Sudden Denouement Black & White Photography Contest

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[Photo: Able Eble]

Sudden Denouement has since its inception been interested in the synergy between imagery and the written word. We have been diligent in our commitment to maintain a specific aesthetic that compliments the strange world of words we inhabit. In the spirit of our commitment, we are launching a black and white/monochrome/sepia photography contest. This contest is a celebration of the medium, but also a means to showcase artists who share a passion for black and white photography.

Details:

1st Prize: 50 dollars and a link provided on front page of our site, as well as a full write-up on the work of the artist.

2nd Prize: 25 dollars and a link provided on site, as well as presentation of the work, along with appropriate links.

3rd Prize: A post on the work of the artist, as well as a temporary link on the site.

We only ask that the work is black and white/monochrome/sepia. The judges will be the editors of Sudden Denouement and SD writers Able Eble and Jonathon O’Farrell.

We ask that each artist limit their submissions to five.

Contest open to everyone.

Send submissions to Suddendenouement@gmail.com

Deadline: 6/19/2019

Fawn- Introducing Jimmi Campkin

Whitby XXI.JPG[Photo by Jimmi Campkin]

Fawn

We’d convinced the girl behind the screen to let us climb the church tower.  We were both stoned beyond human comprehension – only nature could understand us now – but with her bored expression and indigo hair, we could see a kindred spirit.  Arms over shoulders we talked about the coming of the Lord, and how we needed to get really high, because we wanted to run our fingers through the clouds, and you kept spitting on the glass every time you tried to pronounce a hard ‘th’.  Never mind.  Our tickets were punched, and I swear I caught a smile as a lock of dark purple hair curled over an ear pockmarked with empty piercings.

Up the narrow stone steps we wound, tripping over each others ankles, inhaling all the smells of history – damp, dust and decay.  Emerging on a ledge, supported by one  thousand year old masonry, we stared up at the same sun from all those ages ago, and ran our fingers through the grooves left by people long since lost.  No tombs, no bones, no names, just the gashes in the rock.  I carved our initials into the soft stone to continue the journey.

Your lapdance around the spire was bizarre.  Uncordinated.  You stripped like a propeller rather than a dancer, flinging clothes and limbs everywhere.  Quoting The Dane, you screamed into the air; I have of late, wherefore I know not, lost all my mirth…

I sat down, watching you self destruct, what a piece of work…

Jimmi Campkin

[Born in November 1983, I have been writing in some form or another for most of my life, but I began to take it seriously as a career around 2003/2004.  Since then I have produced a novel, a novella and a series of short stories some of which are loosely linked into an overarching anthology.
Most of my stories come under the wide umbrella of ‘general fiction’, but I have experimented with genre pieces.  My short stories tend to be bittersweet, nostalgic, sometimes melancholic and (on occasion) examine the darker side of human nature and obsessions.
I also enjoy art and photography.  Clicking on the photography link will direct you to a few examples of my pictures, or if you prefer you can look at my artwork.  Most of my pictures, art and snippets from my stories also end up on my Instagram account (@jcampkin)
I welcome you to this site, and I hope you find something here to please you.  If not, below you’ll find a big picture of me to scream obscenities at.]

Red with Faulkner

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“…I give you the mausoleum of all hope and desire…I give it to you not that you may remember time, but that you might forget it now and then for a moment and not spend all of your breath trying to conquer it. Because no battle is ever won he said. They are not even fought. The field only reveals to man his own folly and despair, and victory is an illusion of philosophers and fools.”  William Faulkner, The Sound and the Fury