[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 23 January 2022].
tall poppies
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 21 January 2022].
thank you for the music
Mid-morning on Monday, David messaged me. The notification flashing up on my phone's lock screen stopped me in my tracks.
Though I was working, I immediately switched to my own computer to visit Anthony Horan's Facebook profile. To try to fathom the message David had sent me.
Before I got to his profile, I hadn't even considered David's question was logical.
My eyes settled on a truncated comment from Chris, Anthony's brother. It opened in a way I immediately knew wouldn't end in any way I had wanted to imagine.
I felt like I couldn't breathe. I immediately started crying and didn't stop for a good half hour. Through tears, I emailed my manager and a colleague to advise I needed to take a break.
It felt like it took me ten minutes or more to read through the update from Chris properly. My eyes and brain kept stalling on the first few words. When I had finally managed to read it, I stayed to read all the lovely comments from Anthony's other friends. The tears just kept coming.
I met Anthony at Retro within a month of turning 18. Along with friends, I discovered Club 383 seemingly randomly and tried out a new night there on a Thursday. We returned on a Friday night for Retro. And then a Saturday night for Collision. Anthony was one of the DJs for both Retro and Collision.
For almost a month before I turned 18, we turned up early. I was sober, and my friends bought non-alcoholic drinks for me. I was often the first person on the dancefloor.
I was excited simply to dance to songs I loved in a space that wasn't my lounge room. All the time I spent in nightclubs, I preferred being on an empty or half-empty dancefloor. I could dance freely with my eyes closed without worrying about being burned by someone's cigarette and without the distraction of some sleazy guy trying to hit on me.
I would harass Anthony, Andy and Craig through the sliding glass window of the DJ booth with my endless requests. Then I'd run onto the dancefloor excitedly as I heard the opening bars of my favourite songs.
I was like a child at a carnival.
A few months later, after a falling out with one of my closest friends who I regularly went out with, I decided I would venture out on my own.
By that stage, I'd got to know the Club 383 DJs: Anthony, Tony, Andy, and Craig. Well enough that I figured I had a DJ booth to hang out in or near if I didn't want to dance to a song but felt awkward standing at the edge of the dancefloor.
That decision led to me spending sporadic periods hanging out with Anthony in the DJ booth. Flicking through his extensive CD collection and behaving like an irritating younger sister, haranguing him to "Play this next!" or "Ooh! This!" He was endlessly patient and never patronised me. He didn't always play my requests, but he never made me feel stupid for asking for them.
When I worked on my final folio for the second semester of my first year at Photography Studies College, I shot a series of photographs at Club 383.
It included a portrait of Anthony with his decks (though most of what he played was on CD, not vinyl). It was shot in standard nightclub lighting. There was no way to adequately capture him and the turntable together in any meaningful way. So I spent time in the darkroom compositing a portrait of him with the turntable. I don't have a quality electronic version at the moment, but the image above gives you a general idea.
I probably spent two nights a week almost every week from March 1995 to the end of 1998 at Club 383. My time out dancing dropped off in 1999 in the lead-up to leaving the country. But Anthony and I stayed in contact intermittently over that time.
When I returned to Melbourne in April 2002, we spent far too many hours nattering on ICQ, Hotmail Messenger and Yahoo! Messenger. We followed each other on LiveJournal, though Anthony barely posted. And then on the usual social media platforms. We spent the wee hours of countless nights hanging out in his flat, listening to music and drinking cider and/or wine.
On Thursday, 21 August 2003, Anthony, Daniel and I formed the Dick Laurent Remembrance Society. A trivia team that last competed on 13 March 2018, with Dave in place of Daniel, though Dave was a regular member for much of the team's existence. Our team fluctuated from two to six members over the weeks and years.
For the lifetime of the team, Anthony and I were the most consistent members, often competing as a duo when all the other tables had four to six members. For various reasons (none of which were cheating), the two of us enjoyed many fancy and expensive meals at the Mitre Tavern's more prestigious sister restaurant. Prizes for our efforts.
Where mine and Anthony's geography consistently let the team down, Daniel's saved our skins many a time. Daniel joked on one occasion that our geography was so bad that he wondered how we found our way to the pub each week. Of course, we responded it was due to a well-worn trail and the scent of alcohol. All three of us failed, majestically, when it came to the sport round, though.
Anthony and I were massive nerds in some respects. And we both hated the heat. I still remember the two of us - sweltering in our respective homes - semi-regularly refreshing the RMIT real-time weather website for updates on incoming cool changes. Anthony lived in the city, and I lived in the inner northern suburbs. So if he finally experienced the temperature change, I could rush around opening windows and doors to let in the incoming cool breeze about ten minutes later. Anthony introduced me to many helpful online websites during our friendship, but this was one of the most valuable.
As most people will know, Anthony's passion was music. He reviewed it, he produced it. He supported artists both well-known and emerging, and he played hours of music at least two nights a week for much of the time I knew him.
His reviews were never the bitter, backstabbing type that might populate the pages of NME. Celebrating an artist one week then shooting them down the next. His reviews in Beat and InPress were always fair, well-considered and often focussed on female singer/songwriters. There was never anything pandering or fake about the reviews, but they were invariably positive.
He introduced me to so many talented female artists or female-fronted outfits. I put together a modest playlist of those who immediately came to mind on Monday evening. Along with some of the songs he patiently played repeatedly for me, on request. I had to include an ABBA track at the end. He was one of the only people I knew who would champion their music in the late 90s when grunge and indie were in fashion.
