tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15024569903621264402024-02-21T16:06:00.414+11:00little collisionsText. Image. Stargazing.little collisionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12305510674605051574noreply@blogger.comBlogger23125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1502456990362126440.post-22259888258456691472014-02-09T22:13:00.002+11:002014-02-10T02:18:45.253+11:00Museum #5: Gemäldegalerie <!--[if gte mso 9]>
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little collisionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12305510674605051574noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1502456990362126440.post-65739401245879350512014-02-07T05:43:00.000+11:002014-02-07T07:10:46.690+11:00Museum #4: Bode Museum <!--[if gte mso 9]>
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little collisionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12305510674605051574noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1502456990362126440.post-46526523698923165842014-02-02T20:32:00.002+11:002014-02-21T17:46:27.060+11:00Museum #3: Topographie des Terrors<!--[if gte mso 9]>
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little collisionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12305510674605051574noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1502456990362126440.post-33621871499081819002014-01-31T21:58:00.000+11:002014-02-02T01:36:48.347+11:00Museum #2: Museum Berggruen <!--[if gte mso 9]>
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little collisionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12305510674605051574noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1502456990362126440.post-65094551070035851392014-01-20T19:45:00.000+11:002014-01-31T03:20:52.906+11:00Museum #1: Museum für Fotografie<!--[if gte mso 9]>
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little collisionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12305510674605051574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1502456990362126440.post-41740736158857050502014-01-19T05:08:00.000+11:002014-02-09T22:15:38.988+11:00a month of museums<!--[if gte mso 9]>
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little collisionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12305510674605051574noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1502456990362126440.post-70516678495807200722013-05-15T09:11:00.002+10:002013-05-15T09:25:32.084+10:00an attempt at nostalgia
As autumn intensifies into winter, I too am about to make a
transition of the seasonal kind, leaving the chill of winter for the gentle
approach of the European summer. Farewelling Melbourne for a while to enjoy the
discovery of Berlin.
As I make my transition, I wonder about how one says goodbye
to a place. My experience of my surroundings and awareness of those things that
make my daily little collisionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12305510674605051574noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1502456990362126440.post-68593412500663150922012-11-28T23:07:00.002+11:002014-01-22T07:00:02.080+11:00colour love<!--[if gte mso 9]>
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little collisionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12305510674605051574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1502456990362126440.post-54704064190425915102012-10-31T16:04:00.000+11:002014-01-22T06:49:53.331+11:00an inhabited space<!--[if gte mso 9]>
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little collisionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12305510674605051574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1502456990362126440.post-76609139243479979252012-09-30T13:19:00.000+10:002014-01-22T06:50:45.044+11:00among the blossom
SEPTEMBER has heralded the beginning of spring. Time to throw off the mantle of gloomy winter hibernation and rouse oneself into the outdoors. All around the city there has begun a ripening, a springtime engorgement. Along the city streets, in local gardens, in public parks, on narrow traffic little collisionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12305510674605051574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1502456990362126440.post-52363209309280642032012-08-25T10:18:00.000+10:002014-01-22T06:51:57.082+11:00a winter’s tale<!--[if gte mso 9]>
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little collisionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12305510674605051574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1502456990362126440.post-66070343911231893522012-07-26T15:33:00.003+10:002012-08-06T22:25:05.911+10:00to the island
____________
Insta-city
This month involved a brief sojourn in Sydney, where time was spent supping coffees in schmick Surry Hills cafes, eating copious dumplings and exploring the 18th Biennale of Sydney (http://bos18.com/). I walked the city one cold afternoon, taking Instragram photos for Lonely Planet (@lonelyplanet, @littlecollisions). When you're a regular visitor to a little collisionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12305510674605051574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1502456990362126440.post-79106993874127613152012-06-29T10:45:00.002+10:002014-01-22T06:52:43.619+11:00an evening exhibit
Linking time --- If you cut through the Carlton Gardens between Rathdowne and
Nicholson Streets, and head between the Royal Exhibition Building and Melbourne
Museum, you’ll find yourself a small figure in a vast grey plaza, dwarfed by
space and scale on both sides. This open space is a physical span that
metaphorically links architectural achievement from very different points in
little collisionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12305510674605051574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1502456990362126440.post-84904381701242198082012-05-27T15:51:00.000+10:002014-01-22T06:53:28.887+11:00ukulele learning1. A FIGURE EIGHT The ukulele has a body like a person. Small shoulders and
larger hips. It fits naturally into your embrace like a lover. I wrap my arm
over it and begin to play. I don’t play well. I miss chord changes, forget
rhythms, and my fingers get stuck on the strings when strumming.
