Another basement photograph. Heck, I'm still happy taking them, and the camera's got the range to deal with the situation - unlike my SLR. In fact it doesn't even exploit the full dynamic range.

Its strange how you relate to the world through something as laborious as this - I went up three stories to my apartment window to check on what the clouds were likely to do - and consequently what kind of variations were likely in the light; I cursed the helicopters flying too close - the vibrations of the blades could be clearly felt on my skin, and I was unnerved that they were likely to wobble the slightly rickety camera that I'm using; the wind has a strong effect on the rendering of the foliage; the shape of the lens' viewpoint was clearly innured in my sensorium, I could see the cone shape and what was going to fall within and without of the lens' purview.

In these regards the photograph is the centre of a process, the pulpit around which the dialogue revolves in symbolic and other visual linguistic ways but also in terms of the reality of the shooting circumstances. In this sense the photograph opens up a world, demarcating and revering, recording in spite of itself, in spite of its impotence.

Beyond the image there is also a clear relation between the technology and, in this image, in the rendering of the penumbra on the floor, the rich way with which it handles the transition, and the discreet clarity of various elements in the image. I don't want to talk about that 'though. 'Art and technology' is an old old argument - look up techne and heidegger - and I can't do it justice, although the first link's a pretty good summary of techne, but suffice it to say that old mr contentious' philosophical position is very useful for artists, as it rearranges an old problem by giving the total artwork primacy and not fragmenting and relegating the artwork to other questions: 'what is it about', 'what is it a picture of' and so on.