One or Two Quotes
I
"Noon-day sunshine cinema-ized the site, turning the bridge and the river into an over-exposed picture. Photographing it with my Instamatic 400 was like photographing a photograph. The sun became a monstrous light-bulb that projected a detached series of “stills” through my Instamatic into my eye."
- Robert Smithson
II
“Lovely things begin with the sunshine.
Her rays illuminate faces
So that smiles can be seen.
Her love so bountiful
She shares with the world.”
- From a poem by Leslie Alex
In the Spotlight
It was late, and I was hurting. A few weeks earlier, I’d wrenched my ankle sidestepping a bike that came careering through a pedestrian crossing — one of those city moments you survive more by reflex than reason.
Walking — especially with Juno — is my favourite pastime, and it’s been agony ever since. There’s only so much Ibuprofen a person can take, and today its salving delusion had worn off hours ago, taking with it my ability to read the streets with any clarity or ease.
I found myself perched on a pot plant in Piccadilly Circus, thumbing half-heartedly through the day’s debris — the photos I’d taken, the ideas that hadn’t quite landed. It struck me then, as I sat there nursing both body and ego, that I’d have to change my approach. I couldn’t cover the miles anymore, not for now. The images would have to come to me.
Fate, ever the flirt, obliged. Looking up, I saw the most cinematic light pouring into the scene before me. Just gorgeous. All it needed was an actor or two.
So I waited. I sat, camera in my lap, composing the frame while bathed in that honeyed light. It wasn’t long before the scene assembled itself — almost as if on cue.
What drew me to it, you might wonder? Partly it was the bright cross-light striking the colourful food stand, bouncing off the pale Portland stone that clads much of central London. That light — both source and reflection — gave the whole setting a softness, a warmth. I chose this image from a series of six because of the woman’s smile: it mirrors the sunshine. And then there’s that splash of red in her outfit — a small, bright echo of the backdrop.
Reconstructing my creative practice around the act of not doing feels — in hindsight — long overdue. I could have chosen not to create at all, or to simply process the backlog of negatives I’ve stockpiled over the years. But the act of making has always involved some form of physical exertion — movement, momentum, pursuit. Now, the images arrive through something else entirely: presence.
It’s a different kind of seeing — slower, more attentive. The sort of gaze you might bring to a portrait sitting, or while waiting for the right wave to fold into a seascape.
And the resulting work has a different texture too: quieter, more grounded, at times even contemplative.
I’ve made other deliberate shifts as well. I’m rebuilding my black-and-white workflow. I’m writing more. And I’m planning a series of coastal walks where I’ll begin a new body of seascapes — not chasing the picture, but waiting for it to unfold.
That’s a wrap—thanks for reading! As ever, if you know anyone who’s into photography, visual storytelling or collecting finely crafted prints, feel free to pass this email on. Or just hit reply and let me know what you think, say “hi,” or anything else that pops into your mind!
Johan du Preez
Photographer