i took the public footpath
to my left
private property warnings
to my right
high fences
razor wire
cctv
«not so subtle, is it tuttle?»
how they perceive you
i exit to find
new elevation
nature trails
fishing ponds
cast a line
crack a beer
wait
«perfect mix of spectator and sport»
further on
farmlands
rolling hills
i lift my camera
rule of thirds
top - blue
middle - pale orange
bottom - dark green
am i back home in illinois?
no in the distance I faintly see the shard
and i’d expect to see a wind farm
i carry on
down winding single lane streets
paved hedge canyons
i emerge to see
sort of straight lines reaching for the sky
i criticize and then realize
«i set my hopes high too»
my head drops
i reach for my camera
dog enters frame
lifts his leg
no shame
shutter clicks
«dog piss defense» i think
«does it work?»
i think back to last night
i saw children playing soccer
in the dark
«is this why soccer balls are white?»
they have a goal
but no net
«the reward for scoring is collecting the ball from the bushes?»
maybe this is why
nobody scores
goalies aren’t good
«it’s conditioning,
give the kids nets!» i say
dog owner hears me
what she must think
incentivize scoring
soccer is boring
i hear a horse
but don’t see it
i sing to myself
«i’m not the same,
i’m not the same,
i’m not the sa-aa-ame»
but you can’t hurt me now
i understand why darwin loved it here
how lonely he must have felt
i look out his bedroom window
i lean against his bed post
i hope to hear it creak
it does
this is downe?
2 pubs
1 street
i try them both
both stools hold my weight
both beers go down easy
5 stars!
i walk
pale green cups hang
backdropped with lace
we care about windows
even if we don’t know it
i see a snail at the bus stop
i think garlic butter
paris
that time we were stuck there
poor us
lovers stuck in the city of love
we went back for more
poor snails
did they water-board that mailbox
«what do they call mailboxes here?»
between a grave and a train yard
this is where some sleep
not in land sheds
but in water beds
perpetual floats
black waters
porthole people
peeling garlic
amphibious cats
i snap a photo
years ago a friend of mine
asked if i thought of
family when painting
i said no, he said
good luck with that
and now i understand
but
i had to make a choice
would my Mother approve?
i thumb her ring around my neck
she never got to see london
or paris
i think about the quilt she would have
made for us
and
how perfect it would have been
what can i do to make up for all that?
keep making?
she encouraged the maker
in me
she made me
after all
i’ll keep trying
i’ll keep going
and finally
when i’m home again
i’m asked where i’ve been
like i said
i took the public footpath...
If you have a story that you would like to present on this platform, please feel free to share it using the submission form.
Text & Photography: Nathan Graves Tuttle
i took the public footpath
to my left
private property warnings
to my right
high fences
razor wire
cctv
«not so subtle, is it tuttle?»
how they perceive you
i exit to find
new elevation
nature trails
fishing ponds
cast a line
crack a beer
wait
«perfect mix of spectator and sport»
further on
farmlands
rolling hills
i lift my camera
rule of thirds
top - blue
middle - pale orange
bottom - dark green
am i back home in illinois?
no in the distance I faintly see the shard
and i’d expect to see a wind farm
i carry on
down winding single lane streets
paved hedge canyons
i emerge to see
sort of straight lines reaching for the sky
i criticize and then realize
«i set my hopes high too»
my head drops
i reach for my camera
dog enters frame
lifts his leg
no shame
shutter clicks
«dog piss defense» i think
«does it work?»
i think back to last night
i saw children playing soccer
in the dark
«is this why soccer balls are white?»
they have a goal
but no net
«the reward for scoring is collecting the ball from the bushes?»
maybe this is why
nobody scores
goalies aren’t good
«it’s conditioning,
give the kids nets!» i say
dog owner hears me
what she must think
incentivize scoring
soccer is boring
i hear a horse
but don’t see it
i sing to myself
«i’m not the same,
i’m not the same,
i’m not the sa-aa-ame»
but you can’t hurt me now
i understand why darwin loved it here
how lonely he must have felt
i look out his bedroom window
i lean against his bed post
i hope to hear it creak
it does
this is downe?
2 pubs
1 street
i try them both
both stools hold my weight
both beers go down easy
5 stars!
i walk
pale green cups hang
backdropped with lace
we care about windows
even if we don’t know it
i see a snail at the bus stop
i think garlic butter
paris
that time we were stuck there
poor us
lovers stuck in the city of love
we went back for more
poor snails
did they water-board that mailbox
«what do they call mailboxes here?»
between a grave and a train yard
this is where some sleep
not in land sheds
but in water beds
perpetual floats
black waters
porthole people
peeling garlic
amphibious cats
i snap a photo
years ago a friend of mine
asked if i thought of
family when painting
i said no, he said
good luck with that
and now i understand
but
i had to make a choice
would my Mother approve?
i thumb her ring around my neck
she never got to see london
or paris
i think about the quilt she would have
made for us
and
how perfect it would have been
what can i do to make up for all that?
keep making?
she encouraged the maker
in me
she made me
after all
i’ll keep trying
i’ll keep going
and finally
when i’m home again
i’m asked where i’ve been
like i said
i took the public footpath...
If you have a story that you would like to present on this platform, please feel free to share it using the submission form.
Text & Photography: Nathan Graves Tuttle
allcitiesarebeautiful.com is a community-driven, cross-disciplinary platform for contemporary documentary photography and literature.
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allcitiesarebeautiful.com is a community-driven, cross-disciplinary platform for contemporary documentary photography and literature.
News • Artists • Publishers • Submissions • Newsletter • Press • About • Imprint • RSS
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