[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 23 February 2024].
mamma mia!
Just over a year ago, I unexpectedly fell into cat-sitting.
If you'd told me then I'd do it again, let alone that after a year I'd have regular kitteh clients and had cat-sat ten kittehs across five homes, I'd probably have laughed in your face.
And yet, this month, I'll spend just under two weeks with my eleventh kitteh client in the sixth home.
I'm looking forward to becoming better acquainted with Lottie, the kitteh master of my long-time Flickr friend, Sarah.
Lottie is a black cat with a sweet nature, and we seemed to take to each other well during our first meet and greet last week. I'll pop in to see her again this week before becoming her temporary companion.
I'll also return to be the ever-obedient servant of Lily, Sammy and Poppy later in the month. I think there have been only two months since December 2021 that I've not served those three kitteh masters faithfully. They are already pencilled in for December this year or January next year (or a bit of both).
And so, I finally set up a profile on CatInAFlat. Who would ever have thought my Top 8 (well, 10 actually) would be made up of cool cats? Tom never saw that coming...
Though I'm already booked out for most of October with overnight stays, I'm open to once or twice daily visits locally around those. (I think it's wrong to have affairs with other kittehs during my overnight stays. Lottie, Lily, Sammy and Poppy will smell other kittehs on me).
And I'm open to meeting more kittehs locally and further afield from November.
If you or anyone you know needs a cat-sitter, feel free to hit me up here or via my CatInAFlat profile. There's plenty of information on my profile but slide into my DMs if you have further questions.
I'll also sort out getting a police check done later this month, and I can provide references on request from those I've cat-sat for before.
Meanwhile, please enjoy this adorabubble portrait I took of Mia whilst we sheltered from one of the UK heatwaves this summer.
self-portrait* in blue
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 7 August 2022].
I had two other prompts already written down to try with Midjourney AI before deciding it would be remiss not to try something (in theory) more personal.
I was curious how much - if at all - the AI was trawling the internet for references.
I'd seen people entering 'in the style of [artist name]', and I'd obviously used 'art deco' in my previous prompt.
So, my mischievous side came out and for my third and final prompt before my trial ran out, I entered 'bronwen hyde, self-portrait, blue'.
The initial four options and the second four options Midjourney gave me can be seen in the second image.
I wavered a little between the image I chose and the top right and bottom left options in the first four. The second set of four didn't appeal to me as much stylistically.
In the end, as I had only a few variations and upscale "turns" left, I worked just with the top left image from the first four options. This was my final result before my trial ended.
Clearly, it's not me, but I feel like some options remind me of Cindy Sherman and maybe Sigourney Weaver. So it is interesting to think about how Midjourney learns and what it picks up as sources.
I'll probably sign up for a subscription for a month to play with the tool more and see whether it's something I find helpful as a part of my art practice.
But either way, it was an engaging and intriguing way to spend a couple of hours on a Friday evening.
art deco annie
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 6 August 2022].
The second prompt I gave Midjourney AI was 'art deco, portrait, night, lamp'.
This image was my favourite result, though I have to admit I didn't play too much with creating variations for this. I felt with a few tweaks, it came up well.
I did get the AI to give me an alternative set of options before I received a notification that I had a limited number of free images left to create.
In the second image (left to right), you can see the original four options Midjourney generated for my prompt. And then the second four options.
let's take this offline
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 3 July 2022].
Meeting people online is always interesting.
It can be the best place to meet people and, simultaneously, the worst. And, sometimes, it's just average.
I met some of my closest and most valued friends through social media before it was called that. Some of my lovers who have since become good friends I also met that way.
I've always seen it as an equally valid way of meeting people, like dancing with and talking to someone at a club or a bar. Meeting them at a gig or meeting them through a friend. Just that you can have a more involved conversation without shouting into each other's ears…
Dating apps are no different, though the intent is generally more overt.
I mean, I always went into meeting anyone from Friendster or Myspace with the view of meeting them as friends. Even if it ended up that we became more than that.
If you go into meeting people through dating apps with that same thinking, I think you're seen as disingenuous.
I'd rarely claim I was "in a relationship" with someone I met in a club less than two months after we met but starting from friendship seems "the wrong way of using a dating app" to some.
