The Photography Pages is northern. Built and conceived beside the deep, dark, eastern sea, it’s cold here, probably even in summer.
We concentrate on photography and news about photographers from the north-east of England (just a wee bit occasionally from wider afield), and reviews of local art and photography-based or influenced work, or shows, interviews with early career and established photographers, short features celebrating artists who influence our own work, especially those who still live and work in the region.
By region, we mean Teesside, Durham, Tyne and Wear – the old counties of the three rivers, and up into Northumberland, with frequent forays south to Yorkshire and west to the sacred hills and into Cumberland.
We’re currently in a hibernation period, pending starting up again at some time on October 2011.
We are actively looking for contributors here when we start again. To qualify, you will need to live or work in the lands of these three rivers, and have a blog or website elsewhere so we can see your work. We’re looking for people who can be literate, sensitive and amusing, prepared to take on the occasional controversy, and up to speed with the regional arts scene or have your own take on a part or parts of it. If you’re interested, please go here: www.brendaburrell.co.uk and say hello from the contact page. We look forward to hearing from you.
Me: I’m passionate about life and lives in the north east of England, the colour of the sea at dusk, hand printing with funny chemicals, the hour before dawn, mechanical shutters and south Indian food. I keep losing scarves and have recently taken to knittting. For sheer blogging stamina, I admire Pete Ashton, Stef Zucconi and Edward Teague. For unending support and encouragement, Connie Coates, Laura Goodman and Amanda McHale.
If you’d like to hire me, feel free to email for a rate card and/or the password to my CV, and take a look at my galleries if you’d like a print or licence. I look forward to hearing from you.
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One Comment
L’Alchimiste.
Satan, notre meg, a dit
Aux rupins embrassés des rombières :
« Icicaille est le vrai paradis
« Dont les sources nous désaltèrent.
« La vallace couleur du ciel
« Y lèche le long des allées
« Le pavot chimérique et le bel
« Iris, et les fleurs azalées.
« La douleur, et sa sœur l’Amour,
« La luxure aux chemises noires
« Y préparent pour vous, loin du jour,
« Leurs poisons les plus doux à boire.
« Et tandis qu’aux portes de fer
« Se heurte la jeune espérance,
« Une harpe dessine dans l’air
« Le contour secret du silence. »
Ainsi (à voix basse) parla
Le sorcier subtil du Grand Œuvre,
Et Lilith souriait, dont les bras
Sont plus frais que la peau des couleuvres
(cit. Paul-Jean Toulet “Les Contrerimes”)