Man and Boy

Have a look through your old family photo albums. We bet that there will be at least one picture of a father, son, uncle or brother bestride a motorbike.

It might not be a partic­u­larly inter­esting machine. The lighting may be bad and the print quality lamentable. There may not be an apparent reason for the photo­graph at all. That’s because of course, that the motorbike itself is the reason for the snap.

If you were a cultural anthro­po­logist, you’d see motor­bikes as trans­itional objects – totems in the rite of passage between boyhood and manhood – and the pictures consequently and iconic celeb­ration of this sacred and arcane transition.

If you were a Freudian analyst on the other hand, you might be tempted to see motor­bikes as a way to escape the tyran­nical influence of the father whilst simul­tan­eously impressing the mother with new-​​found manliness. The photo­graphs in this instance would of course be seen as attempts to document that rebellion — a way to place a clear mechanical gap between the man and the boy – creating a tangible weigh-​​station to manhood.

Often, of course, a love of motor­bikes is where man and boy, father and son become one. They are encap­su­la­tions of all that is explor­atory, thrill-​​seeking, devil-​​may-​​care, of being human. Though the years and circum­stance may wring these things out of the lives of many men, motor­bikes keep alive that restless creativity that makes life worth living.

These pictures are celeb­ra­tions of kinesis, icons of potential, and they are where the passion for movement felt in every human being are realised in metals rubber and plastics. And it shall always be so. Make sure you document your machine.