searchingtoseedancing with light
Posted on July 20, 2015
Sometimes it’s fun to play around with the theme of ‘writing with light’ and create something a bit abstract using long exposures. Festival time is the perfect time to do that, with all the lights and bright colours. I was literally dancing with light here, experimenting to see what explosions of colours, shapes and patterns my camera would record in time to the beat of the music.
© images and words by Emily Hughes, 2015
one, two
Posted on August 7, 2014
I’m off for a little summer blogging break. See you on the other side!
© images and content Emily Hughes, 2014
the colour of summer
Posted on July 28, 2014
There’s so much colour out there right now, it seems a shame to be posting in black and white. This summer is all about fluorescents pops and neon brights. Unfortunately, I do remember the first round of this craze from the 80’s (think eye-watering rather than eye-catching), and, more unfortunately, I did participate – from head to toe (in my defence I was very young!). This time around it’s a little more tastefully done, for the most part, but at a festival, well, anything goes. So here is some vibrant, colourful, and slightly surreal festival fun for you (with more than a nod to the decade that taste forgot).
© images and content Emily Hughes, 2014
Rapture
Posted on August 1, 2012
There are moments when being in a crowd is almost spiritual.
Watching. Listening. Coming Together.
Being.
Transfixed.
A shared sense of wonder.
© Emily Hughes and searchingtosee, 2012
Evening lights
Posted on July 31, 2012
As the evening descends there is pause; a moment of interlude. People convene, rub their bellies and head for the comfort of food, cigarettes, a quiet pint or two before launching into the frenzy of the night-time festivities.
The sun pools the last of its sweet golden liquor into the horizon beyond and the cheerful winking lights lead us towards the dazzling final act.
© Emily Hughes and searchingtosee, 2012
Emotion
Posted on July 26, 2012
One of the most magical moments of the truck festival for me was hearing The Low Anthem perform. They are a low key, low-fi eccentric bunch who are obsessed with recycling instruments and appear to turn their hands to every instrument under the sun including trumpet, clarinet, dulcimer, the pump organ and even the saw. They recorded their latest album in an abandoned pasta sauce factory.
They played this song, which a former band member had scribbled down before he left in the dead of night.
A lady next to me with spiky red hair burst into tears uncontrollably half way through the performance.
We all understood.
It’s one of those songs that just releases any kind of pent up emotion inside of you. It is raw and heartfelt and tender. To me it sounds just like pure emotion would feel, or as one fan on you tube puts it “all I can say is that this song makes me wanna cry like a bitch every time I hear it”.
It was a powerful moment of shared emotion in a crowd; a moment of haunting beauty.
Here are the faces of the crowd, listening, watching, whilst they played it …
© Emily Hughes and searchingtosee, 2012
Two’s company
Posted on July 25, 2012
This is the first post in a series on crowd images. Alex and I spent last weekend at the Truck festival near Steventon in Oxfordshire. It was a fantastic weekend; excellent music and a great atmosphere. There were many highlights, some of which I will post more about.
One of the things I enjoyed was plucking out scenes of couples from the crowds (sometimes intentionally and other times accidentally). I liked the way the twosomes found their own secret spaces to just be quietly in their togetherness and share tranquil moments amongst the ensuing chaos and frenzy of the festival crowds. There is a sense of both reckless abandon and extreme privacy in a very public space (not least highlighted by my presence as intruder-photographer, and mostly fueled by lots of cider!). The images also tell their own little stories of friendship, love and community – truly summing up the spirit of the whole festival for me.
© Emily Hughes and searchingtosee, 2012
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