Rest

By Vincent Baldensperger

Stille

By Flemming Bo Jensen

Modern Silence

8XSEP16

OUR PERSONAL CHOICES THIS MONTH

Issue 007 - Words from the editor

By Vincent Baldensperger

More than a picture book, anatomy studies its subject—striving to understand its very essence.
Be it academic or morphological; plastic, proportional or photographic...it remains descriptive, weaving tales of the living and the still from small details to vast expanses. Here, it finds its bearings in imagination, emotion, sensitivity and passion—a mirror anatomy, providing a glimpse at who we are.

A life on the road

BY FLEMMING BO JENSEN

It has been my home for almost seven years. 

But every year, it becomes harder to live like this.

Running from immigration laws.

Society does not want perpetual travelers.

Walls are going up. Roads are closing down.

I am tired. 

I want to stop running and leave the road alone.

And yet I also want to get back on the road and escape. 

It is a strange push/pull relationship.

This Life On The Road.

Rumble In La Rambla

Photography & Text by Derek Clark

They arrived on the Barcelona metro with bedsheets tied in massive bundles, crowding platforms and filling trains. At La Rambla they struggled to pull the bundles through the turnstiles and drag them up stairs to street level. Some had already spread out their goods inside the Metro, a prime spot possibly.

I took the escalator to the street and stepped out into the evening heat. The sun was low in the sky and Saturday night and all that it brings, had already begun. I had never seen so many counterfeit items in one place. The bedsheets now laid flat on the ground and the goods for sale placed neatly on display. The usual (fake) Rolex watches, Beats Pill speakers and Ray-Ban sunglasses were all available, but the obvious favourites were Michael Kors handbags and Nike shoes. 

I made my way down La Rambla, watching the bartering and both sides were giving as good as they got. Money was exchanging hands in every direction, but the sellers were all looking nervously in one direction. 

Further down I could see the bright yellow of police shirts, then bedsheets being hurriedly stuffed full of goods and moved rapidly in my direction. As I got closer, the crowd became denser and the noise levels were rising rapidly. One voice stood out more than most and very quickly became the dominant one. A group of police officers on scooters were trying to make their way up La Rambla, but the protesters had blocked the way and refused to move. It was an awkward scene and no doubt embarrassing for the police involved.

A middle aged woman was shouting in Spanish, screaming at the police above the roar of the crowd. The police looked at each other, they seamed unsure how to handle the situation, After a while someone made the decision to move the police scooters off the pedestrian area and onto the road next to it, pulling back to avoid escalating the situation, at least until backup arrived. The protesters cheered as the police rode their scooters out onto the street, no doubt seeing it as a victory.

It looked as though the protest had developed in the heat of the moment, but more people started to arrive with handmade banners. For them at least, this was not about selling counterfeit goods, but about race and the persecution of migrants. There were banners saying 'Stop the war against migrants' and 'No more refugee's in prison' . While others claimed that violence was a legitimate defence.  Further up La Rambla the sellers were cautiously setting out their goods for sale again. 

Meanwhile, two Catalunya police vans had arrived full of cops armed with handguns and riffles at Plaça De Catalunya. They reversed both vans behind a large fountain and awaited instructions. But the standoff had been diffused to an extent and the sellers had decided to call it a day and pack up their counterfeit goods and gather near the entrance to the Catalunya Metro.

One eager entrepreneur opened his bundle for a couple of tourists that showed an interest, but the sale didn't develop and he was reprimanded by another seller, who looked as though he may have had some authority among the group. 

In the end the situation was diffused and what could have developed into something more serious turned out to be an embarrassment for the police and lost revenue for the sellers. The protesters may have scored a victory, but I'm sure faces were noted and even photographed for later collection.  

Missed encounters

by Charlene Winfred

I’ve spent most of my life riding buses and trains, and they have been a remarkable window through which to observe the rhythms and rituals of daily life. 

Back when I had a permanent home base, it was about the possibility of connection. If circumstances permitted, and we found ourselves in conversation, how much would we have in common? What stories would we ultimately end up sharing?

These days, in constant motion from one temporary abode to another, these photographs are mostly about the possibilities of disconnection. Windows frame narratives held at bay by glass, so I look at what I will probably never get to see, not knowing what I don't know. How much can I discern about what people are thinking by simply looking at them? And ultimately, if leaving is the end game of this life in perpetual transit, does it matter?