jonathan pearlman

jonathan pearlman

FINE ART Photography

WORDS, FAIL ME....

Just the other day, I was reminiscing  someone asked me about my Photo-Essay 'Court - A Visual Journey through the Supreme Court of Victoria.'

How wonderful,   I thought that I should happen to think of a new blog  that someone should happen to request from me a visit down memory lane at the very moment in time when I am about to celebrate my first official published photograph. Why the hell should I feel humble, sod it. I'll give them what I want to read, all about me
 

The genesis to the idea of this, one of my first forays into photo-essays was formed, by and large, inside my head; a place where many odd occurrences abound on a frequency that would astound neuroscientists. (Actually, I'm just guessing this, but it sounds like I know whatever it is I'm talking about). If I remember correctly, it was during one of my first ever visits to chambers where I had an appointment with a judge to discuss some trivial piece of housekeeping to a proceeding he was presiding over.  Walking through the very impressive and Dickensian courtyard I took stock of how far I had come in life and was gazing, poetically, at the wonderful trees along the walk. Mouth open, as always, a flock of pollen (a gaggle? a jug? a conglomerate?) sucked its way inside my throat and disappeared down my gullet; I spent the next 15 minutes lost in a maze of 19th Century corridors hacking and coughing, when a cleaning lady seemingly popped out of nowhere, but was probably a toilet, and said to me "Good Morning Your Honour." (when one speaks to judges, one speaks with capital letters).

What was I to do? I hacked back, "Oh yes, of course, good morning, umm, Miss" And sauntered, happily with my new station, around three or four of the same six corridors for what seemed like two hours but was, in actual fact, 1 hour and 45 minutes.

And then, there was the moment, the epiphany I had to have. I stopped dead in my tracks at the top of a staircase and saw this figure one floor below me, a fully-red-robed figure replete with a small curly wig battling with a photocopier. Firstly, cajoling then hitting the buttons into submission until the copied paper spewed through the side. And he, the figure, cast a look of total disdain at the machine; a look of absolute disgust and derision; and at that moment I truly believed the figure was about to pass the most horrific sentence over poor Mr. Sharp.

Blinded by the light bulb that had just popped over, in and around my head I hurried to the nearest notebook where I could jot down notes to a new adventure for my cameras. I wanted this red-robed figure to pose alongside his robotic nemesis, I wanted to shadow him and take candid shots. Inside his chambers I imagined all sorts of wondrous images I would conjure with is dazzling props: the wigs, the gowns, the robes, the books (oh, the books!). The glory! The glittering prizes that would await.

End of part one  (wow, that was amazing....I'm actually better at this than I thought)

 

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