非常感谢KATJA MAYER将项目介绍和项目图片授权gooood发行。更多请至：Katja Mayer on gooood，Peter Chadwick on gooood
Appreciation towards KATJA MAYER for providing the following description:
德国出身现居伦敦的艺术家，摄影师Katja Mayer和伦敦切尔西艺术学院老师，平面设计师Peter Chadwick一起合作了这个“Days Lost”摄影作品系列。用烟雾让那些废弃的建筑，车辆染上非真实色彩，在这怪异的寂静美丽场景中，充斥着不安，诱惑，恐怖。现实和虚构界限不在明显，从而引发出人们更多的想象。象征人为影响的烟雾在这里充当着现实世界的无奈要素。
最后附上一首来自John-‐Paul Pryor的关于失落时光的长行诗。详情请见下方英文。
On display is a series of photographic works depicting mythical landscapes of unidentified and disused buildings or abandoned vehicles, often covered by a blanket of smoke. Both beautiful and unsettling, the scenes reflect man’s relationship with nature, seduction and terror lying within the stillness of these eerie sites. The distinction between reality and fiction remains largely ambiguous, the images evoking larger narratives beyond the frame. Only the trace of a human subject is indicated in the form of acidic coloured clouds, emphasising an absence and sense of loss within the work.
Katja Mayer is a German born photographer and artist based in London. She has recently completed an MA in Photography at the London College of Communication.
Peter Chadwick is a British art director and graphic designer living and working in London. He regularly teaches at Chelsea School of Art.
Their collaborative project has previously been exhibited as part of the recent group show ‘The Wonders of the Visible World’ at the Northern Gallery for Contemporary Art in Sunderland. The images are accompanied by a short fictional text by John-Paul Pryor (Contributing Arts Editor at Dazed Digital and AnOther Magazine).
… she rose with the skylight and shook a blanket of black-‐dust from the sun-‐smoked skin that served as paste to her once elegant frame. The mind she called mother awoke to the creaking, dry, acidic taste on the breeze that said it would not be long before they came scratching around at play once more, such was the scarred enticement of her garden – occasional playpen to spirits flying forever higher on the wing of a radioactive breeze…
… she could feel them already passing through her whispering leaves; a thousand singing souls – residual aura of a world long vacated by the living meat. They were memory and future – tiny thoughts of tinier days that had long passed through massive holes in time; days passed in squalor and negligence; hate and sorrow; hope and despair…
… she gracefully stretched her form to meet them as they passed down through branch and bough to populate the mottled, smiling forest floor, praying as they came in clouds of blue, red, purple… smoking around her twisted open spaces, floating among the dead-‐world flying machines and criss-‐cross homes, a choir of colour hopelessly chanting for return; children lost at play in the arms of eternity…
… she knew them all by name – through her long-‐limbed heart, through her sacred vines, through her black dirt and beetles, through her orange rust and final decay, she allowed them all once more the temporal illusion of love; love in the place their ancient forbears had once called home…
John-‐Paul Pryor, 2011
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烟雾很巧妙。