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Bad asses, Baltimore.

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Changing, The Met.

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Andy Warhol’s Sunsets.

[images from here]

 

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Bruce Lee and Babe Ruth, Red Hook, Brooklyn.

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Just Albert Einstein

Wearing fuzzy slippers. Nooo biggie.

[via Retronaut and the Historical Society of Princeton]

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I was meant to be shooting portraits on the streets of New York but I felt uninspired and it was hot so I went to the Met and stayed until closing.

Sometimes it feels as though things are arranged in patterns, that everything and everyone is following an unwritten line.

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The end, Bushwick. The end, Beacon.

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The conservatory in Baltimore is the second oldest in the country. It was opened in 1879. There used to be six of them across the city. Now there’s only this. These gardens. These people left to hold things up.

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Just Andy Warhol

On the Love Boat in 1985. No biggie/big WTF.

[via Super Rad Now]

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I stayed with my friends in Baltimore. Meredith makes the best coffee and has a PhD and tests human brains and sings and dances like you wouldn’t believe. Christian makes the best jokes and cooks soft shell crab just like that. He is going to be a world famous bush poet. They play in a band together and have an excellent cat.

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Just Andy Warhol

Painting a picture of Debbie Harry on an Amiga. No biggie.


These are some LCA shots from Coney Island from the first weekend of June. I picked them up yesterday, along with 14 rolls of film from the last three weeks.

If you follow me on Instagram, you’ll have seen that I’ve just been away again. For eight days in North Carolina where I worked on an incredible shoot, then to Baltimore and New York again to visit my best friends. Now I’m back in London, jet lagged and working 13 hours a day because it’s the only way I know how to make it happen all over again.

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Olivia from The Dø waiting for a cab on the corner of W Houston and Broadway.

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The Calanques, Marseille.

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We lay on the beach in Villefranche-sur-Mer until after 7. It was still light when we dried ourselves and dusted the sand from our legs.

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Menton is almost in Italy. I’d seen a photo of it years ago and wanted to go there so I went there. Some low, grey clouds crept down from the mountains, big white rocks like broad, beaten chests that towered over a town that was nothing like I expected.

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The inbetween time.

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The colour of the ocean, the way the pebbles feel beneath your feet.

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Sunshine, Nice.

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I visited my friend’s office and we had lunch on the terrace looking at this view. I’d never seen New York like this before. Never seen these colours, the city flushed, blushing. This is how I imagine the insides of a living person, chest cracked open so you can see everything jammed in, working on top of each other and next to each other, together.

This city is in my lungs, on my mind, under my skin.

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I slept on the train back from Beacon, restlessly against the window as we shuddered past the Hudson and Yonkers, where Yankees fans were holed up in car parks, sitting in circles on chairs they’d brought from home, drinking before the game.

At Grand Central, Anna and Joy wanted oysters so Dan and I wandered around the Oyster Bar while they ate. The light made everything look like it was from another time.

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We took the train to Beacon to visit Dia, one of the most amazing art galleries I’ve ever been to.

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Thrifting, Williamsburg.

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Just Andy Warhol and Nico

 

Dressed as Batman and Robin. No biggie. At all. For Esquire Magazine in 1967.

My no biggies are now on Pinterest.

[via mattfraction.com]

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I never knew two people could be capable of such kindness. But these two, these two are special.

Buying t-shirts for Simon.

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Bushwick and 10th Ave.

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Just Here’s Fine






John was so nervous on his first shift that he didn’t pick up a single passenger. Ben’s been a cabbie for 33 years, Gerry for 51. Femi wants his passengers to trust him. Barry looks at the Bible on his dashboard to help keep him calm in bad traffic.

I’m so proud to introduce my latest project.

Just Here’s Fine: a look at the lives of London’s cab drivers.

Thanks so much to Hailo and all the cab drivers who took the time to talk to me.

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Just Nancy Reagan…

Sitting on Mr T’s lap. No biggie.

My no biggies are now on Pinterest

[via retronaut]

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Freemans.

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