8 More Photography Quotes That Inspire Me
Photography has nothing to do with cameras. Lucas Gentry Love this one from Gentry. Yes, just forget about your cameras and bits of equipment. Just
On a sunny day the tar on the Ballybough road bubbled. There was a nice smell of it too. Seeing this as another source of fun we rummaged around for lollypop sticks and cigarettes boxes. With a long 6 inch nail I scraped off as much as possible as the cars past by.
I loved when the Corpo laid tar on the road. It was always messy that stuff. These were another hero I looked up to after the coal super heroes, they were the black tar heroes. When they finished they left their tools in a fire and the flames licked the black tar.
So with the 6 inch nail as a scraper the other kids and myself managed to get a handful of tar from the road. As soon as it got colder the tar didn’t come off as easily, only on really hot days was it good to come off. Making a black ball and a six inch nail and a lollypop stick , we had the makings of a dart. With a packet of Major we made flights and split the stick so we could insert the flights. At the top of the road we used an old door as a target for the dartboard. You had to be quick to get your darts out of that old wooden door because the next you knew that was, that a dart was fired just above your head,
“did you throw tha, Piercy”
“that wasn’t bleedin me, that was Andy”
“Ya’r ma’s a bleedin brasser, so she is” was screamed back.
Getting bored with the dartboard we drew a woman on the splintered door. Then we lashed darts at that too. Old people who passed didn’t seem to care or were just too afraid to say anything. It wasn’t long before the tar-stick-paper darts started to fall apart.
The canal and the railway was full of stuff to throw at, rats and dead dogs was a favourite. The stones just bounced off the bloated dead dogs that were thrown in the Royal. Rats were a lot harder to hit. As we skipped down the canal bridge in our dirty grey uniforms I saw the rats on the bank, they suddenly twitch and then down the side of the bank and into the water. As the gurriors approached the rats belted across the width of the canal and then the pelting started with the laughter. The rats disappeared under the water and all that was left was a couple of bubbles floating on top. The poor rats reemerge over on the grass on the other side of the bank and slowly disappeared.
I liked the way the tar blackened my hands. It made me feel grown up. On the tele there was non-stop throwing and firing. I use to like the petrol bomb thrown at night. The camera would follow the tumbling milk bottle thrown at night and then explode on the ground with fury. Then a big roar. We never be able to do that, the ma would kill us.
The canal and the railway was full of stuff to throw at, rats and dead dogs was a favourite. The stones just bounced off the bloated dead dogs that were thrown in the Royal. Rats were a lot harder to hit. As we skipped down the canal bridge in our dirty grey uniforms I saw the rats on the bank, they suddenly twitch and then down the side of the bank and into the water. As the gurriors approached the rats belted across the width of the canal and then the pelting started with the laughter. The rats disappeared under the water and all that was left was a couple of bubbles floating on top. The poor rats reemerge over on the grass on the other side of the bank and slowly disappeared.
I liked the way the tar blackened my hands. It made me feel grown up. On the tele there was non-stop throwing and firing. I use to like the petrol bomb thrown at night. The camera would follow the tumbling milk bottle thrown at night and then explode on the ground with fury. Then a big roar. We never be able to do that, the ma would kill us.
Out running in Clontarf , past the sea baths and looking down and watching the cracks on the road which were filled with tar go by, thinking before that I was on all fours trying to get that stuff up. Now I was too big for that. I had to think of getting a job. What was I going to do? A priest, an accountant, maybe an accountant, a draftman, a carpenter, yes. I should have gone to the Tech to learn a trade.
The da didn’t think the photo thing was a trade.
“Pressing a button for a livin, what’s tha” I remember him saying
“better than working in the B+I” I replied
“Sure I couldn’t even get you a job there, they’re closing the place down” he said weakly.
The da loved taking pictures. He had boxes and boxes of them. As he got older and the vision started to lose its mark, both with the ma and da.
“Ah Jasus, would you look at that, ya bleedin ruined the picture” was the general chorus
“What, no I didn’t” the da replied
“Yes ya did, there’s now bleedin head on us”
“What your language” the ma said
“I know I’m going a bit lampy, so I am.”
The ma got herself comfortable in front of the 6 button tele. We all got comfortable sitting in front of the tele with the coal fire going down and nobody wanting to go out and fill the bucket.
“make us a cuppa tea will ya son” the da said
“Jasus more tea” as I switched on the kettle
Is that all we drink in this country, I thought as the steam rose. Cups of teas were handed out with a plate of custard creams. There wasn’t much work but there seemed to be an endless supply of tea and custard creams.
“Now will ya’s all shut up I want to watch this in peace” was heard as the volume was turned up manually with a black turn button. The Boys From The Black Stuff was on. I think we watched all the episodes of that. It was very close to the bone. It was about of group of labourers from Liverpool trying to get work and all of them on the dole. It sounded very familiar, if it wasn’t for the accents I swore it was in Ireland somewhere down the country. Giz a job Yosser Hughes was a big favourite for everyone, slowly going mad and head butts people as he struggles with unemployment and Thatcher’s Britain. I was secretly hoping this wasn’t going to happen to the da. He had a job but for how long. In the 80’s if you had a job you kept it or you took the boat to England. Watching the tele, brought back memories of the tar at the end of the road and how much fun it was but the tele was showing a different reality and the tar they were using was a lot more blacker than mine.
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Photography has nothing to do with cameras. Lucas Gentry Love this one from Gentry. Yes, just forget about your cameras and bits of equipment. Just
Paris, France | 1992
At Bastille in 1992, the streets filled with voices against racism. I went there with my camera, not only to follow the march but to look outward, to the edges, where life carried on. Among the crowd I found the quiet faces of bystanders—those who paused, watched, or simply passed through. These photographs hold that tension between history and the everyday, where a city’s ordinary rhythm brushed against the urgency of protest.
Paris, France | 1992
In 1992, Bloomsday at the Collège des Irlandais in Paris brought together lovers of James Joyce’s Ulysses for a day of readings, music, and celebration. The historic building on the Rue des Irlandais, once a home for Irish students in exile, became a lively stage for actors, scholars, and expatriates to honour Leopold Bloom’s odyssey through Dublin. In the intimate courtyard and vaulted rooms, excerpts were read in both English and French, traditional Irish tunes filled the air, and conversations flowed late into the evening—keeping alive a Parisian tradition of celebrating Joyce where history, literature, and the Irish diaspora meet.
Belfast, Northern Ireland | 2025
Andrew is a social documentary photographer based in Belfast, Northern Ireland. His work primarily focuses on Protestant, Unionist, and Loyalist communities within the context of a post-conflict society. In an ever-changing Northern Ireland, where demographics shift and political landscapes change, Andrew’s work tries to capture the heartbeat of this, often marginalised, community. After studying photography at Ulster University, Andrew’s work has been featured on the BBC Iplayer, in the Irish News, Belfast Telegraph, the Belfast Archive Project, and Le Point Magazine. Contact the photographer here https://www.instagram.com/andrewj.98/?hl=en