Pattern from the past
I have a photograph of my mother wearing this Marks & Spencer nightie. It was taken in 1975; she is sitting up in bed with a baby in her arms, and a blonde-haired girl is under the covers beside her, kissing the baby’s forehead.
The little girl is me, aged two.
I don’t know if the pattern of this garment is familiar to me because of the photograph or because of my memories, but I do know that this flimsy day-glo nightie hangs on a hook on the back of my bedroom door, where it often catches my eye. I do know that it is very special to me.
For more self portraits and stories, go here.
Tagged
I’ve been tagged twice to reveal eight bits of me that you don’t know already… so here goes.
1. I don’t have a driver’s license. I cannot tell you what a pain this is, now that I live where I do. In London it wasn’t an issue as the tube and taxis meant I could get wherever I needed to, and as I lived in Bayswater I had everything to hand, shops-wise. I’ve learnt to drive twice – first time was in my early 20s, and I failed my test and ran out of money to continue with the lessons. Second time was three years, so you can probably guess what happened forcing the lessons to come to an end again. It’s on my list of things to accomplish, along with ‘get book published’ and ‘go to New York’.
2. I really want to go to New York. It’s a place I have dreamed about visiting for years, ever since I first watched Desperately Seeking Susan when I was 13. I know it will feel like home, which scares me a little as I know I won’t want to leave. I also have some bloggie friends that I’m dying to meet there.
3. I have slight OCD tendencies. I’m extremely precise about certain things, such as how the dishes are washed (rinse ALL SOAP off!) and where things in my house should live. It’s not debilitating, but it does mean I have a very orderly home (and am a nightmare to live with). One of my favourite things to do on a rainy Sunday afternoon is sort through my cupboards and wardrobes and have a big clear out. I hate clutter. (Of course it’s getting to the stage now where there’s not much left to clear out).
4. I loathe the monarchy, and in particular all their hangers-on – the royal watchers and sycophants – and the aristocracy in general. The concept of ‘high society’ makes my blood boil. Yet for some unfathomable reason, I buy Tatler magazine each month to find out what they are all up to. I don’t understand why I do this.
5. I wish I was taller. I’m already 5’ 9” and I love my height, but I love it even more when I wear heels and tower above everyone else. I like being able to look men in the eye :). Unfortunately I can’t wear heels for longer than half an hour as I have ridiculously soft skin on my feet that blisters easily, and ridiculously long toes that cramp. My feet are the bane of my life, broken toes and all…
6. Like so many of my girlfriends, I am a sci-fi geek. One of my most favourite films is Bladerunner, and I love any film, book or TV series of that genre that turns my brain inside out.
7. When I was a fashion editor I had to go to all the shows at London Fashion Week. Sometimes I’d score a seat on the front row and would look at all the other people there and feel completely out of place. They all took it so seriously, and many had an over-inflated view of their own importance. Needless to say, I got out of that world as soon as I could.
8. I wear reading glasses all day every day. About six months after he died I was experiencing really bad headaches, brought on (I thought) by crying/shock/too much wine. My doctor sent me to an optician, who told me I needed glasses for reading. As I spent most of my days reading as a way to escape the world, the headaches disappeared soon after. I don’t wear them when I take photographs though.
* Bonus factoid: I have been to Italy about 20 times, yet only ever to one place. My ex was Italian and during our 10 year relationship we had to go visit la famiglia… a lot.
I’m now tagging Thea, Maryam, BB, Frida, Maddie, Amber, Vanessa and Uncle Rel
SPC ~ a first attempt
I’ve had it in my mind to start contributing to the Self Portrait Challenge group for a while, and wouldn’t you know it – I prepare some shots, only to discover that what I thought was the theme (environment) has been replaced by a new one (elements). I’ll try and do better for next week, but in the meantime, here is my first contribution: me, at home, in my working environment, with a guest appearance from the broken toe, which as you can see, appears to be doing okay. This is a bit of trickery by my foot, however, as the toenail is only attached on one side, and will fall off any day now…. yeah, i can’t wait either.
Thoughts on a rainy day
{set of 3 flower photos, now available in my Etsy store}
You know what? If I could give away photographs for free every day I would. I mean, of course I know I could, but then there’s all that food to buy and rent to pay… It’s so much easier to go to work and be paid by the salary fairies each month – being self-employed is another game altogether. As a journalist i didn’t have too much of a problem chasing invoices at the end of each month, but this new role as a photographer has shifted my relationsip with what I’m worth. It’s not easy asking a person to give you some of their hard-earned cash in exchange for something you’ve created – especially something artistic. How much is my work worth? How much am I worth? It’s all too tempting to set our prices low, to accept less than we deserve, and I’m not just talking about pounds and dollars here.
All I’ve ever wanted was to do work that I believed in, and I find myself getting closer to that goal every day. Now it’s time to start believing that – to coin a phrase – I’m worth it, and so is my work.
