Carlos at Costa's

A Costa cafe was the nearest place to steal a moment. Carlos's punishing schedule never lets up and whenever a blue moon rises we seize the moment and shoot the breeze.

 When I first met Carlos Acosta 3 years ago all I knew was he was Cuban and Principal at the Royal Ballet-punto. Enlightenment came when we were locked together in a makeshift studio the size of a freight container. Over 2 days he taught me the difference between the Russian and French techniques and how the combination of disciplines gave him the competitive edge. I was privileged to a private performance of his ballet, folk, salsa and street moves. He danced with such carnal grace it was as if he'd made a pact with the devil, or a contract with Changó.

 Back in the cafe conversation turned to current issues: the political machinations in Cuba, his performance as Spartacus and his ambitious plan to present, for the first time, the Royal Ballet in Cuba. Carlos recommended several books in an effort to educate me on the Cuban condition. One revelation was the account of a 103 year old cimarron- 'Biography of a Runaway Slave' by anthropologist Miguel Barnet. Was this a subconscious reference to his life of cultural servitude?

 We're keeping an eye on the lunar diary. It looks like our next encounter will be in another blue moon.

touch 02

Then came Vladimir the bodyguard and Yevgenij, a student who took my hand and blew on it.

touch 01

 
This entry introduces a theme that will reoccur throughout Auto Focus:

Irina was the first touched. We met in 2005 on a hypothermic October morning in St.Petersburg.
 

 In flawless English she introduced herself as my guide and translator. Emissary and face of modern Russia, Irina was the consummate professional. Earnest and polite, to the point of prim, she never let her personality colour the facts.

Irina lit the touch paper.

 Winter has been stalking for some time and now it's making it's presence felt.

These snaps were taken on a sub-zero afternoon in St.Petersburg. Prize pooches, Laica and Sputnik, protected from the elements by their bespoke space suits, were paraded with obtuse pride to an numbed audience of destitute and homeless. This is the culture of dog couture where conspicuous avarice is a symbol of social pedigree.

   

Reprieve came in the guise of a wee snowman standing defiantly on an island of retreating ice. He gifted a sublime respite from the drudgery of the cold and, for a moment, all was well.

Fuerzabruta

The only place to shoot was at the back of a Portacabin. The front half was being used for costume changes and there were no alternative locations. It was the last night of Fuerzabruta's run at the Edinburgh Festival and my last opportunity to take photographs. On stage the performers danced a catatonic frenzy reminiscent of an entranced congregation at a Santeria party. The dance was the Murga, precursor of the Tango.

In between shots I took the opportunity to document the Murga on my digital compact- hence the scratchy quality.