First let’s start with the word “piracy”. This is the normal term used by lawyers and non-lawyers alike to refer to the criminal offence (in the UK) under S.107 (1) of the 1988 Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. The word “piracy” is not actually used anywhere in that Act, but it is the short form description commonly used to refer to that criminal offence (see for example this online legal dictionary), and it is widely used elsewhere – for example as the legal term to describe the offence in at least one international treaty – the TRIPS (which of course, has legal force in international law):

“Article 61

Members shall provide for criminal procedures and penalties to be applied at least in cases of wilful trademark counterfeiting or copyright piracy on a commercial scale.”

It is quite common among lawyers to use short form to describe criminal offences even where the word is not part of the definition of the offence itself. That is why “theft” in the 1968 Act is called “theft” and not “dishonestly appropriating property belonging to another with intent permanently to deprive”. Use of a short form term is easier, and punchier. Lawyers often think up short form descriptions that aren’t strictly part of the definition of the offence itself,  such as “manslaughter”, “dealing”, “murder” and so on. The same happens in civil law – “negligence”, “nuisance” etc. as short form ways of describing complex legal concepts.

And so it is with “copyright theft”. The fact that “copyright theft” isn’t the same thing as the offence of “theft” under the 1968 Theft Act doesn’t matter. Copyright “piracy” is referred to as such despite the fact that such piracy has nothing to do with the Piracy Act 1850.  And so “copyright theft” can accurately be used as a name to refer to the criminal offence under S. 107 (2A) of the 1988 Act, an offence which is punishable by up to 2 years in prison and/or a fine:-

“A person who infringes copyright in a work by communicating the work to the public -

(a) in the course of a business, or

(b) otherwise than in the course of a business to such an extent as to affect prejudicially the owner of the copyright,

commits an offence if he knows or has reason to believe that, by doing so, he is infringing copyright in that work.”

The title appears to be commonly used by lawyers fairly regularly – a typical random example taken from the internet here.

Of course, the criminal offence itself is distinct from a breach of copyright under civil law, and sometimes a civil breach is referred to as simply “copyright infringement”, though “copyright theft” is sometime also used to refer to a civil action to emphasise an element of culpability, and in practise a large proportion of civil copyright breaches will also be criminal offences. The two expressions “theft/infringement” are used fairly interchangeably and no doubt both are correct, but the term “copyright theft” seems more appropriate for a serious criminal offence, as “infringement” implies breach of a civil right or perhaps at worst a rule or regulation, rather than an indictable criminal offence.

As an aside, one rarely if ever hears people objecting to everyday use of the term “identity theft”, even though identity theft has nothing to do with the Theft Act. It’s odd that “copyright theft” should raise objections on some internet forums where the use of “identity theft” seems to slip past unchallenged.

So there you have it, my own explanation of why it is entirely correct to use the term “copyright theft”, whether or not you happen to be a lawyer.

Sylwia not only served as the core (maybe I should say: corr!) of the picture, but also brought me the vital first cup of tea in the wee hours of the morning that got me out of bed. I almost never take any portraits of Sylwia – I don’t know why, I certainly should. Sometimes it’s hardest of all to take pictures of the people who are closest to you. This was as good an occasion as any to make up for lost time. So as soon as I had taken the picture without her that I wanted, this was time to take a portrait or two. Or three or four.

There’s something about being a photographer that makes you blind, and of course it was much more important and fun to take pictures of Sylwia than some mouldy old ship. But both pictures needed to be taken.

I still have to develop the films from the Mamiya, it’ll be interesting to see how they compare, but here is a preview of some of the pictures taken on the Nikon. We were there for an hour, before we had to dash for a lunch meeting with clients in Glasgow.

I’ll be talking about my own work, but also about some business aspects of working as a photographer – negotiating with clients, running personal projects alongside earning a living, that kind of thing. I am looking forward to it!

Here’s a copy of the poster:

In this first picture, tucked away at the bottom of the frame, there is a figure sitting on a horse. He’s the only statue in the scene – the workers erecting the scaffolding are real live people! The man on the horse is Zhukov. Not many people can claim to have saved western civilisation as we know it, but Zhukov can – or rather, could. He was responsible, probably more than any other person, for the defeat of Hitler. He rode a white horse that was famous for trotting in an odd way, with its feet on either side hitting the ground more or less simultaneously rather than alternately. Or so I heard.

The bronze of the statue had weathered to almost black. I was standing next to it when a babushka (little old lady) exclaimed to an accompanying child “The statue is all wrong, Zhukov’s horse was white!” I turned to her and blurted out: “I believe Zhukov himself was white too”.

Usually the witty riposte occurs to me five minutes later, five minutes too late, so I felt smug for at least a day after that. And in a foreign langauge too! In fact, still feel a bit smug, over a decade later.

