Low

Once I came across a scrapbook of silhouettes that dated from the beginning of the last century. The profiles had been rendered in black paper, carefully stuck in the book and below the names were written in ink. Mrs Arbuthnott 1921. That is all I know of her. That, and of course, the line of her prominent brow and aquiline nose. Profiles are people elsewhere in space and time.  Their gaze and thoughts are lost to you. They make you the eavesdropper. The perpendicular observer. The coin in your pocket. The postage stamp lurking in the corner of an envelope. There is a renaissance formality to a profile. Looking out of the window of a cafe in Manchester I watch the passing faces. An alien trying to capture some sense of what drives these people into the sunlight.


Camera: Yashica T5

Film: Fujifilm Neopan