The road down from Lifjell
Norway, Dec. 2018
I’m a spiteful little man.
I resent other people’s success and I can’t snap out of it.
Moments lost in time, like snow in Norway.
maorcows asked:
I think I know the one! It was during the flight to Burkina Faso over the Sahara desert. The altitude gave it this Martian look. I don’t see that every day either :)
My new photobook !!
SHIGEYASU GUSHIMA “ANCHORAGE”
233×255㎜｜96 pages｜53 images｜Hardcover_Cloth｜500 copies
Published in October, 2017
Published by Migahushttp://shigeyasu-gushima.com/book.html
Anchorage, a city whose name literally means “a place for anchoring,” is located 3,500 miles northeast of Tokyo, in the state of Alaska. A lot of people, especially Japanese born during the Showa era (1926–1989), may feel nostalgic when hearing this city name. From the latter half of the 1950s to the early 1990s, many of the flights connecting Japan and Europe as well as the East Coast used this route which stopped over Anchorage International Airport (present day Ted Stevens Anchorage International Airport) for fueling due to its short flying range and of course because of the Cold War. For flights between Japan and Europe, it was called the Polar Route since it flew across the north pole.
As a child, I discovered that aircrafts stopped at this airport located at a latitude higher than Hokkaido, without having any passengers embarking or disembarking. Countless number of travelers have gone by this remotest airport. I would fantasize a scene by flying my own aircraft made of Lego blocks over white bedding sheets likening it to snow-covered runway, and wrinkled futon cover to white mountain peaks. Soon, my imaginary landscape of Anchorage “anchored” in my mind as a place of longing.
Landing lights begin to appear on the edge of the horizon between the end of the continuously drifting ice and the low hanging lead clouds. Silver glints of the approach light system on the snow-covered airport lead the aircraft to the frozen runway. The aircraft that has used up its fuel lands like sliding onto the runway. After only a brief period of repose, its heavy body is recharged with fuel, and takes off into the sky with a roaring sound as if to resist gravity. Swirling up the snow and splitting the cold air, it disappears into the clouds. Silence prevails once again on the ground, with snow dust and smell of the jet fuel remaining, but soon dispersing in darkness.
Upon reaching adulthood, I depart on a journey every year in search for my inner Anchorage, flying to airports located on high latitudes—like a boat drifting to its port of anchor. What is reflected when I look down into the mirror-like icy surface of “Anchorage”? Well, it may be my former self.Anchorage, a city whose name literally means “a place for anchoring,” is located 3,500 miles northeast of Tokyo, in the state of Alaska. A lot of people, especially Japanese born during the Shōwa era (1926–1989), may feel nostalgic when hearing this city name. From the latter half of the 1950s to the early 1990s, many of the flights connecting Japan and Europe as well as the East Coast used this route which stopped over Anchorage International Airport (present day Ted Stevens Anchorage Airport) for fueling due to its short flying range and of course because of the Cold War. For flights between Japan and Europe, it was called the Polar Route since it flew across the north pole.
As a child, I discovered that aircrafts stopped at this airport located at a latitude higher than Hokkaido, without having any passengers embarking or disembarking. Countless number of travelers have gone by this remotest airport. I would fantasize a scene by flying my own aircraft made of Lego blocks over white bedding sheets likening it to snow-covered runway, and wrinkled futon cover to white mountain peaks. Soon, my imaginary landscape of Anchorage “anchored” in my mind as a place of longing.
Landing lights begin to appear on the edge of the horizon between the end of the continuously drifting ice and the low hanging lead clouds. Silver glints of the approach light system on the snow-covered airport lead the aircraft to the frozen runway. The aircraft that has used up its fuel lands like sliding onto the runway. After only a brief period of repose, its heavy body is recharged with fuel, and takes off into the sky with a roaring sound as if to resist gravity. Swirling up the snow and splitting the cold air, it disappears into the clouds. Silence prevails once again on the ground, with snow dust and smell of the jet fuel remaining, but soon dispersing in darkness.
Upon reaching adulthood, I depart on a journey every year in search for my inner Anchorage, flying to airports located on high latitudes—like a boat drifting to its port of anchor. What is reflected when I look down into the mirror-like icy surface of “Anchorage”? Well, it may be my former self.
