The thing that almost kills me every day with all the gunk that it pours into the air is also one of my favourite photography subjects: the pulp mill closest to my home. As ugly as it is, I find it beautiful – especially at night, with all its vibrant colours.
I hate taking photos I’ve taken before, so I tried to shoot it from different vantage points to what I’ve tried before. One such spot involved perching on the side of a snow-covered hill – my derrière firmly pushed into the snow. Little did I realise that at temperatures well below zero the snow stuck to my jeans, nearly leading to frostbitten buttocks.
But I prevailed.
So, what do you think? Should a pulp mill ever be called beautiful?