Post Halcyon II

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Celebrating PDN style at the Annual Award Night. I also won a new Fuji Instax :)

Photographs by Adrienne Grunwald and… myself.

I can’t decide if I had a book like this, whether it would be empty or full…

I can’t decide if I had a book like this, whether it would be empty or full…

Across a Great Wilderness
The deer come out in the evening.God bless them for not judging me,I’m drunk. I stand on the porch in my bathrobeand make strange noises at them—                                                  language,if language can be a kind of crying.The tin cans scattered in the meadow glow,each bullet hole suffused with moon,like the platinum thread beyond themwhere the river runs the length of the valley.That’s where the fish are.                                   TomorrowI’ll scoop them from the pockets of graveledstone beneath the bank, their bodiesdesperately alive when I hold them in my hands,the way prayers become more hopelesswhen uttered aloud.                            The phone’s disconnected.Just as well, I’ve got nothing to tell you:I won’t go inside where the bats dip and swarmover my bed. It’s the sound of themshouldering against each other that terrifies me,as if it might hurt to brush across another being’sliving flesh.                But I carry a gun now. I’ve cut downa tree. You wouldn’t recognize me in town—my hands lost in my pockets, two disabused toolsI’ve retired from their life of touching you.
Keetje Kuipers

View high resolution

Across a Great Wilderness

The deer come out in the evening.
God bless them for not judging me,
I’m drunk. I stand on the porch in my bathrobe
and make strange noises at them—
                                                  language,
if language can be a kind of crying.
The tin cans scattered in the meadow glow,
each bullet hole suffused with moon,
like the platinum thread beyond them
where the river runs the length of the valley.
That’s where the fish are.
                                   Tomorrow
I’ll scoop them from the pockets of graveled
stone beneath the bank, their bodies
desperately alive when I hold them in my hands,
the way prayers become more hopeless
when uttered aloud.
                            The phone’s disconnected.
Just as well, I’ve got nothing to tell you:
I won’t go inside where the bats dip and swarm
over my bed. It’s the sound of them
shouldering against each other that terrifies me,
as if it might hurt to brush across another being’s
living flesh.
                But I carry a gun now. I’ve cut down
a tree. You wouldn’t recognize me in town—
my hands lost in my pockets, two disabused tools
I’ve retired from their life of touching you.

Keetje Kuipers

My latest project, “You Think You’re Safe Here”, featured on Dead Porcupine Mag…
Something that I’ve been working on for a while, about the place that shaped me into who I am as a person and the things that concern me;
Artificiality, marginalization, social constructs, suppressed violence and always being on the run…
Thanks to Francesco and Raffaele for the support :) View high resolution

My latest project, “You Think You’re Safe Here”, featured on Dead Porcupine Mag

Something that I’ve been working on for a while, about the place that shaped me into who I am as a person and the things that concern me;

Artificiality, marginalization, social constructs, suppressed violence and always being on the run…

Thanks to Francesco and Raffaele for the support :)

but I couldn’t and I didn’t and I don’t
believe in the clean break;

I believe in the compound fracture
served with a sauce of dirty regret,


~ From “Personal” by Tony Hoagland

Interviewed on WIRED Raw File as part of an article about the photo collective here:
7 Budding Collectives You Need To Know View high resolution

Interviewed on WIRED Raw File as part of an article about the photo collective here:

7 Budding Collectives You Need To Know

Hahahaha…. a vague and yet arrogant description of my own photography. awesome.

Adj. 1. idiosyncratic - peculiar to the individual; “we all have our own idiosyncratic gestures”; “Michelangelo’s highly idiosyncratic style of painting”

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