Photography is Dead. Long live Photography.

"…there have been an estimated 3.5 trillion photos taken, including 10 percent within the past year” (August 14, 2014)

Since moving to Hong Kong in August 2012 , I’ve posted 1777 images to

This “Zero” is the first image I posted. August 5th, 2012

In 2013, I took 6 months off. Even with that break, over the last 2.5 years, I post on average 83 photos a month; 2–3 a day. For every photo I post, I probably take 20.

Every image is named. It’s a writing project. Here are the first few….

Users tend to create about 3 pieces of content per day per social network. My output is about normal.

  • Each minute, 243,055.5 photos are uploaded to Facebook.
  • Five million photos are uploaded to Instagram daily.
  • Instagram has already had more than 16 billion photos uploaded since debuting in 2010
  • Each day 350 million photos are uploaded to Facebook which equates to 4,000 photos per second.
  • Flickr users upload 3.5 million photos to the site each day.
  • Each second, 58 photos are added to Instagram.

I got the statistics above from the fun facts page of the IACP (International Association of Chiefs of Police)

My interests are formal, not friendly. I don’t try to do faces.

Photography permits me to exit the world as I enter it.

It’s a mode of meditation. Instantaneous & swift.

Documentation. Accident. Symmetry. Decay. Commentary.

For me, there is nothing theoretical about taking photos. It’s instinct.

I used to use a DSLR and make videos and interactive websites.
An interactive online display of 144 videos shot over 40 days in 2010 while an artist-in-residence at Briant, France.

In Hong Kong I bought my first mobile phone. My DSLR is now in storage.

I post to by email. It takes seconds. There is usually almost no gap between the photo and its posting online.

Photography now is swiftly becoming like thought. An instant soup. Blink. Send. Survey. Stream.

I document debris. If everything is sacred, then nothing is. Perhaps.

Light congeals around matter and nourishes. Light satisfies.

I’ve been selecting these photos at random from my archive. Without even looking. Just pecking at random names. Why bother curating when accidental collisions are often as lucid and charming as thoughtful configurations?

Narratives (or lies) arise from patterns, colour, contexts and forms.

Excess makes photos into an ecology.

Redundancy simultaneously reduces and increases the importance of photos. They become dwellings, homes. More precious because they are proximal, close, intimate, ours. Irrelevant because everyone has some. Garbage dumps, children, vacations and food.

Photography as an art is over.

Photography is a craft, a hobby, a toy.

Creating crumpled nodes of personal (un)importance. Habitats for visual memory. Reservoirs of intimate resistance against obliteration.

Why not?
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