I remember the sensation of walking around a theme park at the tender age of 8 thinking about how much I hated getting wet. Jumping on Loggers Leap and trying my best to keep as dry as possible became my challenge. My first plan was seating, if you sit at the front, and duck, it misses you all together. If you sit at the back then you get vanquished. It was a tactical experience. The theme park is a bizarre place for a child and an even stranger one when your 23, nearly 24.
When considering a theme park with no one in it it seems a sad affair. The music plays over and over, and over and overuntil it winds down to a slow stop. The rides go around with no excited screams. Nothing is left. Zef's collection of empty log flume souvenir photographs seems like they are straight from sketch from Scooby Doo. The fake surroundings of plastic rocks, cheaply but safety compiled to make a ride, it is a bit like being in a really rubbish Flintstones episode when everyone leaves and doesn't return. You could even shout 'WILLMA!' and you would just hear an echo. However, this is not an empty park, in fact it is packed with people. Without people there is a desperate loneliness, like queuing up for a ride on your own - it doesn't feel quite right. The place needs people to feel alive and without it is well and truly devoid of feeling and emotions. There is an ominous sense of gloom with the empty logs making their way through. Feeling a lot lighter and free as they are relieved from human pressure but still have to continue their work.
The beautiful thing about this series is the observations. I have been through a lot of photo booths and have not purchased one, and only now do I realise there were actually blank logs being released. Without people they serve as no means to an end, merely looping and looping and looping. The logs themselves do not tire but the physical object wears out and the less they have people flooding in the longer they will last. In that sense, these photographs are a series of unexpected breaks in the shift of a long flume. For them it is bliss. They are not lonely after all.