After the earthquake in Nepal, the streets were littered with debris. Houses which had come down with possessions and clothes over roads and bricks and dust everywhere. Near where I used to live someone painted a mural on a wall of a woman sweeping up. The crack on the wall framed her efforts. There was rumours about where all the street dogs had gone in the aftermath. Suddenly there were significantly fewer. This dog fell asleep and told the whole story.
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After the earthquake in Nepal, 2015, red chillis drying in the sun outside a Red Cross emergency zone tent. Bhaktapur was hit hard, with 300 deaths and 2000 injuries. 30,000 houses had serious damage. The place was in shock in every way.
I found a square of these tents and there was complete silence. It never quiet in Nepal. There are dogs barking or prayers being chanted or Bella being run in temple doorways or puja trays. The chillis were the only sign of life.
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Rowing through the fog at sunrise on the River Lea, I shouted over the bridge that he looked amazing and he started singing “Floating About on the River” from Wind in the Willows. It echoed off the arches of the bridge and carried through the fog.
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In the earthquake camps in #Nepal a woman looks over to a group of children who are learning to hula hoop. The expression on her face is so poignant, in amongst all the horror. Whatever she was feeling when she was watching those children, they gave her something special.
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I cycled past them, saw the moment, doubled back and caught the shot. It fills me with glee every time I look at it.
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Kathmandu, 2016, Boudinath. I glanced down from the rooftop cafe to see some monks with mobiles taking photos in front of the temple. I love this photo. And I love their posing shapes. A mime artist could not find more of a “I’m taking a photo” posture if they tried.
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I walked to the edge of the road to get a photograph of the rice paddies glanced down and got one shot of the moment the labourer glanced back at the woman dancing. It’s the kind of thing influencers probably spend months orchestrating now - and to be the woman in white. But this was a spilt second moment and I happened to be in the right place because I’d wanted to take a picture of a field.
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I’ve got decades worth of photographs of #graffiti in East London. I just to climb around a lot of old warehouses to find it. One day I ducked under a fence, rounded a corner and found this guy, sat mumbling to himself. There is a person under the green tarpaulin operating the puppet. And no one else around. I tipped my hat, wished him a good day and went about me day. I wish I’d sat and had a conversation.
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The district where I lived in Kathmandu was walking distance from Patan Durbar Square, the old capital. At dusk people would go there to socialise and sit. The sun set early as the city is surrounded by the Himalayas. I would have to leave at dusk to walk home as when night came it was like walking through an ink well. No street lights. Just a torch and some street dogs. The corn sellers would always be busy. The road smelt of dust, petrol, singed husks and incense.
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