Friday, September 9, 2011

Pointlessism: A New Artform?

Sometimes I get an itch to take pictures of stuff, any stuff. It doesn't matter what it is, I want to take a picture of it.
I'm not sure what drives meto do this. I'm not a professional photographer, and my subjects are so obscure that the photos that result from these manic must-photograph-everything missions are pretty, well, pointless.

Anyways, I thought I'd share, to at least give the images some purpose. Perhaps now you too can sit and stare at them and wonder what on earth the point of them is.
I've decided to dedicate these photos to an entirely new art form, Pointless Art. You've heard of Pointillism, right? Well, now there's Pointlessism.

End of pointless preamble. Here they are:

Above: Taken in Paarl at the home of a couple who fly hot air balloons for a living. There were so many other things to photograph, interesting things like squirrels and dogs and people, hot air balloons and whatnot, but what did I take a picture of? Half a wine glass, an eighth of a plate and a shrubbery. What possesses me, I wonder, to make this pointless Pointlessism?

Above: Bubbles on the side of a water glass. Need I say more?

Above: The tassles on the skirt I was wearing. This photo session was a real winner. I was too lazy to get up, so I simply photographed everything in my near vicinity.

Above: The bedspread, part of the above photoshoot.

Above: Another snap from the same shoot. (Taken in year one of my relationship with Matt - for those of you who noticed the chain mail relationship bracelet.)

Above: A pucker where a tree branch once was. Relevant to the world at large because... Erm... I'll have to get back to you on that one.

Above: Grass. Because I'd already photographed everything and everyone else within a 50m radius of the car.

Above: My proudest Pointlessism so far; rusted machine parts. Yes, folks, we have discovered the very  heart of Pointlessism, the inner workings, if you will. The moment where your brain scrunches up like a toddler's face on the verge of a good bawl, when your very soul starts to suck its thumb and cry Why? Why?

It's Pointlessism, that's why.

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