WINFRED

horizons

White Sands, New Mexico, USA

By Charlene Winfred

Reflecting on the different edges of the world, all of the metaphors that come to me are an echo: boundaries, fences, walls. Go forth and conquer, but leave the strangers where you found them. The horizon as a line in the texture of numerous such edges, fruitful and varied, is hidden.

It has been three years since I've started returning to the mother country regularly. This time, I find myself appreciating subtleties that were lost to me before. Finding hope in small corners, against the onslaught that usually drives me to despair and a whole lot of anger. I am learning to listen, and finally understanding what I cannot yet hear. In doing so, shrugging off my own yoke.

Third time's the lucky charm. 

Long may we seek to broaden our horizons, and discover all the remarkable things that lie between ourselves and eternity.

Viva Las Vegas

Text and photographs by Charlene Winfred

At sunrise, the only beginning is the blear of eyes from an all nighter.

This is the city that never sleeps.

Here is where it's all possible: the rise and fall of fortunes, where night is the real day, and day is little more than a prelude to the opportunity of neon infused fortune.


This is the city that never wakes.

Where each step through the passage of time is a slip of cotton stamped with a grave man's countenance.

Time, money. Money, time.

If you have enough of one, you think you can buy the other.

In this city, more than most others, that which glitters looks a lot like gold.

IV

Returning to old textures from a new life is a little discombobulating. 

Was this couch always so slouchy, that serving bowl quite as large?

"When I was a kid the tractors were harder to drive."

Random memories fall out of boxes; an old rifle emerges from the top of a bookshelf in a cloud of dust. Old pictures in an assortment of rectangularity suggest something about life when their subjects were 10, 15, 32, 45. 

And around them, the dwelling that holds these suspended memories breathes in its collective of rough-weave drapes, linoleum flooring, smoothed old leather, and the cheeriness of approaching Christmas.

Outside, lichen, a luminous green, clings to the bark. Trees sway in the winds of the shifting seasons.

Missed encounters

by Charlene Winfred

I’ve spent most of my life riding buses and trains, and they have been a remarkable window through which to observe the rhythms and rituals of daily life. 

Back when I had a permanent home base, it was about the possibility of connection. If circumstances permitted, and we found ourselves in conversation, how much would we have in common? What stories would we ultimately end up sharing?

These days, in constant motion from one temporary abode to another, these photographs are mostly about the possibilities of disconnection. Windows frame narratives held at bay by glass, so I look at what I will probably never get to see, not knowing what I don't know. How much can I discern about what people are thinking by simply looking at them? And ultimately, if leaving is the end game of this life in perpetual transit, does it matter?

Issue 006 - Words from the editor

Everyone was under the pump this month. Summer is upon the northern hemisphere, where evenings are presently endless and turn into daybreak before night has had much of a chance to hit. For those of us who live/work in these reaches. this is the sunshine with which we make our proverbial hay. 

We had no theme for this issue, just a pair of technical limitations: shoot with a 35mm lens (or 50mm-ish equivalent), and do it at night.

So we did.

Welcome to The Evening Standard.

Enjoy.

- Charlene, June 2016.

Monuments

By Charlene Winfred

I want to say it's been a long time since I've gone walking at night with a camera for the pure hell of it, but that isn't true. I do it all the time when I am somewhere safe enough to do so. I've always liked walking around in the dark. Wrapped in shadow, tinged with electric glare, the spaces we build for prosperity, protection, progress, panacea, feel different. Or maybe it's I who feel different, more aligned with the odd fluorescent bulb in a tunnel of shadow, than the largesse of architecture in glorious day.

It has been, however, a long time since i've made pictures without people in it, although if I  am honest, those are the kinds I most enjoy making. I live in cities most of the time, and it's a strange form of catharsis - as if by excluding humans from my pictures, I free myself from what poet May Sarton called the collision of human interaction.

Review: The Little Strap That Could (Domke 1" Gripper w/ Swivel)

Text and photos: Charlene Winfred 

The Domke 1" Gripper Strap with Swivel once saved me.

