DIGITAL SOCIAL WORKER
For a good ten minutes, I was intensively speeding up the process of forehead wrinkles, in the process of editing the photo above. Why this? Well, the bitter laughter from hindsight saying I should have kicked that unnoticed rubbish when I had a chance.. Instead I'm now breaking a sweat with the Clone Tool trying to patch things up*. Don't get me wrong, I take full blame and most often I pride myself in spotting that bright orange can of Pringles (... after checking that there are none left, ofc..). Airbrushing and shadow tints have nothing on empty paper bags that used to contain red velvet macarons, empty tuna cans, and don't even get me started on GUM. I'm scorned from this post, where I now reckon I might as well just put on the uniform to match the job, and start calling myself a digital social worker. And all this is said with love, because at the end of the day, that's East London for you. It carries the charm from the people who pass through the space, and Columbia Road after a Sunday will tell you how many take-away coffees the litter box couldn't host, how many bronze coins that didn't make it into the baskets of the street musicians and not least plenty of petals from the flowers that had been given new homes that Sunday.
*so... that didn't work...