[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 15 December 2023].
a bird in the hand
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 21 November 2023].
robin redbreast
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 27 February 2022].
mother and child
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 6 February 2022].
the headless horseman
[I originally posted this image as early access for my Patreon patrons on 12 December 2021].
untitled #30
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 17 December 2021].
lily and the snowman
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 9 December 2021].
untitled #19
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 5 December 2021].
rudolph the red-nosed reindeer
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 3 December 2021].
the gardener
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 2 December 2021].
It's that time again.
I'm posting the first one slightly later than planned but aiming to share new images from the season's grievings series every couple of days between now and Christmas and make them public approximately two days later.
I hope you enjoy!
'til death do us part
She wondered to herself - not for the first time - how many other's parents had set the bar for romantic relationships so high. So high that their children's expectations for their own relationships seemed a pipe dream. That anything less than what their parents had was a pale imitation. Anything else left them feeling wanting.
Her parents had shared everything. They had no secrets from each other. They trusted each other implicitly and loved each other unconditionally.
They supported and encouraged each other. Cared for each other and lost sleep worrying about each other.
They talked about everything, and they made decisions as a couple, as a partnership. All the way through their marriage until her mother's dementia meant she couldn't make decisions or talk about things in the same way.
Neither of them dictated anything to the other or made the other feel bad for asking questions. Indeed, most questions were answered before needing to be asked. Their relationship was one of open dialogue and transparency. Always.
There were never any power games. Never the sense that one made the other feel they were being given or denied a treat by being able to see the other more or less. When, how and where they met was a mutual decision. They wanted to see each other equally and showed no restraint from either side.
Her mother became part of her father's family and vice versa. She came from a very affectionate family into one less so. But her mother gradually coaxed her husband's family into the habit of hugs rather than handshakes. Growing up with an aunt whose catch-cry was "kissy-up, kissy-up" on arrival and on leaving her home encouraged her mother to engender that level of affection in her father's family. Though she saved kisses on the lips for her husband alone.
She grew up with the example of intimate and affectionate parents. Even as they grew older, she watched them reach for each other's hands as she walked along the streets of London with them. Instinctive and natural.
Their friends were their friends. Not her mother or her father's. The friendships may originally have been made or found through one. But they became mutual friends her parents spent time with, both together and apart.
There was never any compartmentalisation in their relationship, their relationships with others and their lives. They even worked together side-by-side for about 10 years.
Their weight gains and losses were irrelevant. They were the same people beneath the flesh and bones, so what did weight matter?
As her mother's dementia took hold, she saw how it broke her father's heart. His best friend, lover, partner and confidante of almost fifty years changed. Her mother saw him as a stranger, and he recognised the real her only in glimpses of lucidness. But he has never stopped loving her.
In her own life, she felt she'd never truly experienced what they had. What they have.
Others might argue that what she sought was a romantic fantasy. But she'd witnessed it growing up, so she knew it wasn't just in her imagination.
Sure, she knew their marriage wasn't perfect. Their relationship wasn't perfect. None are. But they worked through anything that might have created an issue. And came out stronger together on the other side.
But what she witnessed of their relationship over more than forty years of her life was always one of love, trust, openness, communication, honesty, affection, adoration and longevity. Damn near perfection, in her eyes.
And so far, she'd only had glimpses of pieces of what they had in her own life. Samples. Tasters. But nothing that stood up to the same tests. Nothing that lasted long enough or brought as much happiness as that she'd witnessed watching her parents as she grew from a child to a teenager, a teenager to an adult.
Everything she had experienced felt like a shadow of what she'd witnessed.
When it came to her own relationships, she viewed the possibility of something even three-quarters as good as what they'd had as a chimaera. Something she hoped for but felt she would never achieve or realise. The stuff of dreams. A fantasy.
Except she knew it could be real.
So she kept seeking it out. Hoping against hope. Believing that maybe, just maybe…
But again and again, she returned to the thought that maybe her parents had set the bar too high. Raised her expectations of what love and "forever" might be to something only achievable for a select few; for people of previous generations, perhaps. But not for her.
She thought, not for the first time: maybe she should just let go of all expectations. And forget 'til death do us part, even if it didn't involve any formal declaration or ceremony. Clearly, it wasn't meant to be.
beast of burden
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 6 June 2021].
As the pinkish hues were swept away by dusk descending, the day was, literally, washed away this evening.
The sky turning from warm hues to cool was accompanied by the sound of large raindrops hitting the leaves of the trees outside my bedroom window.
The raindrops landing formed a welcome chorus. Their sound was the first thing to calm and soothe me for days.
