Numb Cheeks

I think I drove 12 hours this day. Over mountains. Across dry grass plains and cotton farms. Through thunderstorms and lightning. And after that, the most vibrant red sunset I’ve ever seen in my life.

Then in the dark. Past penitentiaries and towns with no lights on, through fog and across long black rivers running for the coast.

And I slept under the brightest moonless sky I’d seen for a long while. In the back of my car in an empty rest-stop.

That fucking sky man. Can’t shoot it. Can’t paint it. Can’t write a song about it. Not without coming up short.

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A Night at the Pink Poodle

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The Pink poodle was an art-deco styled motel built on the side of the highway in Surfers Paradise in the late 60’s. Its bright neon sign and prominent location led to it becoming a Gold Coast icon seen on postcards for decades.

By the late 80’s the shine had worn off and the motel had become a den of prostitution and criminal activity. The sign still shone its bright sickly pink hue over the rain-slicked streets on summer evenings for years to come as the building continued to deteriorate beneath it.

My 11th grade teacher once made the class made read and analyse a fictional book called ‘A Night at the Pink Poodle’. It was about the Gold Coast, its tacky superficial materialism and how chasing it all may eventually leave you feeling like a big fat phoney. Near the end of the book the protagonist, a wildly successful High-rise Apartment Salesman, spends a night at the latter incarnation of the hotel after fucking up his life by questioning its validity. He has some kind of spiritual epiphany while he sits in the faded, stained, dated interior of his room listening to only the passing traffic on the highway and in the hallway.

In 2004 they tore the faded motel down. The sign remains. Next to a Hooters.

I regret never going inside and taking a few photos. When it was in its final form. I regret this now. Then it never really crossed my mind.

There were a similar motels in Palm Beach. There were actually dozens of similar motels up and down the Gold Coast Highway. Many have been knocked down. Some are still running. Others fell into gradual disrepair.

I remember walking past one that was near my house when I was 18 or so. A man called out asking for a light from a darkened door frame. I went up a flight of stairs to this strangers door and gave him my lighter. He pulled out a filthy pipe and had a cook right there on the balcony. He offered me some. I said no thanks and went on my way.

I’m finding something in them as the coastline becomes increasingly gentrified. They’ve become fewer and further between. So I’m trying to get a few shots whenever I see the chance. They have something you cant make.

Bennies get the Boot

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It’s hard to take photos when you’re stoned. At night.

THis festival has been wheeling out the revival acts a bit over the past few years. Revival bands… Not my thing. Parliament/Funkadelic were a couple of years ago. That was cool, yeah. George Clinton has a whole lot of new talent backing up his tired voice.

This year they rolled out the Village People though. I couldn’t dance to that man.

That was just collection relics blowing off some dust.

Not my party.

 

 

Sunday Service

Heres a time-lapse shot about 2 months ago on a sunday at Mirka Continental Bistro, a kitchen I used to work at.

It was a pretty good day. The vid was a pain to edit with a lot of render times. I have a lot to learn about editing time-lapse stuff.

Most of the photography is by Adrian Kristofferson who nailed it.

I dont have Vimeo Pro so its probably best to watch the HD version on the main site here