Cherries & roller skates
Days like today are wonderful and terrible, all at the same time. A day full of sunshine and smiling people in the streets; plums, nectarines, cherries, strawberries and a melon bought in the supermarket to make the fruit salad I’ve been craving; fragrant air rustling the newspapers displayed on the pavement outside the newsagents, where little kids wearing roller skates are begging their parents for an ice cream. It’s a summery Sunday and my heart aches, wishing he was here to see it, wishing we were in that field in Sussex four years ago, lying on a blanket in the grass, kissing. This kind of sadness doesn’t wash over me so much these days; I’m doing really well all things considered. A day like today would normally give me a reason to pour a glass of wine this evening and zone out with the television, but that’s not going to happen this time. I haven’t touched a drop of alcohol in over three weeks. That may not sound like a big deal, but for the last 27 months since he died I have drunk wine pretty much every single day. The first year there were many falling-into-bed-in-tears evenings drinking wine; the second year less so. I don’t know if I could be clinically called an alcoholic – there were extenuating circumstances after all – but certainly the crutch became the stick I hurt myself with. And so I stopped, and had two weeks of illness and detoxification (which included the complexion of a teenager), and now… I feel better. I look better. I’m not teetotal, but I’m choosing not to drink on my own anymore. It feels like the beginning of something positive and good in my life.
In other news, I’ll be drawing a name from the hat tonight…
Update at 9.27pm: and the winner is… Star! Congratulations, love. This was fun… I’m definitely going to do it again
The lure of Etsy
Heart, 2007, available in 5×7 and 10×8 prints
I've been meaning to do this for a while, and spurred on by my monkey friend's encouragement , i'm pleased to announce that my Etsy store is open! The previous incarnation of my photo store was the right choice at the time, but now I want more of the personal touch. I'm limiting myself to just a few images at a time, printed in limited editions of 25 in 2 sizes. All are professionally printed, and are sent in glassine envelopes with little extras i'll include in the package too.
I love the idea of my photos leaving my hand and winging their way to their new homes. Cutting out the middle man feels so right.
So to celebrate (and make up for the fact that i've been so absent recently) thought it would be fun to do a bloggie giveaway: if you'd like to win a 10 x 8 print of the above photo, just leave a comment, and i'll draw the winner's name at random on Sunday night (9pm GMT).
:-)
Doors open
‘Photography and poetry have been yoked together for me since I first picked up a camera in 1962. In fact, I became obsessed with photography virtually from that moment, an obsession ignited because I saw in it a way to make poetry – which I’d tried doggedly to write for the three previous years – without suffering the anguish of sitting in place and ceaselessly sifting words together (not imagining how much more pain being a photographer could extract).’ – from Tod Papageorge’s essay, Words for Pictures, in his book Passing Through Eden (found at Alec Soth’s blog)
I’ve read many interviews with authors, and often they recount how as children they were forever making up stories and fashioning little books out of scraps of paper to give to their parents and friends. I was not one of these children. Instead I was (and still am) a prolific journal writer and book reader. In the long list of shoulds that I carry around with me, I’ve often thought that I should’ve been one of those kids. I should be a natural-born storyteller. But last week, as I edited the photos from the christening and put together a gallery of 84 images for my client, I realised that I’ve been telling stories all along – just in different ways. The gallery had a beginning, a middle and an end; it contained emotion and special moments and memories. It told not only the story of the day’s events, but the story that I as the photographer had created.
One of the frustrations I’ve had with writing has been how to describe a scene. I’m very good at conveying the emotion – the internal world – but feel lacking when creating the architecture of the story and a sense of place. Since I’ve picked up a camera again and started moving in a new direction, something has clicked inside me. It’s as if I was casting around for the right medium to communicate what I wanted to say, and now I’ve found it.
Photographs by Diane Arbus
Sunday night I watched a film that rang so many bells in my head. Diane Arbus’s work has always been such an inspiration to me, and I loved the concept of creating a story around the what-ifs of her life. I had to watch it twice: first to enjoy the story, second to watch the images, as if they were still photographs. I’ve always been a film buff, and now I see why. Stories, and images, and words, all tied together. It seems so obvious now. I’m not saying I’m about to become a filmmaker (but, god, wouldn’t that be fabulous?) but I can see a door opening somewhere in the future, a door i’ll want to walk through.
Two reasons why I have a cold
I’m all about the photo posts at the moment – did you notice? I guess I’m putting all my words into pictures, and my heart fills up every time i press the shutter. After last weekend’s partying I’ve been quiet this week, as I have a stinkin’ summer cold and need to be well for Sunday’s shoot – my first paid gig. Luckily Wimbledon is on so I’ve been cheering for Venus and Roger while wrapped up in a blanket on the sofa, sipping hot lemon and honey drinks (with a tot of brandy)… sniff.
The Summer Day
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean –
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down –
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what do you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
~ Mary Oliver
