You slept in the photo booth. All night long the soft popping of blinding lights couldn’t stir you. What malfunction here, what perfect happenstance? ‘The Dream’ 308 images, 77 strips of black & white photographs of you, four per row, sleeping, heaven sent, a perfect seraphic vision. The next morning, after I picked you up, I slyly stole your soul. I pasted the whole to a white canvas board, filled in some forms and submitted my efforts to the RA summer exhibition, which they accepted. It sold, handsomely, on the first day. Red dot. The person who bought the work had no idea who you were, which made it easy for them to fall in love with you. They sought me out trying to find you, but I wouldn’t let the secret, or you, go not even for more money than I had made in the first place. They tracked you down anyway and consumed you into their life and out of mine. Who am I kidding that you would have stayed here anyway. We should, perhaps, not turn the things we love into art or if we must, keep them for our eyes and wellbeing only. Appreciate the pricelessness.
Shot in Florence in 2017 on a Nikon f80. I have a bit of a thing about photo booths (the proper film / chemical ones) and cannot pass one without getting some photos ( one of the few times I take ‘selfies’ )
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Love photo booths