Polaroid no.10

A heavy, close flash, lights a blue coloured ceiling. The weight of uneven brush strokes can be traced and mapped. They are shadowed and circled by a black, formed by the limits of the reach of the Polaroid’s flash. It is a cloudy black whose presence touches and then resides against the ceilings deep blue.

Gold-stencilled stars are dotted throughout the ceiling. Only one is truly caught in the glare of the camera’s flash. The star is worn and scratched, its gold pigment beginning to fade and crumble.

Just above this star, towards the top right of the frame, a hole has been forced through the ceiling’s plaster. It is chalk white, small and rough. A split telephone wire has been slipped through and it hangs aimlessly. It bares the errant traces of the ceilings blue paintbrush. These wiry twisted thread ends, are fitted with a small plastic converter. To short and out of reach, it is not to be used.

Polaroid no. 9

The path is no longer even. Its foundations have sunk and risen because of undergrowth. It is autumn and crisp yellow leaves lay upon this swell of small concrete squares. The leaves are narrow and thin and are scattered across the Polaroid’s frame. Predominantly they gather at the centre of the image, where they almost create a knowable pattern. A speckled light from above holds and frames some, while letting others drift. It is as if the wind is shaping and designing their movements as an expression. The camera’s flash holds what was lost on a Berlin autumn day.