Having spent a considerable amount of peak hours on London's over, and underground trains, and tube, admittedly slaved to a curious mind, that principle being benign, everyday things, for myself it's ultimately been things that catch your eye, and don't.
The train ride has a very unique way of comprehending images, especially one of mirror reflection, meaning so close is your face to the polycarbonate glass of the tube door, only on a train ride will the moisture of inhale and exhale misting the glass, will, and will again spent such a moment contemplating these many a' peak hours.
I find that this gives emotion hectares of space to have its wayward way, and play on the notion, or not, on the journey to, and on the tube, the vivid imagery of the benign takes place every day. As a photographer endeavouring to capture moment, for me it's in the why, the why which provokes these inner deep moments of clarity working the travel of 9to5, why comprehends, why debates, why pleases, and it does not, all of the latter sees everything benign with a particular way of looking. The objective is not the object, for myself the objective is to resonate something inch close to a pictorial consciousness, regarding the tube; the unconsciousness ability to travel, day in day out and comprehend the amount of time it takes do the "Ferris wheel" journey, day in day out.
Capturing the mood of the passenger emotion, as in literally stop only to notice the frantic buzz around your personal still, moments like those, they are moments spent noticing how passengers communicate, how they don't, how they walk, how they sit, what they wear, what they sit on, as benign as a train track shimmering under a 5:43 am winter morning.
With the world seemingly beset with imperial differences, and sentiments are the consequence of attitudes, and opinions, and romanticisms of life-affirming concern, whilst any of these given statuses continue to interpret, and attempt to define the very function of any given society, as a member of a London society, amidst the backdrop of a UK actuality, wooed by the commerce of an intellectual background, and every cloud in the sky somehow composes tones with shades to panic irrational-thought, as far as here and now is rightly concerned it is the charm of Gil Scott-Heron's – The Revolution Will Be Televised- every other morning, on the train; the psyche me rhythm, the pleasure of the two-step needed for the fierceness of the journey, daily, loving the beat and the rhythmically intensified nod.