Category: Uncategorized

A crater climb in an ocean of white​

Uncategorized, Writing September 2, 2016

Weli Waca x Sunday Mornings at the River_01

The sky is bright blue for a change, our bellies are full from a continental buffet-style breakfast and the air feels crisp. We’re ready to hike, in every way possible. A volcano crater had loomed on the horizon the last of yesterday’s drive, and that’s where we were headed this morning.
The ground had been slippery when we’d walked out of our room that morning, and we’d been afraid it’d be difficult to drive, but the car had proven worthy and we were speeding along the road as if it was high summer and the roads were dry. The crater looked impressive on the horizon, with its perfectly flat surface. Surrounding it were trails of smoke rising to the sky coming from the local hot springs. All I could think of was the coming hike and the views from the top. Stories about volcanos had littered my life until then, but I’d never been close to one myself and all I could think of was walking along that ridge. Pitch black dirt underneath my feet, never ending views all around. Not for the slightest moment did I think about the anxiety attacks I’d been having lately, why would’ve I?

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Green shimmering endings

On the Road, Uncategorized, Writing August 19, 2016

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It was our last night, we had just devoured a delicious dinner of seafood accompanied by a nice glass of wine and were hanging back in our chairs to give our bellies some space when I looked outside and noticed the stars. What if?

For a moment I hesitated but then decided to look it up regardless, we only had a few hours before our flight would leave but hell, it wasn’t as if we’d be back soon. I grabbed my phone from deep down in my bag and connected to the restaurant’s wifi. It was a clear night, I didn’t need a website to tell me that, but what I didn’t know was if there was any chance of seeing the northern lights tonight. So I opened the tab which I had kept ready for weeks and there it was. 90 percent chance.

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Jola Sopek and glorious mornings

interview, Uncategorized August 14, 2016

jola sopek x sunday morings at the river

More often than not I think I only do things because I can photograph them: as long as I have a camera with me, it doesn’t matter all that much where I am and where I’m going. I collect slices of reality not because they aid my memory but because they become an extension of the experiences.”

We love our job, especially when we have publications falling on our doorsteps from photographers we hadn’t yet discovered. Jola Sopek is a young photographer from Poland who now made her home in the UK. Jola’s book ‘Morningrise’ was one of the topics we spoke to her about. “Morningrise is a book about dreams. For as long as I can remember, mornings were my favourite time of day, filled with hope and a sense of endless possibilities. I always thought of mornings as if they were physical bodies, palpable and constant. Perhaps that’s why my camera seems to complement mornings so well – they were made for each other.”

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A Day in the Atlas Mountains

On the Road, Uncategorized August 13, 2016

Tess Janssen x Sunday Mornings at the River

They’d been out there on the horizon; during dawn, during dusk, present as if painted on the stretched out on the far-away as the sun begun low, set higher and then sunk again. They’d been out there, looming, daunting with a coy taunt, that slight, beckoning pull that was too soft to acknowledge in reality, but too forceful to ignore.

They’d been out there, on the horizon, whispering ‘ come, come on over’ . And so we went.

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‘A Leap of Faith’ by Dominika Hadelova

On the Road, Uncategorized August 5, 2016

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The future is dark, which is the best thing the future can be, I think. Virginia Woolf.

I draw, I write – the two processes are the same to me; they help me to understand, to make connections. I have no objection to showing the drawings, but when it comes to writing I feel I don’t have the entitlement to write. I mean, publically. I don’t know the rules, English is not my first language. I write about feelings, not facts.

Writing is personal and challenging, yet I find it very gratifying – because it helps me to understand.

I hope that by being personal I can be general too, that someone will relate and we can have a conversation.

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Getting eased into freedom

Uncategorized July 29, 2016

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We’re in the back of the ute with the lot of us, driving 80 kilometres an hour over a dirt road littered with potholes. We hold on to the sides so tightly our knuckles turn white under the thick layer of dirt that covers our whole bodies. Soon our muscles will hurt like nothing we have felt before, but now all we feel is excitement. We hit another pot hole and the ones going backwards didn’t see it coming, they get thrown into the sky like little kids but land like bags of sand. We giggle like little girls and hold on to our misfitting hats, our hair sticks to our faces in strings where it isn’t dancing on the wind. Wide smiles with bright white teeth show behind black smeared faces, eyes glistening from underneath our tangled messes of hair. We’re like a group of little kids on a holiday and our silly dads have taken us for a wild adventurous trip. It is all new to us, but we’re entirely safe. We’re young, for most of us these are the first few days alone in the big wide world and we all come from relatively well to do places.

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Jonathan Moyal and restless nostalgia

interview, Uncategorized July 20, 2016

French-born photographer Jonathan Moyal’s world contains dark and foggy scenes, women with long hair and a longing for a time he can not return to. Travel plays an important part in his work but it is not the main story, it is more about finding what was lost, a sense of freedom we only seem to experience as a child, without mortgages and bills hovering over our heads. Jonathan takes us back to the time where he and his brother roamed islands and immersed themselves in the beauty of mother nature. Curious about these journeys, we spoke to the young photographer.

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Feline de Coninck and feelings for something lost

interview, Uncategorized July 18, 2016

Moments can be cherished, put away in a hidden room, pulled out context and be reflected upon. They start becoming an entity on their own, creating a longing for that particular time away from reality. The photography of Feline De Coninck works in a similar way: she shoots what she needs to remember. We had a little chat with Feline about her work and feelings for something lost.

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The Ardennes part 2 of 2

Uncategorized, Writing July 18, 2016

isabella_prins_x_sunday_mornings_at_the_river_grande

I’m sitting on a hunter’s platform overlooking a valley. Right in the middle of it I can see what I think is the outskirt of La Roche. A river twists and bends its way through the city and then the trees and I imagine myself walking there only a few hours before. The signage hadn’t been very clear to me and I’d felt utterly lost, after a few confused looks at the map I’d picked up earlier I’d mustered my best french and asked a local man if I was going the right way. Yes, he said, and he said it with so much confidence I had trusted him entirely. A little further down the road, I’d asked another group of locals again and they had said yes with perhaps even more confidence than the first. It was probably because of that, that it took a little while before I found out, but I found out soon enough to eventually find my way looking around and behind trees and signposts. They had sent me the wrong way, I guess it’s just the tourists walking these routes and not the locals. It didn’t really matter, though, the tracks and climbs and views were just as beautiful. It was just a little harder to navigate, walking a different route from the one I’d planned in the opposite direction.

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The Ardennes part 1 of 2

Uncategorized, Writing July 18, 2016

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I can’t find my pen, it’s gotten dark now, but it’s ok, a pencil will write the same words. The colours of the world have changed so much in the last few hours. I didn’t even notice, I was lost in another world, flipping the pages of my book until it got hard for me to read the words. The sun had set without me noticing and with it slowly the light had disappeared. I looked up in utter astonishment, and when I did my breath was taken away. Water drops and layers of dew and steam fogged the windows. Obscuring what was outside, covering the world which was now in warm shades of red, orange and yellow where street lights were turned on and in shades of deep dark blue and purple everywhere else.

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