There are potentially many "wrong ways" to use a dating app. Finding clients. Finding Instagram followers. But, to be honest, even none of those are "wrong", in my view.
The only thing "wrong" is being dishonest with yourself and others about why you're using the app.
I currently have multiple professional and personal interactions with people I've met through dating apps across the spectrum of "why".
I know why I'm on those apps, but I'm open to why others are and don't impose my reasons on them. I just choose which connections I make.
And, worst-case scenario: I make some new friends along the way to finding a life partner, or I spend time (virtually or in-person) with someone that might not be a good match.
Do I honestly think I'll find a life partner on a dating app?
I'm sure I'll tell you if I do.
The self-portrait accompanying this post is a newly-edited outtake from day 104 of my 365 days project completed in 2007/08, addiction.
innocence lost
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 12 June 2022].
a ca(p)tive audience
Now that Meg's gorgeous face has got your attention...
I have a couple of return tickets to use for travel on the Avanti West Coast network by late November.
Ideally, I'd like to travel back to north Wales and Edinburgh on those tickets. I haven't been to Edinburgh since 2011, and most of my travels in north Wales were back in 2001. I'd also like to venture from Edinburgh to Inverness (or thereabouts) to visit a friend.
Related: I'd like to find some cat-sitting (or dog-sitting, or just house-sitting) work in Edinburgh.
And also somewhere on or near the Avanti West Coast network in north Wales. Potentially around Llandudno.
My full-time temporary work will drop to three days from July, and I can work fully remote. So I'm relatively flexible about location and duration as long as I have decent internet access.
To allow me enough time to get out and explore, it would need to be at least a long weekend, but I'm open to a week or more (my first cat-sitting gig was three weeks).
I can provide references for my cat-sitting and photographic evidence of happy kittehs I've cat-sat. I keep lines of communication open while looking after kittehs, and I'm a clean and tidy occupant.
I also feed fish and can guard goldfish against kittehs, if required ;)
And prints from kitteh portrait sessions are an optional extra.
I thought I'd put my feelers out through friends first before potentially listing myself on Cat in a Flat or similar. In case I know (or you know) anyone in or around Edinburgh or Llandudno/the Avanti West Coast network across north Wales.
My only real restriction is that I don't drive. So anywhere I'm cat-sitting has to have reasonable transport connections (foot, train, bus, cab, etc.)
Bonus points if the home has a room with floral wallpaper, and I can take self-portraits in and around the place I'm cat/dog/house-sitting if I'm so inspired.
If you or someone you know might be interested, slide into my DMs for more info and a confidential discussion ;)
under her wing
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 15 May 2022].
thank you for the music
Mid-morning on Monday, David messaged me. The notification flashing up on my phone's lock screen stopped me in my tracks.
Though I was working, I immediately switched to my own computer to visit Anthony Horan's Facebook profile. To try to fathom the message David had sent me.
Before I got to his profile, I hadn't even considered David's question was logical.
My eyes settled on a truncated comment from Chris, Anthony's brother. It opened in a way I immediately knew wouldn't end in any way I had wanted to imagine.
I felt like I couldn't breathe. I immediately started crying and didn't stop for a good half hour. Through tears, I emailed my manager and a colleague to advise I needed to take a break.
It felt like it took me ten minutes or more to read through the update from Chris properly. My eyes and brain kept stalling on the first few words. When I had finally managed to read it, I stayed to read all the lovely comments from Anthony's other friends. The tears just kept coming.
I met Anthony at Retro within a month of turning 18. Along with friends, I discovered Club 383 seemingly randomly and tried out a new night there on a Thursday. We returned on a Friday night for Retro. And then a Saturday night for Collision. Anthony was one of the DJs for both Retro and Collision.
For almost a month before I turned 18, we turned up early. I was sober, and my friends bought non-alcoholic drinks for me. I was often the first person on the dancefloor.
I was excited simply to dance to songs I loved in a space that wasn't my lounge room. All the time I spent in nightclubs, I preferred being on an empty or half-empty dancefloor. I could dance freely with my eyes closed without worrying about being burned by someone's cigarette and without the distraction of some sleazy guy trying to hit on me.