2. OF A KIND A ukulele is an individual. It has its own voice. Bright,
dark, crisp, little collisionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12305510674605051574noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1502456990362126440.post-4164955397206208432012-03-31T17:19:00.001+11:002014-01-22T06:55:23.938+11:00walking is in the mind
By day: the contemplation of punctuation
ON a recent
day walk, we follow a sign along a steep leaf-strewn path shaded by forest
canopy to Camels Hump. Or is that Camel’s Hump? The birds obviously agree with
the analysis of a missing apostrophe, having perfectly placed a grammatically
correct dropping between the ‘l’ and the ‘s’ on the park sign. My companion
argues for ‘hump’ as a verb. We little collisionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12305510674605051574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1502456990362126440.post-64768100385847916232012-02-10T11:27:00.002+11:002014-01-22T06:55:51.695+11:00history is a slice of life
into the rocks
As much as it's a tourist hive, I admit to an
increasing fondness for this area of Sydney, a city I frequently visit but in which I rarely feel at home. The Rocks has never exactly beckoned, but twice now it
has simply happened to me, presenting itself suddenly with a quietude, a
gravitas, piece by piece like the stone blocks that create its centuries old
buildings. Cast up little collisionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12305510674605051574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1502456990362126440.post-77826032928588222062012-01-22T22:22:00.000+11:002014-01-22T06:56:45.818+11:00a theatre of lightIT’s a night like any other. A bar. Some drinks. Many
conversations with friends. This bar, however, is not like any other. It has a
cinema out the back. We take our drinks and sit there, two of us, in the empty
space, with the midnight conversations dulled behind us. The space is
functional, utilitarian, but there is a lamp lit in one corner that transforms quotidian
objects into little collisionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12305510674605051574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1502456990362126440.post-5412130966080462992011-12-29T22:41:00.000+11:002014-01-22T06:57:01.193+11:00at home by the sea
a homecoming
is never complete without a visit to the sea. Just hours
after my arrival in New Zealand, we find ourselves down at the beach. Leaning
against the railing, camera in hand. Staring out at the horizon, watching waves
crest and crash, then crest and crash again. Conversation seems superfluous. Memories
and aspirations converge in what seems like a single, drawn-out moment. The little collisionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12305510674605051574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1502456990362126440.post-30148974474120034562011-11-13T13:31:00.001+11:002014-01-22T06:57:13.677+11:00the translation of photography
LAST YEAR I was lucky enough to attend a Jewish wedding of
two close friends in Alice Springs. We danced on the red dirt while it was
raining and until we ran out of breath. The bride hitched up her dress,
knotting it at the hem, and swapped her Vivienne Westwood heels for cowboy
boots. We were terrorised by oversized moths dive-bombing us in the marquee
beneath the lights, while the little collisionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12305510674605051574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1502456990362126440.post-14362222454707241372011-11-05T20:25:00.000+11:002014-01-22T06:57:30.658+11:00behind the lines
On a recent trip to New York City, I found myself straddling
the line between tourist and local. I was staying in a rented apartment on
leafy 8th Avenue in Park Slope, Brooklyn. I made my own coffee in the morning and
ate bagels for breakfast. I went for a jog around Prospect Park. I took out the
trash. I was a visitor to the city, circumnavigating its periphery via
the many obvious tourist little collisionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12305510674605051574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1502456990362126440.post-81853881864900253202011-09-21T16:32:00.000+10:002014-01-22T06:57:43.232+11:00desert dreaming
For an hour or more I have forgotten my destination, lost in the fog of a pre-dawn departure, contenting myself with aerial routine – settling in, taking off, drinking unremarkable airline coffee and then reading. In time though, to no apparent call, I look up from my page and turn to look out the window. Immediately I am presented with an altered landscape. Beneath me lies a pale ochre little collisionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12305510674605051574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1502456990362126440.post-12237166306307660002010-03-08T16:44:00.004+11:002014-01-22T06:57:53.459+11:00on monkey grip...
IS IT WRONG to discuss a book before you have finished reading it? What authority can you claim? Especially when the book in question is so well known and widely read. But I am going to, briefly, nonetheless. Simply because I am moved to do so.
This is my first reading and I am surprised I have not gone here earlier. I was prepared for grit, but not for such lyricismlittle collisionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12305510674605051574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1502456990362126440.post-9747387670372792552010-02-21T13:23:00.003+11:002010-02-21T13:36:20.536+11:00avian weather vaneslittle collisionshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12305510674605051574noreply@blogger.com0