SAM BARKER #29
APRIL | 2016
SHOT! Magazine #29 April 2016 Format: 210x270 mm Number of pages: 70 BUY AVAILABLE: PRINT MAGAZINE http://www.peecho.com/print/ en/200922
Cover Photo: Jovana Rikalo - Traveler
Founders: Gonçalo Porfirio Cláudio Lacerda Editor in Chief, Design: Gonçalo Porfirio firstname.lastname@example.org
Year III - #29 All Magazines: http://issuu.com/shot28magazine If you want to send your project: email@example.com If you want to send your photo: firstname.lastname@example.org
Editorial Staff: Cláudio Lacerda Gonçalo Porfirio
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All images copyright the respective contributors. © 2016 SHOT! Magazine. All Rights Reserved
Amos Photography Poland, Anita Cline, Cedric Mallari, Cenan Ciprian, Dana Macleod, Fabio Camandona, Henrique Ribeiro da Silva, Hugo So, Jacek Niezgoda, Joao Mota, Jovana Rikalo, KRJ-Photography, Krzystof Bienkowski, Lova Photo, Magdalena Puszkarek, Matthias Schroeter, Maxim Maximov, Mikeila Borgia, Nelson Favas, Pierre Boudon, Pierre Pellegrini, Ruth Bloch, Sam Barker, Shariful Islam, Teresa Vick, TK Fotoart, Tobias Gawrisch, Tony Nunkovics, Vasilis Liappis, Veronica Duszynski.
CONTENTS Guest 08 Teresa Vick Usa
Photographic Chronicles 22 Sam Barker England
Selected Photos 39 Authors
GUEST TERESA VICK USA
Portfolio: facebook.com/teresavickphotography www.teresavick.com
E V E RY D AY LIFE
PHOTOGRAPHIC CHRONICLES SAM BARKER ENGLAND
Portfolio: http://sambarkerphoto.blogspot.co.uk www.sambarkerphoto.com
‘Hombres 100 pesos’ read the pink neon sign cable tied to the metal fence. The ticket attendant was parked next to it on a patio chair, manning an old ice cream box full of notes and change. He simply nodded me through towards the two dusty white tents that had been strung up in a sparse park, well off the beaten track of tourist friendly Sayulita, Nayurit, Mexico. I quietly slipped in and took a seat on the wooden stalls, afraid to get in a the way of a serious gambler. I bought a can or beer as cool comfort, but passed on the sugared baked goods that were being proffered on a large wooden tray atop a man’s head. It was a true spit and sawdust affair, the literal cockpit of beaten earth was already speckled with blood from a previous fight. It was strangely quiet, no music, just harsh, bare bulb lighting beating down on a man, who swept up feathers and detritus whilst a white T-shirt strained over his swaying generous belly.
A butch, formidable forty something woman, smartly dressed and clearly in charge quietly gave out instructions to the huddle of men who had started assembling for the next fight. Two pairs of men, one green team, one red, entered the arena. One man in each team held a gamecock, cradling them in their arms like babes, stroking their feathers and whispering slowly when they squirmed to get free. The second man of each team then took out a L-shaped razor blades, safely sleeved in an embellished plastic covers and ceremoniously and slowly bound it to the cocks leg with plastic twine.
It was betting time and a middle aged woman armed with an inauspicious looking bum bag made her way around the stalls taking bets on ‘Green’ or ‘Red’. The flashy cowboys at the front, austere in the shadows of their big hats, eyeballed the cocks at close range and placed the biggest bets by palming her tightly rolled notes.
were clad in tight jeans and heels added a touch of glamour to the proceedings, as the sweet smell of their menthol cigarettes drifted over. The oldest looking guys in the group passed the bet mistress a few pesos and were rewarded with a paper lotto-like bet slip for their possible winnings. The audience now sated with beers and doughnuts and bets placed settled, and with the gamecocks razor blades secured, it was time to begin what would be a fight to the death.