Amongst others, he introduced me to Sia, Soko, Emilie Simon, Dot Allison, Bat For Lashes and My Brightest Diamond. And he introduced me to the music and the actual personage of Wendy Rule.
He was an incorrigible flirt but never sleazy. He was gentle (though there was that one time he rugby tackled me!) Sweet, respectful, witty (though sometimes a bit on the 'dad joke' spectrum). Enthusiastic, passionate, genuine and down to earth. I never heard about him falling out with anyone, and he and I never had a cross word between us.
We spent Monday nights together for a season or two, watching the latest episodes of Lost. He donated his old TV - and the wall unit to hold it - to me when he upgraded to a flatscreen. It may not have been the best telly, but it was a definite upgrade from my 15" CRT!
Over recent years, with the difference in timezone and him working more "normal" hours, we couldn't catch up often. Despite us previously both being night owls. And unfortunately, we didn't manage to have another round of trivia when I was last in Melbourne due to his family commitments at the time.
His last message to me was in late August 2021: "Oh, by the way, I've gotta recommend a show on Netflix called 'Brand New Cherry Flavor' - it pushes all the right Lynch/Cronenberg buttons, and Rosa Salazar is awesome in it. Think Hollywood Lynchian noir melded with Clive Barker weirdness. And kittens. Lots of kittens."
Honestly, I had forgotten that. And now, as soon as I can renew my Netflix subscription, that will be what I have to watch next.
He shared that recommendation off the back of me enquiring about his middle name. I had a character in a novel I'd started writing for NaNoWriMo in 2016 that was primarily based on him, but a slight hybrid with two other DJs from Club 383. On Monday, when I found out he'd passed away, I kicked myself that I didn't share that excerpt with him while I could. Obviously, I had no conception of what the next few months would hold.
All I can think as I finish writing this is how much I wish Anthony could have read this. I know we would have had such a laugh about it all. We didn't spend nearly enough time talking about all the hijinks we got up to back in the day. About all the moments we shared.
I know he knew how much I valued his friendship. That, whether we talked every day or every 365th day, our friendship was still strong. But we always write these things after someone we love is gone, and that's so stupid. They should be able to read these things and share them with us.
At least I know I wrote posts about Anthony that he read at the time, some of which fed into this post. But I wish I'd shared that excerpt with him when I mentioned it. It wasn't a starring role - a pivotal character - but it captured the easy friendship we shared. One I will miss so much.
Thank you for the music, Anthony. Somewhere you're filling the dancefloor once more. And there are penguins.
brontë parsonage
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 18 January 2022].
we come from the earth, we return to the earth, and in between we garden
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 16 January 2022].
silky oak
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 14 January 2022].
I thought this year I'd change things up a bit and share some of my vast quantity of floral images on Fridays, with the odd fungi image making an appearance.
The change is driven by my supply of fungi images running low for now. Many of my fungi photos were taken on my iPhone and shared on social media soon after.
But also because I want to share the many beautiful images of flowers I have taken over the decades. And they don't really quite fit into the travel category (though often taken while travelling), and, unlike my late bloomers series, these flowers are real.
So, I'm kicking off my new series of #FloralFriday posts with two photos I took back in 2009 of the striking yellow-gold flowers of a silky oak tree in Redland Bay, Queensland.
During my childhood, my parents and my grandfather tracked down various items of furniture made from the silky oak tree.
They sanded them back, varnished them and furnished our homes with them. Two sideboards and a dining table and chairs I grew up with were lovingly restored, among other items. And more furniture in my grandparents' home in Canberra.
Growing up, I never realised these flowers grew on the same trees the furniture I was surrounded by during my childhood were fashioned from.
I've decided to call this curated series a floral tribute.
rambo's
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 11 January 2022].
At first glance, this is a pretty simple photograph and perhaps a bit dull to most.
But there's so much in this photograph to make me laugh and so many layers to the scene.
And the splashes of bold primary colours thrown in adds to it.
I was going to use a phrase from one of the many signs in the image as a title, but there were too many to choose from, and I thought it was more fun to let you discover them yourself.
Bonus points to the signwriter/s for the spelling mistakes and inappropriate apostrophe use.
eye on london
Today is my eleventh Londonversary!
To celebrate, here's a selection of photographs I took from the London Eye back in 2012 that I finally edited over the weekend.
cracked and blue
A quick post to say happy birthday to my good friend Phil. And happy 21-year friendversary!
I took this photo during our trip to Chichester in September last year. It reminds me of a lot of his urban texture photography.
you've made your bed...
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 10 January 2022].
the setting sun
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 8 January 2022].
Apologies for the radio silence the past week.
In the wee hours of this morning, I caught myself writing, "It's been a long week but a good one."
I can't honestly say I remember the last time I said that.
A long week, yes. But a good week? Nope. No idea when I last said that.
And looking back today, I feel like the last year of "no drama" in my life was 2017 or 2018.
I have some temporary work starting next week, which appears positive. Especially since my mentioning photographing roadkill didn't scare my new colleagues off in my interview. It explained why I can manage the imagery I might have to deal with in this role.
I've had refreshingly honest conversations the past couple of weeks with new and old friends. And while I'm accustomed to that with old friends, it's a good feeling to have that with new/ish friends (and maybe more-than-friends).
After the past few years, I'm optimistic about 2022. But cautiously so. My mantra has become "Hope for the best, prepare for the worst". But, so far, 2022 is treating me well.
I hope it's treating you well too, and I will be back with more new work very soon.
a bed of roses
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 2 January 2022].
new lighthouse [dungeness]
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 28 December 2021].
untitled #193
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 26 December 2021].