It looks gorgeous!
It is with sadness that 2019 begins.
But it forces on me the realisation that I cannot hide forever, I cannot run away either. I can take some timeout here and there, to recharge the batteries, but I am part of this world and have to take responsibility for where and how my life unfolds.
I reflect on two philosophies that are close to me : stoicism and nihilism, while both have interesting aspects and both can be twisted, I hope that for 2019 I will integrate more stoicism in my existence. Nihilism brings pain and apathy if you let your tendency for depression take over, while stoicism is like a crutch on which to lean on. A cane that helps standing straight, or at least gives you the feeling that you are able of standing tall in the face of adversity.
In the end, isn’t it all that matters? The perception? The emotions?
May 2019 be the year where I learn to (with)stand.
——————
Not much has been done this year, picture-wise.
New year in Norway, on video assignment in Burkina Faso in February. A wedding in March, then spring came and soon it was time to come back to Norway for the summer where I really learned to fly my drone around. In August, there was another wedding in my Norwegian family and once I got back in Belgium, autumn kicked in. Now here I am, in Norway again for the winter celebrations.
Rince and repeat in 2019?
Hopefully with a few exciting twists.
In Memoriam : Alimata Ouedraogo
I am still shocked.
I only met Alimata in the context of my work, she assisted me on a couple interviews with translations between Mossi and French. I can’t shake the thoughts of her children, including her newborn, being orphans.
To live through a delivery in a dusty room of the infirmary with a single midwife for all the villages around, with little to no power only to pass away three days later on the road during a rushed transfer to the closest city (a two hour jeep-ride). I’m just devastated by the reality of it all.
Meanwhile western companies plunder Burkina Faso’s gold under the guise of helping development. How convenient is the “debt” of such a rich country, not allowed to benefit from the value of its ressources.
But let me not digress any further.
I’m hating this feeling of powerlessness and realise how knowing people, albeit very briefly, makes the whole difference in our ability to feel empathy…
The documentary I’m currently working on, I would like to do something out of it. Have some good come out of it, perhaps.
For her loved ones, for her children?
I don’t know.
People talking about gear bore me to death.
It’s not the gear, my man.
Stop over analysing and take the damn picture.
Time to embark at Hirtshals.
(Denmark Dec. 2018)
Photographers don’t reblog and it’s normal…
Some try (myself included), on side blogs with limited success.
I gather that is why the community blogs are important for recognition but I’m trying to circumvent that. Trying to get some of those kids that have aesthetics blogs with loads of followers to follow you directly could prove the better course of action.
By the way, does Lensblr still randomly go through the photographers on tumblr tag or is it submissions only now? The submission system also changed. Has Lensblr gone through dramatic changes in the last 5 years? I just came back to following them but seems to be totally different somehow.
After sunset in Helgeroa
(Norway Dec. 2018)
I just did one with pictures from the drone. It would’ve been better if the foreground had been more unified. I’ll keep that in mind next time.
Yes, I can still make those.
It’d be better with a real panorama though.
After sunset in Helgeroa.
(Norway, Dec. 2018)
And while I obsess about the laurels I think I deserve, news from Africa reach me by chance over a status update on Facebook.
While I was going through the marathon of excess-eating that characterizes the holiday season, a prominent social worker responsible for nutrition and sexual education in the small village in the northern region of Burkina Faso (in which I stayed in while on assignment), just died a few days after giving birth.
While stuffing my face a couple of days back, I had such a thought : “somewhere, now, incredibly sad things happen. To people who deserve better.” I thought I could shrug the thought off but apparently it decided to come back with a vengeance.
Rest in peace, Alimata.
“Que la terre te soit légère”
I’ll write about it again.
You may count on it.
Jaded a few days, then you keep on going. I can’t think about all that’s wrong with the world. I’m not here to fix it. I raise walls within my mind hoping they will not crumble. I see through the cracks I know the utter sense of panic that awaits beyond.
Fantasy is my safe house. Worlds of heroes, worlds of justice, where the biggest conflict is the one fought against our own shortcomings and not between ourselves.
Humans are capable of greatness. The stars will be ours or we will all be devoured by the void. Unfortunately, the latter is most likely.