I love autumn. Each year, I renew my love for the season, by remembering the last. It’s this time of year that brings the long shadows, in the golden beams of light through the trees. I’m fairly happy stopping and looking, which doesn’t happen very often. I get excited for Horror, I make it my aim to seek out and find new films of the genre, and don’t mind re-watching those I can’t live without. I’ll rarely watch a film twice, but Horror is a different story. It’s October, when we make the annual visit to ‘the’ pumpkin patch. We didn’t have these when I was a kid, fields of pumpkin’s were locked in the TV screen on the films I’d dream up. But a few years ago, quite soon after moving up to Norfolk, my excitement was matched with real-life fields, full of tangled veins of pumpkin-root. And each year, I look forward to it.
Brandon is away for the week, so we attempted to make the family visit a week ago. Our field of choice this year was just past the airport, so not far, and it was Sunday, late morning, before the downpour of rain would hit. We raced up there, for what would be our last chance to go together, and I pulled into the dirt track to find a clear as day CLOSED, blocking my path. What a fail. Moreso was my exit, from the dirt track onto the main road, one wheel spin to go, and smoke from the car to follow… There were loads of pumpkins anyway, and its over a week and a half before Halloween itself, so I knew I could go back.
A week later and we tried a new patch, even closer than the one before, and one I’d never heard of, so that was a bonus. Located past the new estate, no dirt-track this time, my suspicions were raised from the appearance of a rather smooth too-grey, concrete road. The car park was full, and the buildings looked just like the legocentric estate we’d just driven through. We were greeted by a guy that looked like Ben Fogle, “£3 a Pumpkin!” he shouted. “No matter the size.” We walked onto some newly cut grass, the pumpkins had been pre-picked, and laid around the green like a dot-to-dot. Mums were armed with upright iPhones taking pictures of their toddlers. Consumerisms’ daydream unfolded in front of my eyes.
“Shall we go?” Brandon said.
And we did.
Without even the click of a shutter.
Flat-packed Pumpkin Patch.
A few days later, and Sonn and I made a seperate trip. Returning to our first choice of patch, the XT-3 in hand. It gave me the slightly weird, out-of-town feeling like I had the first time we visited, so I can’t complain. I shot a lot of black and white, Acros. Sonn played ball, and we got some nice portraits together. The sun moved around between clouds a lot, so I toyed with the idea of extreme contrast and more of a white-wash with the burnt-out sky. I’ve really been getting to grips with Video on the X-series, the quality exceeds anything I’ve been able to manually shoot from the hip before.
We didn’t stay too long, enough to maintain interest. And reflecting on the shots, I started to wonder at the 120 video I’d shot. Silent, it made me think quite audibly, and I knew I could cut something together for self-reference. I had an epitome that night, something that’s been eating away at me. Most of this year has been spent working on larger scale projects, my Foto-Diary still exists, but I’ve almost pushed the experimental to the sidelines, purposely trying to aim higher. And this visit to the pumpkin patch lit a bit of a tealight inside me, the experimental fire was flickering. So, this evening, I’ve compiled the image, pulled together a mix of audio recording equipment and foley tools, and 45 mins later, I have a 1min cut, with entirely un-sync sound.
I recorded with dry uncooked noodles, the passing traffic outside the window, and my Son’s union jack guitar.