Ectoplasm 

 

When I first arrived in London, I was amazed by the constant influx of people rambling through the hectic streets. As an immigrant coming from a smaller and quieter city, I thought I had just landed in a fast-motion movie, surrounded by a thousand inaccessible souls, running from point A to point B without even stopping to catch their breath. The rules of this concrete jungle seemed quite clear: no eye contact, no impromptu conversation and no strolling.

 

This photographic essay purports to address the issue of the inaccessible, remote and private self, aloof to the rest of the world and isolated from the crowd. It portrays a city of ghosts, of distant ectoplasms, escaping each other and themselves, forgetting who they are as they are caught up in this frenzied rhythm. This typology accentuates the repetitive pattern of pace, throughout the city and among different kinds of people, all joined in a concert of present bodies veiled by hidden essences.

 

December 2015

 

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