I offer you a walk in my shoes // Telling my story // One photograph at a time



Tiger Dublin Fringe

It’s been an interesting year so far.

I’ve had lots of little personal milestones.

Things are starting to really fall into place.

I’ve been lucky.
Continue reading “Tiger Dublin Fringe”

Memory Lane: 02

It is around the same time.

It’s April.

I think it is.

I remember it’s cold.

It’s colder than April should be.

And I’m walking.

I’m walking and walking.

Down an infinitely straight road.

The kind of road you see in a dream.

The kind of road that offers no hope.

No comfort to a weary traveller.

Except I’m not weary.

And I am hopeful.

I’m walking.

I’m walking down this road.

I don’t see it at first.

It’s a gate.

A wrought iron gate.

A gate that keeps things out while still looking beautiful.

It’s the kind of gate from a story book.

A gate that keeps the mythical world secret.

Behind the gate is shrubbery.

It’s almost wild.

The green behind the iron gate stands out.

I think that’s why I stop.

I think that’s why I pay attention.

I think it’s why my fingers move toward my camera.

That’s when I see the diamond in the rough.

The mythical figure behind the gate.

The shiny and clean figure.

Elegantly hidden.

Hidden in plain sight.

If you’re looking.

That’s where we are.

On memory lane.

There are 34 memories left.

I am Timi

Memory Lane: 01

It’s sometime in 2014.

I think it’s March or April.

I’m standing in my living room.

My eyes come to rest on an old Canon.

It’s Karli’s old college camera.

So it’s about ten years old.

It shoots onto film.

It’s all manual.

To put that into context, up until January this year, I’d never shot manually.

I pointed my phone.

I clicked.

I went.

That was the extent of my very limited powers.

I picked up the camera.

I fixed it up.

I went on a journey.

I took one shot a day.

No idea how.

No idea why.

The results… Were kind of beautiful.

I quite like looking at the photographs over a year later, just how amateur they are.

On a chilly afternoon, I took a walk down Johnson’s Court.

One of Dublin’s gems.

As I walked it’s windy path, my eyes settled on this store.

The Butcher Barber.

I watched the guys do their thing for a few minutes.

I watch them laugh.

I watched them chat.

I watched them snip wayward hairs.

There was something about that moment.

I had to steal it.

That’s the first memory.

There are 35 more.

I am Timi 

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