I know, I know. There’s been a whole world of grass-themed posts on here over the last few weeks. Blame the good weather. Blame the lock-down. Blame the Kent countryside. Blame Monet’s and his fetish for haystacks. In my defence, this particular grass was snapped all the way back in the late Summer of 2014 and eschews pastoral impressionism for something markedly more extraterrestrial.
Bringing about these images was a typically lo-fi affair: some lovely slow slide film, an old 35mm camera, a few garden lights with coloured gels held in place with elastic bands, and between ten and twenty minute exposures. The photographs were taken up in the meadow at the old French House, where once again I was making the very most out of the warm still nights and complete absence of light pollution.
Memorably, it was while taking these photographs that I encountered a very large Alsatian dog, that loped silently out of the darkness of the nearby wood to eyeball me with baleful intent. It was all a little bit too Red Riding Hood for comfort. To my credit, I stood my ground and instructed the Alsatian to fuck off – which it did. The short walk back to the house I managed on jellied legs. I wanted to take more photographs. These are okay. They’re beginning to do nice things, but strictly between you and me, I’d completely lost my nerve!