Open shutter while on the high-speed bullet train from Tokyo to Osaka
Tim Lisko ‘Shinkansen’ photograph 2010
Tim Lisko ‘Shinkansen’ photograph 2010
Tim Lisko ‘Shinkansen’ photograph 2010
Tim Lisko ‘Shinkansen’ photograph 2010
Tim Lisko ‘Shinkansen’ photograph 2010
Tim Lisko ‘Shinkansen’ photograph 2010
When I make a photograph, I am literally cropping out the rest of existence — its tension, its chaos, its hunger, its pain. For one small moment, I wall myself into a world of my own creation; a world where things may not make immediate narrative or logical sense, but where everything is in balance. Thin, almost pencil-drawn lines offset wide, flat spaces. The smooth hardness of glass acts as counterweight to the fine hairs of a polyester wig. I don’t have any pretensions of long-term escape. I know when I put the camera down, when I step back from the print, there’ll be something like an avalanche of smells and voices, car alarms and newspaper headlines, legal obligations and biological concerns. I’ll be a part of things again over which I’ve no control. But for a moment, I’ve hidden long enough to take a breath.
