There is a gap in my photography between what I think I’m shooting and the image I actually take home with me.
In this case, I thought I was shooting an image of a window in an abandoned industrial space. I liked the brick, the variegated panes of glass with one missing, the expanded metal to protect the glass and peeled back where the pane is missing, as if to prove the point: see, you need the protection, otherwise your panes of glass will go missing.
But what I took home is something different. If you look near the top of the image, a little to the left of the centre line, you’ll see that someone has stuck a tiny pink heart there. It’s kind of funny, really. There I am, with my serious pretensions at producing a gritty commentary on post-industrial life. And somebody comes along and sneaks a tiny pink heart into the scene. Message received.
