The images, opinions and occasional ravings of a photographer and PHD Candidate.
Foreshore of the Isle of Dogs. The boats have been towed down from Richmond where they went in to the water last night. I’ve met up with the crew, and we’re doing the last minutes stuff – strapping cushions onto the thwarts, mounting the rudder, locking oars into the rowlocks. The tide’s coming up quickly – every few minutes the boat starts to drift sideways a little and we have to drag her a little further up the beach.
The thing to bear in mind however is that the platform from which I am photographing will never be still – it skims lightly over the top of a moving surface Mobilis in Mobili. If I stop paddling then the current will take me where it will, or the river’s flow, or the wind. There’s times I can stop that – hang onto a handy rock or tree root, or ground myself on a sandbar for a minute – but there are others where I can’t.
All together, we drift down. The river’s full after the recent rains, tall grass and vegetation show partially submerged where they’ve been submerged. Every tree hangs its branches low across the flow which insists on dragging me through each spray of twigs – lean forward and headbutt your way through. Follow the line of plastic helmets above plastic craft against the dark background of riverside forestry. Go west old man. Watch out for the shallows.
Photos By Alex 