What I notice when I walk

I made a list once of what I actually notice when I walk around Malé without thinking about what to photograph.

Motorbikes parked in swarms, the way they pack into any available space, the patterns they make. The shadow of a plant leaf printed onto a painted wall. Someone carrying something that shouldn't fit on a bike, somehow fitting on a bike. The compressed faces of buildings, walls touching walls, windows barely a metre apart. An umbrella cutting through a busy street. Wall textures that have accumulated over twenty, thirty years. Paint on paint on concrete. Broken glass catching light on the ground. Reflections in vehicle windows, puddles, glass shop fronts. Komorebi, that Japanese word for sunlight filtering through leaves and landing below. It happens in Malé more than people think.

The list surprised me when I went back to it. Because almost none of the photos I'd been posting at the time were about any of those things. I had drifted from what I naturally see.

That drift is what stale photos feel like. Not that you've lost technical skill. You've lost contact with your own instincts. The walk becomes a scan for subjects instead of just a walk.

The list was a reset. A reminder of what I was looking at before I started thinking about what to look at.