Tired. I am so tired by now. Ribs hurt. I also have a feeling of deja-vu, like I have shot every image I shoot already. Need. Sleep. Now. That subwoofer suddenly looks very comfortable. Just a little nap. The sub bass will rock me to sleep.

POST TOUR 

At the hotel the next morning, most of the crew meet up over breakfast. The tour was a success and people are happy but tired. Dead tired. We all agree that we need to sleep for a week and not hear any bass at all for a while.

My cameras performed a lot better than I did. I always use a setup of two cameras, wide angle such as the 14mmF2.8 or 23mmF1.4 on one of them, the 35mmF1.4 or 56mmF1.2 on the other. I love working with this setup, light weight, fast, low light awesomeness. The cameras did not miss one beat on the entire tour.  

It is the first tour I have worked for. The shooting does become repetitive on day 3 and 4, and the pile of images to develop stressed me out - my old laptop is as grumpy as the owner when I feed it this many images. Overall, it was a great gig and lots of fun with awesome people and music. I am happy and proud to have been part of the very first Bas Under Buen tour in Denmark, bringing the bass to the people. The crew and artists do an amazing job: this is not a U2 style armada of people - this a small crew and hard working volunteers that made this a success. And thanks most of all to all the people who showed up and raved!

Mikael is the audio wizard and the reason the Funktion One system sounds so awesome. He also gets to sit down, lucky bastard!

Armed with a 56mm Charlene Winfred stalks us all from above.

Beer is served in the background while DJ E.D.D.E.H. drops bass-bombs on the crowd, in Aalborg.

Tim Driver, DJ and member of the Ohoi! crew behind the events leads a bunch in crew members and volunteers, clearly all of them working quite hard at this point at the Odense event!

Speaking of working hard, here is yours truly working on some new moves and award winning documentary images at the same time! 
I'm here to shoot, but when the bass grabs you, you gotta dance! Don't ask me what my wrist is doing.  Image by Charlene Winfred.

The dancing backstage is as epic as it is in front of the stage.

DJ Tim Driver drops the last tune of the night, the crew celebrates a successful event by doing the One Finger Pointing Bass Dance.

A massive thank you to all the ravers. See you next year.

Alizarine Frida

Photography and text by Vincent Baldensperger

"- Tu t'appelles comment ? 
- Marie 
- Marie comment ? 
- Marie A."

Marie a les cheveux rouges 
et c'est leur couleur naturelle…

Marie n'est pas une coiffeuse, Marie a l'âme d'une artiste,
le regard flamboyant lorsque l'on évoque Frida Kahlo. 
Ne cherchez ni le détail ni l'artifice ordinaire, 
traversez le miroir sans retenue 
vous êtes l'invité de son cabinet de curiosité capillaire 
où se marient objets, symboles et bestiaire silencieux. 
Passions, histoires et contes d'autrefois réunis autour de quatre murs...

Derrière le rouge flambeau souffle une voix sucrée, 
vous êtes un enfant, Marie saura vous apprivoiser.

"-What's your name?
- Marie
- Marie who?
- Marie A."

Marie has red hair
& it's her natural colour...

Marie isn't a hairdresser, Marie has the soul of an artist,
her eyes burn with fire when someone mentions Frida Kahlo.
Do not look for the mundane or the ordinary,
walk through the looking glass without hesitation
you've been invited to her cabinet of curios
where objects, symbols and silent bestiaries collide.
Passions, stories and ancient lore within four walls...

Behind the red torch a sweet voice whispers,
you are a child
Marie will tame you.