< Susan Philipsz | Stephanie Taylor >
Vinyl LP | 300 ex numbered | Incl. poster | 2012 | Pork Salad Press | ISBN 978-87-91409-66-0 | 25.00
Harry Turns 44, 00:31. I am a photographer, 13:15.
Area Code: 415 863-1944, 01:00.
The Last of Harry Caul, 02:36.
Harry turns the keys and opens the door to his apartment. The alarm rings. He sees a bottle of wine on the floor, picks it up and punches in the code to silence the alarm. He walks through a short corridor and enters the living room. It is a quite boring apartment with a kitchen, an open study room, a bathroom, a living room, a closet and a bedroom but we can only see a part of the kitchen, study room and living room. It is very clean; looks almost unlived-in. There are a few pieces of furniture, a green carpet and two landscape paintings hung on the wall. He walks towards the sofa placed in front of the window, picks up the phone and sits down. There is some construction work going on outside his window. He calls his landlady whilst going through his mail that he after looking at it places on a coffee table. He opens a card that he received from his bank for his 44th birthday. On the phone he scolds the landlady for breaking into his apartment to leave the wine, and questions her about how she comes to have spare keys to his apartment in the first.
I am a photographer, 13:15.
Thomas walks into a park. It is a beautiful autumn day, the air is clean and the grass is green. It is very peaceful, very still. A woman is raking up fallen leafs. He walks up a pathway and reaches a tennis court. A flock of birds fly. He hears laughter and sees a couple walking up a hill. He follows them to a flat patch surrounded by lots of trees. He stands behind a tree and starts photographing the couple who is now quite far away, kissing and holding hands. The wind blows and rustles the trees. He can't get a good shot there so he moves behind a green fence and then jumps over it and runs to hide behind a single standing tree. He continues photographing. All we hear is the sound of clicking and trees rustling. He is satisfied and decides to leave the park. Whilst going down a staircase, he hears footsteps and turns back. The same woman that he has photographed is now on top of the stairs. He photographs her even more. She covers her face, runs down the stairs and tries to stop him. But it's no use. He is only doing his job. Some people are bullfighters; some people are politicians. He is a photographer.