Stig Marlon Weston

Going back along the forest paths where as child I used to hide and play and construct worlds of fantasy, I today carry with me huge rolls of film. By ditching the camera and leaving the rest to nature I hope to catch a glimpse of that elusive primal feeling shared only by the innocent young and the wild beast.

In the middle of the night the forest turns into an open air darkroom as mother nature exposes herself on my canvas of chemicals. Back home the film will be developed and the images transformed into life size contact prints. The tears and scratches being just as much a part of the image of the forest as the shape and shadow the trees leave on the film.

....and looking through the places of memory, I still find signs of trolls.

there was a sound
movement among the trees
a deeper darkness between branches
moonlight lost high up above
a chill wind from behind
needles scratching my skin

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