The liveliest bunch of the arena were a group of teenagers, the guys louchely balancing back on their white plastic Corona light emblazoned chairs, sipping cans of beer. The long haired girls accompanying them
intimidation stare, then drawn apart and released. Immediately they ran to the centre of the arena, clawing, flapping and pecking. By sheer force of their violently flapping clipped wings they rose a foot or so in the air, tumbling over each other. They battled for almost two minutes before one weakened and drew towards the ground.
A third cock was then brought into the arena, bigger and more agitated than the competing cocks. Each handler held their gamecock by its tail as the monster gamecock rushed at them, their neck feathers flaring out to dinosaur like proportions. With the competitors suitably spooked and riled, the third cock was removed from the tent and out of sight. The referee then summoned the teams together. The trainers, still hugging the cocks to their chests, removed the razor blade sheaths as lime juice was squeezed on the already savage looking blades for an extra cutting sting.
The match halted and the trainer picked up the most injured cock. He held its bloodied, now almost bald neck to his mouth and sucked out the blood turning his head to spit it onto the ground. He took a breath and returned his lips to the neck to blow into the gamecocks lungs. It was a most vampiric form of temporary lifesaving.
On the referees command the gamecockâ€™s heads were brought together for a boxing-style
neck became increasingly limp until it fell back in an almost exaggerated death throw.
The fight resumed as one again the gamecocks beat their wings and pecked each other until quickly they became attached by the razor blade hook and started to flap and pull away from each other causing blood to run onto the grit. Carefully the trainers went to their knees and freed them. The victorious, only slightly less battered cock was held to the chest of his burly owner as the plastic razor blade cover was replaced, ready to fight another day. The mustachioed losing trainer, looked blankly as blood ran in rivulets down his hand from the blade wound. The cockâ€™s
Winnings were dispatched from the bum bag and two more pristine gamecocks appeared and the binding of the razorblades began again as new cans of beer were opened. After some commiserating and gentle back slapping the losing trainer retired outside to where the remainder of his flock were caged, and sat down still holding the dead bird. His dog wagged his tail and settled at his feet, looking up at the deceased with hungry eyes.
SELECTED PHOTOS AUTHORS
LOVA P H OTO HECTOR
S H A R IF UL IS L AM DAMSELFLY
K RZ YSTO F B IE N KOWS KI EXPEDITION
PIE R R E P E L L EG R IN I ONLY AMONG MANY
H UG O S O ADRAGA’S CARBON
M AT T H IA S S C H R O E T E R OLD BOAT YARD
VAS IL IS L IA P P IS SINGLE COLOURS
N E L S O N FAVAS ALPERTUCHE
TO B IA S G AW R IS C H DEEP BLUE SEA
TO N Y N UN KOVIC S LOCH VENACHAR
T K F OTO ART CENTRAL PLAZA
P IE R R E B O UD O N OLD SWEETNESS
JAC E K N IE ZG O D A FRIENDSHIP
JOVA N A R IKA LO TRAVELER
C E D R IC M AL L AR I FABULOSUS
MA XIM M A XIM OV UNTITLED
AN ITA C L IN E WINDOWS TO THE SOUL
V E R O N IC A D US Z YN S KI UNTITLED
M EL L IS A P E N D L E TO N UNTITLED
D A N A M AC L EO D SET YOURSELF FREE
MIKE IL A B O R G IA CEPHALOPODA
R UT H B LO C H SPLASHING IN TO MARCH
M AG D A L E N A P US Z KAR E K PIECE OF MY SOUL
A M OS P H OTO G R AP H Y P O L A N D THOUGHT
FA B IO C A M AN D O N A ALONE
JO AO M OTA WISEMAN
HE NRI Q UE R IB E IR O D A S ILVA JANELA ABERTA, CARA FECHADA
C E N A N C IP R IAN SEARCH IN TO THE LIGHT
THANK YOU ALL
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