Back Beach is a weird little semi-feudal demesne type situation presided over by tinkering boat fanciers (real and pretend) and looking somewhat like my idea of coastal Norway on a bad day in a bad year. Things get worse as you approach the commercial container and log port at the northern end; well, I say approach, but we're not really allowed to any more because terrorists.
This is the third portion of this expansive whole; catch up on the first lot of images and commentary here and the second here if you've got ten minutes to burn.
RIGHT a floating A directs the streams of human ballast cruise ship passengers from their e coli infested bilge belching floating feedlots commercial vessels onto the ugly industrial wharf, on their way into Dunedin and beyond. Where they can be relieved of their discretionary income via 3xs overpriced day trips and Chinese local knitwear. You may detect ambivalence in my attitude toward this 5 month influx, but after ten long years I would not care if I never saw another slack-jawed gawp, plastic visor or item of off-white leisure wear in my entire fucking life. Make of that what you will.
RIGHT emulsion fatigue on an old shipping container. Any time violent orange peers through tasteful grey is a joyous occasion.
LEFT boat shed detail, Back Beach.
Some of this is tagging. Some of it is... maintenance? Some of it is indecision. Some is weather-related. But when I appreciate stuff like this as a whole, I just can't help but think that beauty is an ambush predator, a gorgeous visual fer de lance lurking where we least expect it.
This inadvertent montage pleases me greatly. If I was trying for something like this myself, I'd never get there.
LEFT the eternally vacant franchise sign that looms over the local petrol station. I walk past this scene nearly every day and it's had a profound subconscious effect, to the extent that I consider this arrangement a personal metaphor. If I ever generate a coat of arms, it'll feature empty sign sinister. With ermines rampant.