I would harass Anthony, Andy and Craig through the sliding glass window of the DJ booth with my endless requests. Then I'd run onto the dancefloor excitedly as I heard the opening bars of my favourite songs.
I was like a child at a carnival.
A few months later, after a falling out with one of my closest friends who I regularly went out with, I decided I would venture out on my own.
By that stage, I'd got to know the Club 383 DJs: Anthony, Tony, Andy, and Craig. Well enough that I figured I had a DJ booth to hang out in or near if I didn't want to dance to a song but felt awkward standing at the edge of the dancefloor.
That decision led to me spending sporadic periods hanging out with Anthony in the DJ booth. Flicking through his extensive CD collection and behaving like an irritating younger sister, haranguing him to "Play this next!" or "Ooh! This!" He was endlessly patient and never patronised me. He didn't always play my requests, but he never made me feel stupid for asking for them.
When I worked on my final folio for the second semester of my first year at Photography Studies College, I shot a series of photographs at Club 383.
It included a portrait of Anthony with his decks (though most of what he played was on CD, not vinyl). It was shot in standard nightclub lighting. There was no way to adequately capture him and the turntable together in any meaningful way. So I spent time in the darkroom compositing a portrait of him with the turntable. I don't have a quality electronic version at the moment, but the image above gives you a general idea.
I probably spent two nights a week almost every week from March 1995 to the end of 1998 at Club 383. My time out dancing dropped off in 1999 in the lead-up to leaving the country. But Anthony and I stayed in contact intermittently over that time.
When I returned to Melbourne in April 2002, we spent far too many hours nattering on ICQ, Hotmail Messenger and Yahoo! Messenger. We followed each other on LiveJournal, though Anthony barely posted. And then on the usual social media platforms. We spent the wee hours of countless nights hanging out in his flat, listening to music and drinking cider and/or wine.
On Thursday, 21 August 2003, Anthony, Daniel and I formed the Dick Laurent Remembrance Society. A trivia team that last competed on 13 March 2018, with Dave in place of Daniel, though Dave was a regular member for much of the team's existence. Our team fluctuated from two to six members over the weeks and years.
For the lifetime of the team, Anthony and I were the most consistent members, often competing as a duo when all the other tables had four to six members. For various reasons (none of which were cheating), the two of us enjoyed many fancy and expensive meals at the Mitre Tavern's more prestigious sister restaurant. Prizes for our efforts.
Where mine and Anthony's geography consistently let the team down, Daniel's saved our skins many a time. Daniel joked on one occasion that our geography was so bad that he wondered how we found our way to the pub each week. Of course, we responded it was due to a well-worn trail and the scent of alcohol. All three of us failed, majestically, when it came to the sport round, though.
Anthony and I were massive nerds in some respects. And we both hated the heat. I still remember the two of us - sweltering in our respective homes - semi-regularly refreshing the RMIT real-time weather website for updates on incoming cool changes. Anthony lived in the city, and I lived in the inner northern suburbs. So if he finally experienced the temperature change, I could rush around opening windows and doors to let in the incoming cool breeze about ten minutes later. Anthony introduced me to many helpful online websites during our friendship, but this was one of the most valuable.
As most people will know, Anthony's passion was music. He reviewed it, he produced it. He supported artists both well-known and emerging, and he played hours of music at least two nights a week for much of the time I knew him.
His reviews were never the bitter, backstabbing type that might populate the pages of NME. Celebrating an artist one week then shooting them down the next. His reviews in Beat and InPress were always fair, well-considered and often focussed on female singer/songwriters. There was never anything pandering or fake about the reviews, but they were invariably positive.
He introduced me to so many talented female artists or female-fronted outfits. I put together a modest playlist of those who immediately came to mind on Monday evening. Along with some of the songs he patiently played repeatedly for me, on request. I had to include an ABBA track at the end. He was one of the only people I knew who would champion their music in the late 90s when grunge and indie were in fashion.
Amongst others, he introduced me to Sia, Soko, Emilie Simon, Dot Allison, Bat For Lashes and My Brightest Diamond. And he introduced me to the music and the actual personage of Wendy Rule.
He was an incorrigible flirt but never sleazy. He was gentle (though there was that one time he rugby tackled me!) Sweet, respectful, witty (though sometimes a bit on the 'dad joke' spectrum). Enthusiastic, passionate, genuine and down to earth. I never heard about him falling out with anyone, and he and I never had a cross word between us.
We spent Monday nights together for a season or two, watching the latest episodes of Lost. He donated his old TV - and the wall unit to hold it - to me when he upgraded to a flatscreen. It may not have been the best telly, but it was a definite upgrade from my 15" CRT!
Over recent years, with the difference in timezone and him working more "normal" hours, we couldn't catch up often. Despite us previously both being night owls. And unfortunately, we didn't manage to have another round of trivia when I was last in Melbourne due to his family commitments at the time.
His last message to me was in late August 2021: "Oh, by the way, I've gotta recommend a show on Netflix called 'Brand New Cherry Flavor' - it pushes all the right Lynch/Cronenberg buttons, and Rosa Salazar is awesome in it. Think Hollywood Lynchian noir melded with Clive Barker weirdness. And kittens. Lots of kittens."
Honestly, I had forgotten that. And now, as soon as I can renew my Netflix subscription, that will be what I have to watch next.
He shared that recommendation off the back of me enquiring about his middle name. I had a character in a novel I'd started writing for NaNoWriMo in 2016 that was primarily based on him, but a slight hybrid with two other DJs from Club 383. On Monday, when I found out he'd passed away, I kicked myself that I didn't share that excerpt with him while I could. Obviously, I had no conception of what the next few months would hold.
All I can think as I finish writing this is how much I wish Anthony could have read this. I know we would have had such a laugh about it all. We didn't spend nearly enough time talking about all the hijinks we got up to back in the day. About all the moments we shared.
I know he knew how much I valued his friendship. That, whether we talked every day or every 365th day, our friendship was still strong. But we always write these things after someone we love is gone, and that's so stupid. They should be able to read these things and share them with us.
At least I know I wrote posts about Anthony that he read at the time, some of which fed into this post. But I wish I'd shared that excerpt with him when I mentioned it. It wasn't a starring role - a pivotal character - but it captured the easy friendship we shared. One I will miss so much.
Thank you for the music, Anthony. Somewhere you're filling the dancefloor once more. And there are penguins.
cat in a lap
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 13 November 2021].
Shiloh photo-bombing another self-portrait shoot back in September on my last day of cat-sitting her and Susie in West London.
ca(p)tivated
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 17 September 2021].
So, the cat's out of the bag...
The new side hustle I somehow fell into is cat-sitting! :o
For anyone who's known me more than a few years, I've never previously been a cat person. I was always a dog person.
But, over the past I-don't-know-how-many-years, the idea of cats has stopped repulsing me. I've realised I'm an "animal person". Not just a dog person.
So, when friends asked if I'd be willing to cat-sit for them for almost three weeks - even though I'd never met their feline companions - my first questions were:
Will your home make a photogenic backdrop for self-portraits, and are you okay with me sharing your home on the internets?
Can I bring my iMac as I don't currently have a laptop?
Are you okay with me disappearing for four days as I already have time out of town booked during that period?
Will it cost me anything?
The answers to all those questions were more than satisfactory, so I ventured across to West London at the beginning of September to meet my potential gaolers.
Not only were the kittehs cute and friendly - I bonded immediately with Susie, who's apparently the most hesitant with strangers (not pictured; this is Shiloh). But I fell in love with the house.
The colour schemes and decor. The abundance of bookshelves and bookcases. The furnishings. The hidden doorways (literally, not figuratively). The decorations. EVERYTHING.
My only real struggle since relocating almost a week ago was getting in front of the camera again. Which is largely due to my weight (pun intended).
But I'm tackling that - mentally and emotionally - and from the one shoot I've done so far, I have a selection of photos that don't offend me. I'm hoping to do more tomorrow and at the beginning of next week. And to share more with you.
I just need to be gentle with myself.
I'm also dealing with some worrying family medical news from Australia. And some unexpected flat stuff. And, obviously, having to continue to pick up client work.
But the kittehs help.
They 'meow' and make Mogwai-like sounds at me when they're ready for breakfast (and they've realised that won't be at 5:00, so they're patient for when I'm actually awake).
They make me laugh at their tap-drinking antics even though I can't entertain those antics for long.
And I haven't killed any fish yet.
And I've had the pleasure of giving friends a grand tour of this lovely haven I'm in until the end of the month.
If anyone wants to remind me how squatters' rights work... ;)
Or, if you have a photogenic mansion/house/flat/caravan/van and a pet or pets you need looking after while you go on holiday, DM me.
I'm open to payment in photo ops, pet love and booze ;) (Money's also good).
Also, for you folk who thought I'd struggle with collaborating artistically with cats: Shiloh joined me on the couch of her own volition. Without any real coaxing and, definitely, no kitteh treats. The beeping of my self-timer was all she needed to focus her laser-sharp gaze for this portrait :)
jazz at 11 (accidental portrait of the artist’s parents)
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 8 September 2021].
daysleeper
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 4 September 2021].
untitled #5
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 29 July 2021].
watching the watchers
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 14 January 2021].
What are they watching?
Answers on a postcard.
(Or, you know, in the comments will do).
fuck your beauty standards
Day eighty-three of The 100 Day Project.
Illustrations:
Woman with hypertrichosis (Barbara van Beck) by unknown artist
blue by you
Day thirty-three of The 100 Day Project.
Illustrations:
Woman by Eugène Carrière from L’Image
Blue-mountain swallowtail by Edward Donovan from An epitome of the natural history of the insects of India
michelle ginger
end of a century [almost]
Sometimes the information superhighway isn't so super, even in this day and age. Firstly, because some people still don't use it, so information doesn't always pass across the world instantaneously; and secondly, because sometimes the information crossing that superhighway is not what you want to hear.
I found out yesterday (Sunday) that my Grandma passed away last Tuesday. Her funeral took place at 2:30pm today AEST.
My parents were just arriving into Bucharest on Sunday, and finally had access to internet after not having reasonably priced access to phone or internet since they heard the news from my Uncle, and my Uncle is a Luddite (this is not a criticism, just a statement of fact), thus the delay. My Uncle had tried to call me a number of times, but he doesn't have to make international calls often, and it turns out he was only pressing '0' once before the UK country code 44, so his calls must have been going to someone else's Australian mobile number.
Either way, despite the fact I knew this was coming, it still felt horrible reading those words in the Gmail email preview as I clicked through to read the full message from my parents. It was like a kick in the guts, and after a relatively positive couple of days previous, was even harder to take.
When I left Australia I told my Grandma to look after herself, and that I'd be back for her 100th birthday. That last day I saw her, I knew I'd be emotional, but was totally unprepared for her crying as I hugged her and kissed her on the cheek and said my goodbyes. I was trying not to cry before I left, but as soon as she started I couldn't hold it in any longer.
I remarked to my parents about it, somewhat in shock, because my Dad's family have never been big on emotion. My Grandma, like all of her immediate family including my Dad, generally held her cards close to her chest. I mentioned it to my Uncle last night when we spoke on the phone finally, and he said that she told him about it when he visited the next day, and even she seemed surprised by her own behaviour.
We both knew that day there was a pretty strong chance this would be the last time we would see each other. Neither of us said that, but our tears were pretty clear indication that we knew, though I'm sure we both hoped otherwise.
As with my Mum's mother, I only really got to know Dad's mum better as I got older, over the past few years. With living in different states most of my life, my interactions with Grandma were intermittent and brief. Probably the longest amount of time I spent with her was staying with her and my Uncle in 2002 because I was then living with my parents but they'd gone away for a couple of weeks. Not being able to drive, their then home in the Gold Coast hinterland wasn't as accessible as needed for getting to work, buying groceries, etc., so I stayed with Grandma and Uncle John.
Visiting Grandma about every second week during the time I lived in Brisbane (September 2009 to January 2011), we built up something of a bond, though generally not through conversation or shared interests. It just happened, maybe because there are so many things I have inherited from her - good and bad: stubborn Aries traits; small (especially facial) features; worrying and over-thinking things; a love of crosswords (shared with both Grandmothers).
I also keenly understood her frustration with and rebellion against being placed in a home. It was a necessity - she was no longer able to look after herself, and it was too much for my family to take on, due to a very bad fall - but to go from being fairly independent and active to being in a hospital and then not being able to go back to your own home was something I understood would be very hard. My Uncle did take her to visit, but it must have been so hard for her.
She did end up enjoying the home, despite her initial feelings. The staff there were absolutely wonderful with her, and she quite clearly touched a nerve with them. Despite being of a generation preceding political correctness (I would often cringe at things she said, but knew it was just a generational thing, that she did not hold prejudices), staff of varying ancestry at the home loved her and joked with her. She often displayed a cheekiness with the staff that we as a family rarely saw, and I finally got to see more of that over the past few years.
Also generational, I know many of the things I do (nude self-portraiture), the way I live my life (living with a partner before wedlock, piercing my nose), were concepts she would not have understood / did not understand (she did stop staring at my nose-ring when talking to me after about a week), because her life was so utterly different to mine, but she rarely judged, to my knowledge. Her comments, when she did make them, seemed more concerned than judgmental.
I do regret never asking her about Grandpa and her relationship with him. I would have liked to hear her talk about him, but I suspect she wouldn't have opened up much about that. Unfortunately she burnt a lot of papers and photos at one point, but letters my Uncle passed to my Dad give an impression of their love for each other, and their affectionate joking, with Grandpa referring to Grandma by her sisters' pet name for her, Scraggie Aggie.
I know my wanting her to reach her 100th birthday was utterly selfish, and even though she didn't reach that milestone, I'm still proud of her. Since soon after I left Brisbane she was on oxygen, so was pretty much bedridden, and her quality of life dropped quite substantially. She would make comments to my parents about 'how much longer', quite clearly tired of life, so it was really just time; I would not have wanted her to hang on for the sake of a number, or for me.
For all that I know that, it was still hard to receive that email yesterday, and still very hard today.
The portrait above was taken on my Dad's birthday in 2007, about a year before she had her fall and was put into the home.
now playing: aimee mann - one
100 people - #26: Paige
I met Paige for the first time at the Home of the Viking; at one of Erik & Francesca's Sunday afternoon backyard barbeques.
I'm ashamed to admit that sometimes I'm a bit judgmental. Specifically, when I meet a really pretty girl, I sometimes assume they will know exactly how pretty they are, and be full of themselves and arrogant, and vacuous and have no sense of humour.
Within minutes Paige made me ashamed for thinking that, as she is a perfect example of why that mode of thinking is stupid.
Paige sometimes seems completely oblivious of how attractive she may be to those around her, and is the first to make fun of herself. A perfect example of this I saw a mere few days after meeting her, where she was filmed eating noodles in a very ridiculous manner. Where many of us would be worried about looking silly and / or unattractive, she really didn't mind and was just enjoying herself with friends.
This may have something to do with the fact she is an actor, but for the most part, to me, this is just because she is Paige.
We became quite good friends during my brief sojourn in Brisbane, and caught up on many occasions for drinks and shennanigans; and I was lucky enough to be commissioned to take some portraits of her (of which this was one, as we hid behind the verandah wall in fear of being told to leave, as we were trespassing).
Our day spent together wandering around an abandoned hospital building in Brisbane, around the botanical gardens and such, was very enjoyable; and I have to admit I felt more than a little disappointed I would be leaving the country so soon after and would not have the chance to photograph her again for quite a while.
Far from the delicate flower she may often seem, Paige was more than happy to shimmy up the nearest tree, barefoot, for a photo. Which, for a photographer like me, is excellent (even if I hate heights so much I'd not do the same!)
Heartbreakingly, her flat in Auchenflower was about 3/4 submerged by the floods in Brisbane a little over a week after our shoot. Her life was turned upside down and inside out for a while, and even now I can't really comprehend how this would have felt for her.
But no matter what she goes through, Paige seems to just keep coming back stronger. Learning from her experiences, learning from her friends, and moving forward all the time.
Amongst other wonderful people I met in Brisbane during my time there, I am looking forward to catching up with Paige when I next visit.
now playing: melanie c - never be the same again