This is an accurate visual depiction of how the last 72 hours or so of my life has felt.
2021 seems to be the year that keeps giving... but, unfortunately, rarely the good stuff, so far.
For someone who dislikes a lack of control in my life - and dislikes feeling helpless or having to ask for help - this year has been a fucking doozy.
I'm trying to regain some semblance of control - at least of those things I can control - but some days (often in a row), it's really fucking hard to just keep getting up and punching on.
I hope 2021 has been better for you so far. xx
058 something something
Day fifty-eight of The 100 Day Project for 2021.
I'm calling this piece "something something". Not because it's not evident the source image is an ornament, specifically a paperweight.
But because my drawing of it captures none of that. And I knew it was unlikely to. Given my drawing skills and the fact I went into this sketch thinking, "let's just do something abstract and not worry about photorealism."
For the record: I would love to be able to draw this paperweight in a photorealistic style. Let's maybe give me a good few years before I can expect to manage that, though.
Instead, my sketch somewhat reminds me of the blobfish John Oliver was, once again, engaging with on the most recent episode of Last Week Tonight. Though not quite. I can't quite work out what my rendering reminds me of, really.
Nevertheless, I sketched what is now yesterday's drawing with a 4H pencil. Then I went over elements with a 6B, a 4B, a 2B and an HB pencil.
(No, I don't know what I have against odd numbers either. I'm quite fond of the number 13 and the number 9, if truth be told, so it's nothing personal).
To be honest, I'm not sure if this was a success or a failure. I'll let you guys decide.
Meanwhile, I have a conflicting relationship with what I refer to as 'dust catchers'.
As a kid, I know I was responsible for the gifting of many dust catchers. Items that served no other purpose but ornamentation and, invariably, they catch dust.
To my knowledge, my mother never threw out any of the dust catchers we bought her (at least not for years).
Whether it be a small, purely ornamental harlequin doll or a somewhat practical clear plastic earring ladder, all invariably purchased from our local chemist.
They graced her bedside cabinet with pride because she received them from her children. Paid for with their pocket money and delivered with love.
As I got older, I vowed not to give dust catcher gifts unless they also provided some practical purpose. Thus my oil/vinegar decanter gift to Simon for his birthday in 2019.
Having said that, I do have papers that could do with weighting, but they're not on my desk as my desk space is limited.
So, arguably, I could be a bit confronted by Simon's gifts to me in recent years. But I'm just not. Because they're beautiful.
And at some point, I really need to photograph them properly. Because, especially in close-up, they're truly beautiful.
They remind me of the marbles we had as kids, both in our collections and in the game of solitaire my grandparents had. But infinitely more detailed and intricate.
I don't know the background of the first paperweight he gifted me for Christmas 2018. But the one he found for me for Christmas last year and that I've attempted to render above is a Caithness moon crystal. It is small but exquisite.
At some point, I hope to attempt to draw a photograph I took of the larger one. Stay tuned.
star-graving
[I originally posted this image as early access for my Patreon patrons on 24 December 2020].
This is the final season’s grievings image I’ll be sharing to my blog in 2020.
I hope you’ve enjoyed this festive mini-series.
the festive hearts
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 12 December 2020].
This looks like being the last season's grievings instalment for now.
If I find any new ones worthy of sharing I'll do so whether that's before Christmas or anytime in the future.
I hope you've enjoyed this mini-series within my sepulchre series.
I'm expecting to have more stained glass images for you soon.
Perusing my digital archives for these images has reminded me exactly how many of my photographs from graveyards, cemeteries, churchyards and more haven't yet seen the light of day.
And don't even start me on how many graves I've captured on film that I would love to share with you!
I especially enjoyed reminiscing over my, as yet, unedited and unpublished photographs from Edinburgh's Parish Church of Saint Cuthbert.
I had the chance to revisit the Saint Cuthbert churchyard in 2011, likely about 10 years after my first visit there. This was due to the generosity of my newest Patreon patron, Sarah Jansen, who gifted me the unneeded return portion of her Edinburgh to London ticket. And Daniel and Mia who put me up for my visit during festival season moments away from the base of the hill Edinburgh Castle rises from. A prime position for photographing the Military Tattoo fireworks (which I did).
I hope to, eventually, share more of my analogue photographs with you, as well as my digital ones. Though a film and flatbed scanner - amongst other things like infinite time and money to devote to the task - is something I need to reinstate into my toolbox first. I'm working on it!
sun-bleached santa
[I originally posted this image as early access for my Patreon patrons on 10 December 2020].
o tannenbaum
[I originally posted this image as early access for my Patreon patrons on 4 December 2020].