Concreature found in the heart of Alstonville’s industrial estate. The “tag” is my attempt to replicate graffiti using various brushes in CS5.
Today my entire class at uni had organised to go to Dreamworld, an amusement park in the gold coast, to complete an assignment worth 20%.
With a vague inclination to complete the assignment properly, so as not to let down my eager beaver team mates, and a proportionally larger will to indulge my inner id, I followed my group in search for the scenes and subjects required for us to shoot.
Being a place of promised fun and adventure, it didn’t take long for my not so inner child to start whining about tired limbs and demanding to go on a ride.
Rides are designed to thrill the id, a part of the psyche that acts only in accordance to the pleasure principle with no regard for reality or social environment. These rides thrill the senses by making the id believe it is defying the super-ego. The super-ego is what used to be that maternal voice forbidding you from throwing that rock off the cliff to see what happens, or picking up that recently dropped ice-cream off the ground to have another try. As adults we have learned to internalise this voice and it now rests snugly in our psyche ready to give the id a taste of the back of its hand when next it tries to do something socially unacceptable and impulsive.
The moment we find ourselves hurtling toward the earth from a great height on a roller coaster is the moment our id falls into the deception that it is defying our super-ego. It’s also at this point that we regress into a child like state, screaming and giggling uncontrollably like a four year old playing hide and seek in a supermarket.
Wandering around this world of indulgement howerver, I couldn’t help but feel like I was still being watched, I felt as if a maternal, or perhaps now fraternal, voice could blare threw some overhead speakers any minute. With this imaginary voice ordering me to place my rubbish in the bin I came to realise that I had merely transferred the responsibility of the supper-ego to an external agency. By forfeiting my responsibility to look after myself I had also forfeited a part of my own freedom.
These images are an attempt to ask what is better; freedom without chaos, or chaos without freedom.
From my most recent trip down to NSW for a good dose of family. Went to Lismore in search of the tuckshop aesthetic, mum proved to be a worthy assistant, even with a limp. After a lark with a listless tuckshop lady, a portrait proposal for a ponderous pack of pub patrons and a riot with some restless ragamuffins, we stumbled upon this secluded sevice station. This is one of the shots where the flash did decide to fire.