Hanoi Khuya 3

Khuya is an old Vietnamese word meaning ‘very late at night'. It's a word with certain romantic allusions, especially when applied to the streets of Hanoi. This series of photographs was shot between 2015 and 2018, always after midnight and before dawn. It was in part inspired by the impressionistic street photography of Brassai and of his endless walks around his adopted home of Paris in the 1930s.

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47. An Optometrist's Advertisement

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49. A Man Sleeps on a Honda Dream

50. Asleep at The Flower Market

51. A Man Dreams of Fish

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53. The entrire fish stock of a lake is netted and sold near Nguyen Thi Dinh

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55. Bidding on Fish

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57. A Village Gate on Thuy Khue

58. Flowers

59. Reading The Newspaper

60. Self-Portrait

Hanoi Khuya 4

Khuya is an old Vietnamese word meaning ‘very late at night'. It's a word with certain romantic allusions, especially when applied to the streets of Hanoi. This series of photographs was shot between 2015 and 2018, always after midnight and before dawn. It was in part inspired by the impressionistic street photography of Brassai and of his endless walks around his adopted home of Paris in the 1930s.

61. Long Bien Bridge

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63. Cho Hom, Fabric Market

64. An Old House on Chau Long

65. An Old House near Hoang Hoa Tam.

66. An Old House near Hoang Hoa Tam. Detail. (La Fleur de l'Eau)

67. An Old House on Hai Ba Trung

68. Thuy Khue from the Vong Thi gate.

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70. Thuy Khue After Rain.

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72. Long Bien Market

73. Su Hao

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75. An Apparition, Tay Ho

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79. A Nightclub

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82. A Wrought-Iron Gate

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85. International Modernism

86. Graffiti

87. Bamboo Ladders

88. Ribs

89.

90. Market at Dawn

The Drought

An absurd post-apocalyptic western song about a man and his camel.

Tây Trâus lyrics book. Mixed media. Ink on paper with beer stains, footprint.

The Drought

Lyrics by Julian Barrett

Ash motes on the main drag.

My camel looked forlorn and said;

“I’m dead.”

And so I looked around

At this blasted wasteland

And I left him for the birds

On the rust-stained sand

Emaciated mynah birds

Were parched on power lines

Three weeks traversing a dry

And lonely lake bed

And it was cocktail time

I came upon an old tin shed

The sign said saloon

And another smaller sign said

“Coming Soon”

So I spoke to the manager, I said;

“Which way’s the beach?”

Well he just grinned at me and said;

“It’s under your feet.”

Well those were last words that he spoke

I saw incendiary kites and smoke

And the sky turned the colour of Campari

And filled with corroded drones from the army

I got down and gripped the sand

And there were iron crosses and iphones

Running through my hands

And hand drawn death notices

And student debt notices

And an underlying sense of hopelessness

So I turned heel and fled

Back to my lake bed

And grabbed the reins of my camel and said;

“I’ll tow you instead.”