HOME.

I have never lived in the same place for any more than 4 years at a time. It wasn't my decision, nor am I blaming anybody else - it is simply the result of a busy life and a parent who had itchy feet. 

Since moving out of my parents house some two years ago, I have put down my own roots and am settled in the quiet, but consistently enjoyable, Dorset. I feel it makes sense to stay in the same place, and whilst growing up, have always been jealous of the people that can say - " Oh I've lived in that house 15 years etc." 

So I am now a Dorset boy. This is my adopted home town, and the stage upon which I will act out many more years of my life. I Love it for the most part. It can be dull at times, but so can everywhere, and at other times I feel like the luckiest person alive - this more often than not is when I have just been on a walk with my westie, Ruby, around the New Forest, not 5 miles out of Ringwood. Stunning.

Anywho, the point of this ramble is that even though I now live in Dorset, and enjoy living here with my fantastic flat mate Lucy - who is essentially my wife, just without the ring, the certificate and the love life - my four close friends and my Mother and Sister, all just a stones through away, there is still a nagging feeling to go back to a certain part of the country that I lived in as a child, for no more than 3 years. Wiltshire.

I think it is quite standard to remember with fondness places that we visit when we are young. The mundane can quickly become transformed through naive eyes and a packet of sweets, but for me, it was the woods. My uncle and aunt lived on some big lardy-dar estate, that my aunt has inherited, and if this all sounds a little bit Jane Austen, you wouldn't be far wrong. On their many acres of land was this big lake, which had fishing points all around it that were rotting and always empty of fisherman. I remember taking down my jam jar, with a home made handle made out of wire, and plunging this glass prison through the surprisingly clear water, and capturing hundreds of tadpoles. I would waddle back to the house happy as Larry, because the great explorer had caught his prize! 

Now if I visit Wiltshire again, or even move there when I have a head full of grey hair and a passion for tweed, I highly doubt I will be seen skipping through Marlborough or Devizes with a glass jar of tadpoles -  I would look strange and in need of locking up no doubt - but I certainly want to visit the fields again. I want to go to the coffee shops my Granny took me to, and I want to enjoy the open space and the familiarity that comes with visiting somewhere you have been before. Dorset is my home, and I am delighted to say that earnestly, knowing that for the foreseeable future, this will be where I live. But one day I do hope to retrace my steps around the lakes and the fields, and if I see any tadpoles, I may just be tempted to pull out a jam jar.

The King of Limbs by Radiohead is named after a very, very old tree (oak I believe), that resides in Wiltshire. This songs subject matter, plus my occasional low frame of mind, coupled with its dream like textures, reminds me of the lake near my Aunt and Uncles house.

ALEX PRAGER - Vintage Chic and Colour Boom!

I was skimming through the newspaper a fortnight ago when an article about a new Photography Exhibition at London's Michael Hoppen Gallery caught my eye. Alex Prager brings her brand new, and utterly captivating - " Compulsion" - to the capital city for one month from April to May 2012.

Despite studying photography for my A Levels I haven't ever really possessed much interest in researching professional photographers, naively thinking them not to be real artists in the true sense. I then discovered William Eggleston and that blew the doors wide open. It would appear, after doing my research on Miss. Prager, that I am by no means the first to be excited and influenced by Eggleston's perfect control and mastery over colour and the beauty of suburban life. 

Prager has picked up the Eggleston baton and run with it. Her pictures conjure up the late 50's / early 60's, and her earlier work often features female students and house wives, living out their day to day existence or in a state of distress. The area that really intrigues me is Prager's most recent works. There has always been something faintly disturbing in the photographs, that lurks behind the veneer of America during its first great boom in consumerism - all the high heels, the lipstick, the cigarettes hanging off the bottom lip, the bright colours, the perfume, its all there. Its all covered. 

But beneath that, Prager is questioning what price we pay for our looks, and for our westernised obsession with a consumer culture. In her current exhibition, almost every single picture features a tragedy, still shot in the happiest of tones and colours, which makes the pieces appear comical and tongue in cheek, were it not for the subject matter they are depicting. 

I simply love her use of colour. I love how you can either take her work at face value, or you can scratch at it and give it as much or as little meaning as you like. There is a tendency nowadays to take ourselves ever so seriously, which leads me to wonder if the photos themselves are meant to be taken with a pinch of salt, and for us to just enjoy? To marvel in the nostalgia of the environments and the beauty of the characters Prager is depicting? Or are we meant to be seeing the big questions of the world?

For me the answer is not always obvious. Sometimes I can't help but be drawn into the photos due to their sheer joy and brightness. The photos offer up a naive America, when the country appealed so much for its infinite possibilities and for being a land of innovation and dreams, and much like those who fell for it at the time, I find myself wanting to believe that exists. It is then that I see past the initial appeal of what the photos are presenting to us, and see a dark and harsh world of ruin and loss at pursuing a life that is fabricated by nothing more than possessions. The characters in Prager's photographs tried to live the dream but fail to find any satisfaction.

There is certainly more to Alex Prager than first meets the eye and I suspect she has walked a more complicated and difficult road then even she lets on, but either way, the work she is doing is the real deal, and utterly, utterly beautiful in its presentation. The power Prager really has is the endless appeal of her work. She has already branched into film and adverts, and is willing to try new mediums if it is something that excites her. The style she has landed on is so gorgeous and so vivid that her work could appeal to any old Tom, Dick and Harry, whilst at the same time have critics and journalists on their knees. 

Where Alex Prager goes next is mystery. But you can guarantee its not going to be dull.

* Watch a brilliant interview with Miss. Prager here, as she talk about starting out in photography and what inspires her. *