In 2013, not long after arriving in Mexico City, I'd made the mistake of getting into the Metrobus - as the name suggests, a rapid transit system on wheels instead of rails - at rush hour. 

It was packed. I'd sardined into the bus with everyone else at the station, back against the doors, with both shoulder bag and camera (the good old X-Pro1) slung across my body to make sure they stayed with me. Arriving at the next station, the doors opened to disgorge the flood of departing bodies and take in a fresh wave of incoming ones. As they were closing, a guy who had been fighting his way to get out darted past, catching me full in a shoulder as he exited.

I started to tip over onto the platform, yelping.

A couple of arms shot out to help. One of them was grabbing for my shoulder but missed and caught the camera strap instead. It held and hauled, stopping my fall in its tracks.

"#^#&*^%#&^%&*" I'd thought as the doors closed where my neck had been before, half suspended by the strap and the good Samaritan hanging on to it. "It's going to snap."

But it didn't. Camera, strap and I were still attached to one another.

Tough strap for a tough camera

A few people have come across my beat up old X-Pro1 and read about the inadvertent torture testing it went through in the years I fell over all the time. I never mentioned the strap I used with it, that I still use today.

I bought this Domke Gripper strap in 2011, a year before I threw my lot in with Fuji and got the X-Pro1. So it started out attached to a Nikon. 

Price

In 2011, it cost AUD $23, which included shipping. The price hasn't gone up by much, so  it's still incredible value for money.

Construction

I've always looked for straps that were tough and grippy without being bulky or flashy. I owned a couple of Domke bags at the time for all my working gear, and loved their unassuming, utilitarian design as much as their bomb-proof robustness. Domke camera straps are made the same way.

Webbing and Swivels: The webbing is made of specially woven strong-as-hell fibre, and its swivels, tougher-than-nail metal. It has borne the weight of an average sized falling human, and is still slinging.

Non-slip: It's slipperier now on smooth fabric, as the non-slip bits have worn over 5 years of use, but one of the things I really liked about this strap when I first got it, was how it was grippy without being sticky. On the underside of the strap, two rows of rubbery non-slip material are woven into the main webbing material, so it sat on my shoulder no matter what I wore, yet didn't pull at my clothing when I lifted the camera to shoot. 

The swivel factor: Brilliant. This just does away with tangling. As a bonus, the main webbing can be removed from the camera during video filming to lessen bulk and flap factor, and the harness clipped to tripods / shoulder rigs for a little extra security.

Length: This is a strap long enough to hang from a tall person's shoulder. I wear it at maximum length so that the camera hangs within easy reach of my hand while walking, and so I can sling it across my body out of the way like a shoulder bag when I cycle / climb rocks / do stuff that requires both hands. It's also very handy for winding around my wrist when I'm actively shooting.

Left: photo by Flemming Bo Jensen | Right: special camera suspension by Flemming Bo Jensen

Conclusion

The 1" strap suits X-series cameras much better than it does the bulkier DSLRs. This single strap has been on every camera body I've used since 2011, including all of the X-series bodies: X-Pro1, X-E2, X-T1, X-T10, and now the X-Pro2.

It is simply designed, well made and discreet. Like the X-Pro2 it is now attached to, I forget it's there when I'm working as it stays out of the way. I value these qualities in my equipment, so for me, the Domke Gripper with swivel, is still the perfect camera strap.

No place like home

Guanajuato, Mexico

TEXT AND PHOTOGRAPHY BY CHARLENE WINFRED

We hear it all the time: It's where the heart is, a space-place of safety, anger, belonging, angst, love, terror. It's the people you're with, the places you love, the food you eat, the ability to rest. Battleground and shelter, it messes with your point of view.

Home is difficult.

In 3 years of moving around, I've had a number of temporary homes. I have felt curiously at rest in places I should have least solace, and where I would expect to find some measure of belonging, comfort has been absent. Ordinary tasks  - eating, drinking, washing, working, sleeping - are often surprising from place to place, and the approach to daily living is frequently also an indication of how the surrounding city should be traversed. 

In all of it, I come home to an abundance of light, color and texture.