Gueorgui Pinkhassov

Sometimes something that influences you in your creative output burrows itself into the deep parts of your brain, so deeply it becomes an inextricable part of your outlook so that you no longer recognise it as a foreign body. Later, having not thought about it for a long time, you come across it again in the real world and you sit and stare silently at it while your tea goes cold and the sound of the windows taking a rainy hammering is a dim drumming, your mouth agape not just at the beauty of the thing but at your monumental ability to forget it.

Gueorgui Pinkhassov's colour photographs seeped into my brain years ago (I don't know when I encountered them first, probably in a one of those Taschen or Phaidon books) and slowly sent out fuzzy filaments that gradually stretched across my eyes and tint everything I see now. His photographs don't just rely on light for the chemical reaction required to make an image - they are of light, you can practically feel its warmth coating your eyes. In my own small way I've been subconsciously trying to recreate the feeling of his photographs.

There's another excellent gallery here.

Sharon Krauss and Brigid Power Ryce at the Bell, Book and Candle 1-11-11 (plus one active cub)

Blank Jack Davy and Peter Delaney in the sitting room