Photoanalysis 1.

Who? Me.
What? The communications centre of Herne Bay seafront.
Where? Herne Bay, Kent.
How? A digital camera [the Fuji FinePix S5500 Zoom]
Why? A fine day, a lot of red.

I have the [dis?]advantage of having taken this photograph; I can tell you where, how and why it was committed to card and hard disk. I enjoyed the three major reds, the man-made reds. I enjoyed the nature-made blues of the sea and sky. I liked the nature-made, man-allowed green of the grass, and sign-made, which are man-made, shadows. There are five visable signs:

1/CENTRAL PARADE [a newer breed of street sign, I can tell by the lettering]
2/Welcome to HERNE BAY [there are several of these black information displays around]
3/A missing person notice on the telephone box window
4/A tiny, unreadable sign next to the white house at the end of the row
5/A flat and obscured sigh on the lamp post

The telephone box and the pillar box are tradition red. The Welcome sign looks could be alive. The grass is somewhat malnourished closest to 'us'. The bollards harbour rust. The sky and sea look calm. The composition is somewhat cluttered, but I like it. The houses are one long house. The gravel has been worn down at its edges closest to the grass. The bollard shadows form 'L's. I am reminded of a happy hometown in summer, the sunshine, the nature, the coastal walks. I am reminded of the classic designs [pillar box, telephone box] that populate England=Old London=England giftshops. Many pillar boxes have been replaced by glass 'n' metal, smash 'n' replace jobs. With urine-aroma-easing gaps at their bases.

The false past, the safe childhood familiarity, the useless keyring, the subtle postcard, the desktop ornament. A static and plain image which to me is loaded with tiny prompts. The endless sea and sky trivialise our roadnames and information displays. The instant rooftops are sneered at by the dying grass. The bollards could not withstand an apocalypse, they just stop cars. I have never seen anyone tear down a pillar box. One chimney is like a cigarette box, one smoke popping up for air. The aerials pray toward Granada. Behind the crazed menu of fencing peer cleaned, mushroom oblongs of accommodation. Who knows where the roads go?

Next follow the objects/'characters' of the scene, then a version with the direct nature [rather than modern man nature] parts crudely removed.