I've been returning to India often over the last few years. I never resist the invitation. It's a place of immense beauty and magic, where the warmth of the climate is reflected in its people. There is also an unmatched generosity and a willingness of these people to be photographed. On the last three trips I brought a camera - single camera, single lens - but I did not go with a project in mind. I have been moving away from the practice of making images only as part of a project. There are images to be made in the practice of life - simply for the pleasure of making an image, being present, and noticing things in a new or vaguely familiar place.
Inadvertently, I find myself spending a lot of time on or near cricket pitches (this is easy to do in India). On the last trip we stayed in a place literally built around a professional cricket pitch in the centre of Bombay. The field was the first thing I saw in the morning and the last before I went to bed. We ate meals mere feet from its outer edge. We walked its perimeter at dusk - a beloved ritual to end the day. The above image was made there.
I should say I know next to nothing about cricket. The rules seem hard to fully grasp, yet I am drawn to it. There is a familiarity about it that is welcoming. The fervour and religious devotion it evokes in its fans is reminiscent of something I know well from my own experience with another sport. I am learning about cricket by making photographs of cricket, and it appears, after all, and after many years, that I am making something of a body of work - a companion piece to my project Shinny, perhaps.
There are similarities in the ritual, the kit, and the character of these games. There are likewise profound connections to identity and culture. And there are, no doubt, similarities in the kinds of images I am making. I have no idea where I am going with this work, but sometimes you make things simply because you are inspired by, and love, the process. Creative work begets creative work.
