Live To Win

The air in Sydney is like a glass; clear and full of water it holds you in a crisp commercial embrace, primary colour opinions smiling inside marble television studios It’s dirty and rotten in glimpses As only a big city can be; gaps in construction facades like missing teeth puffs of smoke from the cracks in the concrete ciggie butts chucked under a bush. In Sydney, even the homeless are assertive not content to be swept into a corner they have made a camp on Martin place a free kitchen, library and beds for all who can brave the curious stares of uniformed school excursions. I’m in favour of the noise and the hustle Existentially wandering through the crowds I love people who don’t care Who you are or what you are doing there This of course is rare in small towns with the population of an extended family Christmas gathering there people notice you without looking an...

There's something beautiful about comics - the way they freeze and crystalize moments of crisis like nothing else can. The spastic jump of objects knocked from a table as a body is hurled through a window. The look of awe on a face as something epic is revealed before it's beholder.  What is the way without artifice to capture the moments and places and scenes of life in this city that seduce with their temporary brilliance. It's difficult to avoid the (capitalist) logic of progress while documenting a time - the implicit idea that all things must/will develop and grow bigger, firmer, more exposed to the appreciation of a wider audience, so that we can look back with feigned respect to when they were small and "real". Appreciation here has a financial ring to it.  Placing a moment into a sellable capsule must inevitably starve and kill off the creative vibrant energy which made it burn so bright in the first place. Instead I seek a lasting means for admiring that...