The second picture speaks for itself. I used to find it hard to look at, but then again, I don’t see why I should, and now it no longer bothers me. But it is a disturbing image. Am I exploiting the woman in the picture? On the one hand, I’m giving her money, which can’t be a bad thing, but maybe I’m only doing it to take her picture – would I have given her the money without taking the picture? So maybe it’s exploitation. And I’m also taking her picture without her consent. The fact that I am wearing a jacket, apparently well dressed, doesn’t help – and she is kissing my hand. There is something shocking about that. But why should there be? Is it shocking to wear a suit? Or to give money? Or to take someone’s picture? Or to kiss someone else’s hand? Or the combination of all these? Maybe the picture is uncomfortable because it puts in front of us something that we would rather not see? Who is at fault here: the photographer (me) for taking the picture, the owner of the hand (again me) for wearing a suit, the babushka for abasing herself, or the viewer for not liking to see some kind of truth?

I’m sure there’s a PhD in there somewhere.

And the third picture – babushki s ogurchikami – for good luck. I find the smile and eyes of this babushka mesmerising, hundreds of years of babushkina bonhomie and supply of pickled cucumbers distilled into one look. It was taken at Novie Cheryomushki Market. Cheryomushki is a kind of cliche for a ‘new’ Soviet district in Moscow. Shostakovitch orchestrated a song about it which involves a chicken which doesn’t want to be cooked which I sing from time to time in the bath.

And I think everyone understands the significance of cucumbers. No, not that significance, the other one: cucumbers = zakuska = bite on it to accompany a shot of = vodka. Cucumbers could be a kind of symbol of Russia in transformation, the engine that powers the drinking Russian muzhik from one end of the day to the other. A bit like potatoes for an Irishman, only with more vodka.

But in 1993 Moscow really did feel more black and white than now. Photographing in colour would probably not have made much difference. Everyone wore dark leather jackets or dark brown furs. Anyone wearing anything bright had to be a foreigner. There were few neon signs – most shops were still called things like “Meat No.9″ or “Bread”, and the only thing you could guarantee about their produce was that it would be meat or bread, and that it would be stale. Irish House on Arbat held Moscow’s only western style bar, the Irish Bar, until Rosie O’Grady’s opened a year or two later. The shop in Irish House was the only western style shop, and the only place in Moscow that sold milk that hadn’t gone off. It was brought in fresh all the way from Ireland more or less daily. How it was made it through the notoriously slow and bureaucratic Russian Customs fast enough to keep fresh was a mystery – some Customs official somewhere must have become very rich.

In short, to a foreigner, who always had the option of leaving the place when it got too much (which it did frequently), Russia felt exotic and romantic, a living and breathing Le Carre novel, where anything might happen, and often did.

I rented my first flat at Taganka, opposite the avant garde theatre which had constantly been at odds with the Soviet authorities, where Vysotsky had been a lead actor. Vysotsky was a kind of Soviet superstar singing poet – something like the Beatles rolled up into Louis Armstrong (his voice had something in common) rolled up into T.S. Eliot. When he died and was laid out at the Taganka theatre, the Soviet authorities tried to keep news of his funeral quiet, but tens of thousands of people turned out to attend – so many that the attendance at the Olympic events that were in full swing dropped noticeably that day.

After I had been at Taganka a year or so, there was a general renovation of the appartment building, which involved taking out the pipework, and rats began to run around in the flat using the holes left by the pipework, one of them strolling casually through the kitchen during tea and another waking me up by running across my bed at night. I moved from there shortly after, not so much driven away by the rats as by a lunatic landlord who insisted on visiting regularly using his own key.

I processed the film back at my flat, and set up a rudimentary enlarger and darkroom in the bathroom. Sourcing paper and chemicals and all the other necessaries was a challenge at a time when I had to cross Moscow to find a drinkable carton of milk.

But looking back I think some of the pictures were interesting. I’ve picked out a few here, and, so as not to overload with too many at one go, will post a few more in one or two other posts.

Terrorist attack? Revolution? Mafia hit? Horrendous road accident? Actually none of these, the explanation is more Russian and prosaic. This was the scene that greeted me when I went out of the office door one lunchtime. The owner of the van had been refuelling, while multitasking by enjoying a quiet cigarette. He managed to partially melt the cars next to him too. It must have been an expensive fag : to paraphrase the title of a popular film, in those days “Moscow doesn’t believe in insurance”:-

Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

And, errr, Let Sleeping Dogs Lie again. A not uncommon sight around lunchtime in Moscow:

Flautist, Petersburg:

I took these latest pictures at a bread and beer factory in Moldova in a city called Cahul. Moldova is pretty much Europe’s forgotten country, it rarely seems to reach the headlines. When it is mentioned, it’s usually because it is Europe’s poorest, most backward, economy, reliant mainly on agriculture, especially vineyards. Or, even less flatteringly, as a centre for human sex trafficking. So it was a bit of a privilege to visit some of its nascent industrial base.

If it hadn’t been for the EBRD, I probably wouldn’t have visited the country at all, but now I got a taste for it, I really want to go back!

Here are the images as they appeared in the latest transition report, as well as some of my  Moldovan pictures that appeared in earlier EBRD reports:

I am wondering whether Alamy have discovered something about garden gnomes that I don’t know. Perhaps they come alive and turn into real little people at night? How does one get a garden gnome to sign a model release? Here it is, what do you think, do the gnomes look litigious?: