untitled #79
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 14 August 2021].
respect your elders
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 12 August 2021].
in isolation
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 18 July 2021].
Today feels like it's been two days.
An hour before midnight, Anna Maria Drutzel and I started what became a 5-hour-and-15-minute epic call. As usual, it was full of hope, dreams, plans, art, nostalgia, heartache, loss, catharsis and love. A whirlwind of words and thoughts.
After catching up on a flurry of messages and comments from friends and family, I finally called "my" Saturday a day and went to bed about 5:30.
About 10:00, I was woken by the NHS Test and Trace team, but not realising who was calling, I let the call go to voicemail. An hour and a half later, I caught up with my Dad on Skype to update him on everything and catch up on where things are at with him.
I managed not to take any painkillers today, and I'm feeling much better than yesterday.
I've had a few light-headed moments and waves of fatigue. I'm guessing that's likely to continue for a while, so I'm being gentle with myself and trying not to overdo things. Despite feeling I have so much to catch up on, and though I'd hoped for a full day of photo editing today.
The morning proper brought with it more messages and comments to reply to.
In the past month, I've been overwhelmingly reminded of the bounty I have in friends and family as they've rallied around me through the latest trial or tribulation. As each new wave bowls me over, my people bowl me over with their love, concern, support and encouragement. Again and again. I am so incredibly thankful for them. Every one.
As physically isolated as I am right now, for most of today, I've felt anything but.
But as the day closes once more, the silence, absence and emptiness feel palpable.
Where usually I'd be ecstatic at having my flat all to myself, it feels full of ghosts tonight. The occasional light breeze drifts through my bedroom and disturbs a million thoughts hanging in the air.
Though physically, I feel much better and stronger than I have for days, my heart feels weaker tonight. Broken once again. The pieces lay scattered across the floorboards still.
Usually, I would drown this feeling. Wash it away with amber waves. But I've had no such potion in the house since last Wednesday night.
So instead, I'm drowning in this feeling. And will likely seek another early night to find a release from the clamouring thoughts. And hope that, in the morning, they will shake free of my hair when I rise.
locked out
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 17 July 2021].
So today, continuing the theme for the year, the result for the PCR test I took yesterday came back positive for Covid-19.
Because, of course.
Though, hilariously, because of everything else that's already happened this year, somehow, this is the least upsetting or disappointing piece of news I've received in the past seven to eight months.
It just seems like another piece of the puzzle that is my 2021.
Thank Science, I'd already had one dose of the vaccine, so the worst of it already seems to have passed.
No thanks to all the English football fans on the Tube on Sunday shouting 'It's coming home!' at the top of their lungs. While wearing masks around their necks instead of over their massive gobs.
Even with all my obsessive hand-sanitising, masking and not touching a damned thing while commuting, I'm sure that's where I caught it. And based on my symptoms, I'd lay bets it was the much more contagious (but, thankfully, less deadly) Delta strain.
Amusingly, today, as I completed the NHS Test and Trace documentation after receiving my results, I realised I have, in fact, lost my sense of smell. Though not my sense of taste.
To confirm this, I:
sniffed heavily of my dried thyme (which has been my go-to for checking for covid previously),
stuck my nose into a large jar of peanut butter, and
sniffed rosemary and oregano in their bottles.
All registered a complete blank for scent.
Despite not having showered since leaving the flat at 11:30 yesterday to go for the PCR test, further confirmation has been provided by my apparent lack of body odour at 19:00 the next day. Anyone who knows me and knows how I sweat in 26-degree heat (yesterday's temperature), especially after walking for more than 90 minutes, knows this is a physical impossibility. My sense of smell has definitely left the building.
And, I guess, so has my shock and indignation at anything 2021 has left to throw at me.
on the fence
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 12 July 2021].
Despite the hormonal cocktail of the past weekend and a bit, it was predominantly filled with much-needed human interactions.
Long conversations - both virtual and face-to-face - with people I've had long-lasting friendships with.
A mix of topics, a mix of emotions. But all, ultimately, supportive, inspiring, empathetic. And, once again, demonstrating how lucky I am to have built up such a wonderfully supportive network of humans around me.
I had the chance to repay one of those good friends by visiting him in hospital yesterday while he's in for observation. (He's doing well and in good spirits). That's pretty much the only way you'll ever manage to lure me into central London on the day of a football final, especially where England are in the finals and hosting them.
Unfortunately, England's loss last night resulted in an utterly predictable outpouring of racism, hooliganism and destruction. I'm not convinced a win would have changed that aspect of the night. The only positive I took from the situation was a deathly silence post-game which I would not have enjoyed if they had won.
On the positive side: venturing into the city yesterday provided me with a chance to refocus my attention on someone else's situation and away from my interior monologue.
We had a two-plus hour conversation about our respective futures. About writing. About my art. About grasping opportunities.
On the negative side: I finally saw the National Covid Memorial Wall along the Thames, below St Thomas' Hospital, firsthand. It was overwhelming in its sheer extent, and I didn't have the emotional strength to walk the length of it. The complete lifting of England's covid restrictions in a week feels all too soon.
Some contract work I've been doing has now ended. My latest freelance gig was completed last week. So this week, I will be busy drumming up some new work, creating for you, and having at least one potential flatmate viewing my flat.
I also have many ideas whirling around in my head that I'd like to start developing.
And, at least for the rest of this evening, I'll be enjoying the sound of the rain outside my window while I edit more photos.
I hope your week is full of rainbows after the storms x
under gloucester avenue
[I originally posted this image as early access for my Patreon patrons on 10 July 2021].
untitled #25
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 25 June 2021].
I've decided it's about time my collection of fungi images were brought out of the dark and into the light more regularly.
So welcome to a new curated series I'll share with you going forward on #FungiFriday: the fungus among us.
This fellow was perched on the side of a tree on the side of the path on Parkland Walk.
untitled #51
[I originally posted this image as early access for my Patreon patrons on 24 June 2021].
untitled #41
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 21 June 2021].
A simple, calm photograph for you today.
Nice light on those pine cones.
The past couple of days have also been calm. Productive. Focussed. Things I don't feel like I've felt for months now, though I'm sure there were some days in there that fit that description.
Sleep Cycle tells me I had 100% sleep quality on Saturday night/Sunday morning. That is unheard of for me. Even when I went to New Zealand in 2018, my first high-quality sleep wasn't that high.
But last night/this morning was full of stressful dreams and arguments in my sleep with a former lover from years ago, leaving me emotionally exhausted upon waking.
Tonight, I spent the evening working on photos for my Love Letters to London series while listening to one of my homemade Spotify playlists, Better Together.
I have plans made with a friend or two to catch up in person this weekend. A phone call with a friend back in Australia scheduled for the wee hours of Friday morning. Maybe a call with Dad in a little while.
Plans tentatively made for a London photo walk in August with a friend; plans years in the making. A plan to meet the same friend for a long weekend in Chichester in late September, presuming we're not back in lockdown again then.
And - if the weather is as forecast and I'm not feeling too lazy - I'll see how far I can make it along the New River Path (the London stretch). One day this week, when it's closer to 20 than 25 degrees and the rain has paused.
I hope your week is off to a good start x
a gentle reminder
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 19 June 2021].
A second long, emotionally exhausting call today. The final clarification. Confirmation of the closing of a chapter.
I got some answers. I got an answer I expected, but that still stung and disappointed me.
At the end of it all, I still feel there are puzzle pieces forever lost down the back of the couch. But the jigsaw was thrown out months ago, so does it really matter anymore?
After the call and freshening up, I ventured outside into an overcast day.
And there, in our garden, just by the path across the front of the building, I saw a poppy.
I've never seen them in our garden in all of the five years I've lived here. But there are also some - yet to flower - along the main path. I noticed them on my return from the supermarket.
I took some photos with my phone on the way out but took my D700 down to take some more once I had returned and put away my purchases.
Seeing this delicate beauty in my yard - seemingly having appeared out of nowhere - was a gentle reminder to me on a day like today. When everything feels like it's gone to shite, that even in darkness, there is beauty.
There are new beginnings to be discovered and embraced. Unexpected but treasured.
The past two years have been difficult and stressful for me for so many reasons, and the past six months feels like it has reached a fever pitch.
Maybe this final gut-punch is what I need to move forward and find my focus again. Focus that's been gone for too long. But particularly so in the past year.
I value genuine lovers, close relationships, loyalty, honesty and openness. But I've never defined myself by my romantic relationships.
I've never needed a relationship to prove my self-worth, and sometimes they actually serve to make me lose sight of my own self-worth and direction.
To lose focus by creating a distraction and additional problems to solve, instead of solving the most important things I should be focussing on.
And, at times like these, I'm reminded that I crave new beginnings. New seasons of self. And the blossoming of new ideas and opportunities.
Here's to new beginnings.
catford centre
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 17 June 2021].
I don't know about you, but I needed something visually irreverent today.
I captured this fella while out shopping for furnishings with Sophie in August 2018.
I discovered some charity shop gems that day like these chairs and Manchester City Mary. But my current furnished abode is already overstuffed with furniture and prints, so I settled for capturing them with my iPhone rather than purchasing them.
Having had dogs as family pets from about four years old, I've always been a dog person rather than a cat person. I used to really dislike cats.
There are still some aspects that make me question if I could ever live with one full time.
And I still love dogs and squee every time I see a "Quincy" (miniature schnauzer) or an "Elvie" (wire-haired fox terrier) when out and about.
But I grew to appreciate cats more over the past couple of years.
I think, in the end, I've come to understand that I'm an "animal person". I'm not exclusively a "dog person", and I'm no longer "absolutely not" a "cat person".
I just wish relationships with other humans were as uncomplicated and unconditional as with pets.
I miss having a dog companion to sense your sadness and push it away with their cold, wet nose, silly wagging tail and sloppy kisses.
A canine friend to share your excitement and happiness. To dance on hind legs with you.
A snuggly pup who can curl into your body on the couch or on the bed, and you know all they want is to love and be loved in return. And maybe some belly scratches.
And as long as you can give them that (and food and exercise), you're good enough. You're their everything. No matter how complicated or messy that everything might be.
I'm still not sure felines have that down pat yet.
moss yew like crazy
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 15 June 2021].
Sometimes obsessively checking in on Swarm pays off.
A couple of weeks ago, wandering around the churchyard at St Andrew's in Totteridge with my camera, I checked in on Swarm. As my check-in was recorded, I was tipped off that I was within metres of possibly the oldest tree in London.
A tree that, to be honest, I would likely have overlooked otherwise. But I was so pleased I didn't, as it was so much more interesting (and photogenic) than I realised until I got closer to it.
The yew tree in the churchyard is believed to be 2,000 years old. If true, that would make it the oldest tree in London. It is considered one of the Great Trees of London either way.
Though inclined to tree-climbing as a child, it's been a long time since I've felt the urge or the confidence to attempt such things. This tree and its boughs felt somehow tempting and welcoming, though I resisted the urge to climb into its arms.
Instead, I settled for capturing some abstract details of the trunk, the moss upon its surface, and the whorled and distorted shapes it presented to my lens.
Its shapes and colours reminded me of an oil slick. A terrain map. An aerial view of another planet.
direct your energy
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 10 June 2021].
Note to self.
I had a productive day today.
I managed to keep my focus for much of the day, though distraction caused by life slowed me down twice during the early afternoon and evening.
After focussing on work for clients for much of the day, I was looking forward to some photo editing but struggled to find the right image that I wanted to share.
I initially wanted to create and post a new lost in her own world collage. But I was struggling to find the right image to add to my template, so I moved on. I didn't want it to be forced.
Then I kept bypassing albums to review for a photo because they were images suited to #TravelTuesday or #SepulchralSunday posts or my Love letters to London.
As I was about to give up and have a cheese and cracker supper while watching some TV, this one popped up. So I edited it on the spot to share.
It's a promo for the gym in an archway in Thamesmead, here in London. But the lines, the light, the colours and the message caught my eye when visiting there in August 2019.
Perhaps I need to get it printed on a canvas to hang in my bedroom/workspace to help me on days when I feel like I'm wading through molasses. On days I'm struggling to see past the latest (emotional, mental, financial) hurdle placed in my path.
wall of remembrance
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 16 May 2021].
The part of me that loves a good play on words and adores puntastic titles wanted to call this deadman's curve.
The sombre respectful part of me felt I probably shouldn't. So I didn't.
Though some drivers in this cemetery, two days after Christmas last year, did drive in a way that made me worry for pedestrians wandering along the roads between the sections...
untitled #54
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 15 May 2021].
'Early birds' often swear by the hours of the morning before everyone else wakes as their most productive. Or maybe their self-improvement hours. Hours when they go for a run or participate in other forms of exercise. Or get in some quiet reading or meditation before the hustle and bustle of the day begins.
There's a false belief that night owls are somehow inferior. That we "waste" our day in bed.
Instead, many of us enjoy those same quiet, calm hours of productivity. We just prefer to experience them between 23:00 and 05:00, and they probably don't include physical exercise.
Yesterday I allowed myself a lie-in because I'd participated in two intensive two-day courses from Monday to Thursday and needed some recovery time.
Despite going to bed after 02:00, and initially waking before 09:00, I possibly allowed myself to linger longer in bed, dozing on and off, because of the vivid, emotional dreams I'd had before waking.
I was exploring a seaside town I've never been to. Wandering backstreets and footpaths and pubs and - as often happens for me in dreams - grappling with paths both inside and out that suddenly require me to wrestle with my fears of heights and falling.
Later, in one of the dreams, I found myself, barely clothed, in a customs office in Australia with Simon. I was begging for permission to enter the country despite all my identification and belongings having been stolen. I remember thinking of myself as an illegal alien.
In the afternoon, back in reality, I washed my mammoth pile of dishes. I won't tell you how long they'd been accumulating. You will judge me. However, they were all thoroughly rinsed, so there was nothing offensive about them beyond the quantity. While I washed them, I listened to a podcast about forensic science and then another about Einstein's theory of general relativity.
After a call with Simon, a shower, a supermarket run and dinner, I felt unsettled.
Nevertheless, at about 23:30, I settled in to edit photos for my long-overdue next instalment of my Love Letters to London series.
For the first time in what feels like months and probably is, I managed to edit photos without distraction for about 2.5 hours. It was bliss.
This photograph was taken at the location of some photos that may make it into my next 'Love Letter'. It fit my mood in these quiet hours, so I edited it to share with you this morning.
I paused at 02:00 mainly because I found myself thinking of a friend in Victoria who I knew was going under the knife this month. I wanted to check in on him while he was on my mind. In the calm, mellow hours of the morning, I got a positive update on his recovery, and we had a brief catch-up via Facebook Messenger.
While I was editing, I had the chance to catch up on new releases from St. Vincent, Juliana Hatfield, Paul Weller, and now Nicholas Britell. As well as singles from other artists.
The Underground Railroad soundtrack is particularly perfect for the frame of mind I'm currently in and seems a positive way to gradually wind myself down before heading to bed.
Many night owls don't sleep our lives away. We sleep about the same number - often less! - than early birds.
We just find our productive hours in a different part of the morning. Or in the afternoon or evening.
Are you an early bird or a night owl? When do you find are the most productive hours of your day?
Are you a vivid dreamer? Do you believe you don't dream? Or do you know you dream but never remember them upon waking?
Do you love hearing about others' dreams and sharing yours, or do you find it tedious to hear about others' dreams?
love letters to london: the wild life
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 28 February 2021].
So, here's my first proper love letter to London!
Firstly, I need to clarify that the aspects I'll highlight in these love letters are not necessarily exclusive to London or even to the UK.
I recognise the global nature of so much in our world means very little of what we enjoy about a place is native to that place or is exclusive in any way.
This series will highlight things I've either discovered in London, appreciated most from my time here, or that I feel London does well.
For example, I know Australia does wildlife like no other continent. It might not have the most extensive collection of native animals (or maybe it does. I haven't checked the stats on that!) But it has some of the most distinctive and recognisable ones.
But there are critters here you don't see roaming in the wild in Australia. And so, for me, London is the place I've had the opportunity to discover these fellas and observe them in their day-to-day activities. Many, literally, in my own backyard.
Despite living in a built-up suburban area of north London, I get to see eastern grey squirrels chasing each other in my backyard almost every day.
I get to see red foxes lurking about under the sensor light in the wee hours, leaving their tracks in the snow.
I get to check out tits perched on the branches outside my bedroom. Great tits, even.
I hear the hopeless karaoke of Eurasian magpies (beautiful birds but they cannae hold a tune!) and the lovely song of the blackbird, right from my cosy bed.
I'm not going to lie: this could have been devoted to squirrels. And I'm not discounting the possibility that I will, at some point, share a post that is purely squirrel, squirrel, squirrel.
I mean, they love nuts, toast and hanging around in cemeteries. We haven't discussed their opinion of cheese and cider. But I feel sure we see eye-to-eye on most things, aside from spending time at great heights and climbing trees.
I know the eastern grey is seen as an invasive species and has driven out a large proportion of the native red squirrel population. But they are super-cute little guys.
However, I thought I should also highlight some other critters I find engaging.
Unfortunately, I see foxes a lot but never manage to capture them well for various reasons. Many times because I'm indoors looking out from my bedroom or kitchen, other times because it's twilight or night-time and I'm only equipped with the camera on my phone. A neighbour of mine takes beautiful photos of them. Apparently, they hang out in his allotment, so I want to find out if I can drop in some time to meet them.
It feels like mute swans are everywhere in central London parks and canals. I'm not sure that's true, but I see them a lot, and they are one of the more difficult birds to capture well in photographs. Their bright white feathers often end up blown out in photos, especially where they're submerged and surrounded by dark, murky water.
They definitely seem less daunted by humans than other birds may be, though, not necessarily 'tame'. Likely because "they are protected under the Wildlife and Countryside Act 1981, and killing or even injuring one carries a £5,000 fine or six months in jail. Stealing a swan egg is considered an equal offence and carries the same maximum penalty".
Apparently, the 'punishable by death' law was never repealed either. Not that I have any intention to do these graceful fellows any harm, let alone consume them. But worth knowing.
An introduced species like myself, the Canada Goose seems to be as common as muck around London.
They are rather pleasing to look at, and they don't give a coot about other birds.
Speaking of coots, apparently, they're also commonly found in Australia, but I only noticed these masked birdies once I moved to London.
Back to some native birdlife, the grey heron is pretty eye-catching. Its yellow eyes, especially.
They also appear to be self-appointed lifeguards. Keeping an eye on the safety of other birds and animals on lakes in London's parks.
This post only just scratches the surface of the animalia that has caught my eye here in London. I'm regularly discovering birds, animals and insects that are new to me. Whether out and about in parks around London or just in my own yard. And photographing them where I can, of course!
love letters to london: love at first sight
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 29 January 2021].
“London is a bad habit one hates to lose.”
An anonymous saying, as quoted by William Sansom in Blue Skies, Brown Studies (1961)
I first visited London as 1991 became 1992. My family took a "'round the world" trip through Europe, the UK and the US, with time spent in London and towns in Wales during the UK leg.
As a child and teenager growing up in Australia in the late 70s to the early 90s, my humour and cultural tastes were heavily shaped by British television, especially British comedy. From the various series created by The Two Ronnies to The Young Ones. From The Goodies to Yes Minister and Rumpole of the Bailey. Monty Python, Blackadder, Absolutely Fabulous, Robin's Nest and Are You Being Served? I could go on, but I won't. I'm sure you get the picture.
But my music and some of my television tastes were more focussed on America. At the time, I was a subscriber to Bop and The Big Bopper: magazines focussed on teen stars of US television and film, many of whom were named Corey. (Though I'm sure that had nothing to do with my first serious boyfriend being called Corey...) I was 13, going on 14. You have to forgive me the foibles of youth.
I'd been a fan of Bon Jovi, Poison and other American hair bands along with the 'teen dreams' of New Kids on the Block for a long time. Around the time of our trip, with the influence from my older brother, Rob, I'd started to get into the Violent Femmes, but more importantly, UK bands like The Cure and The Jesus and Mary Chain.
I had inspiring experiences in the US and in Europe while on our family trip. New Orleans, San Francisco and Los Angeles stand out in the US. And pretty much everything in Europe we saw was inspiring. But I was surprised that I found myself turning away from a (by then) more US-centric focus to a UK-centric one by the time I returned to Australia.
Over the following years, my music tastes continued to span the UK/US borders. But I found myself more and more drawn toward the UK with the advent of Britpop.
By the time I finished my Diploma of Illustrative Photography in 1997, I knew I wanted to live in the UK for a time and have the opportunity to travel within Europe. What can I say? I guess I'm a product of my parents with their itchy feet for travel and their own overseas lives in their younger days.
By 1998 I had realised the benefits of my family history. I had started saving to move to the UK in 1999. My Grandpa on my Dad's side was born in Stoke Newington in London, so I could live in the UK on an Ancestry visa with fewer restrictions than many of my friends.
About that time, I ended up becoming entwined in a relationship. Thankfully, my then-partner was a fellow Anglophile (though I'm not sure I'd describe myself that way now). And he was also eligible for an Ancestry visa through his grandmother born in Wolverhampton. Consequently, we bought one-way tickets to London in May 1999 and arrived on 1 December the same year.
We were not at all unique in our intentions in those days. Australians in their early 20s were flocking to the UK in droves in the late 90s. While the 'working holiday visa' was reasonably restrictive, it served its purpose for adventurous Aussies (and Kiwis and South Africans) that longed to experience the other hemisphere up close.
For (what we originally believed to be) financial reasons, we initially settled outside London, in Bracknell. We then 'graduated' to Reading, where we met many friends I still hold dear now. Eventually, with the impetus of one of my then partner's friends and myself, we moved to London.
When we were eventually looking to move to London, those I worked with suggested we move to suburbs full to bursting with other Australians. Areas like Earl's Court. I couldn't think of anything worse. Though I continued to live with fellow Aussies (through my relationship and friendships), I didn't come to another country to spend all my time with my fellow countrymen! What was the point of coming all this way, if not to meet and mingle with locals?!
Despite my concerns, we did end up in an area that was apparently heavily populated by Aussies. We lived near Clapham North Station, on a road that ran between Clapham High Street and Brixton Hill. I didn't realise at that time, but the area was apparently full of Aussies. Maybe it was camouflaged by the pizza place across the road that we sunk our (small) fortune into being run by a lovely gay French couple. Or maybe it was hidden by the friendly Urdu-speaking family running the off-license we lived above. I don't know. But it never ever felt like an Aussie enclave.
While I loved so much of my time in London during that period, I worked long hours in an office in Canal Reach, near Camden Town. Initially clearing a backlog of invoices, and then eventually, with my manager's permission, scanning my own photos and uploading them to my fledgeling website outside of hours. At that point, we didn't have a computer or the internet at home.
When I was at home in the evenings and on the weekends, my time was mostly spent in relaxation. At home, in pubs or clubs, attending raves or travelling. Enjoying the company of my friends and housemates and the interiors of local boozers. And trying (unsuccessfully) to pretend the Champions League and EUFA Cup wasn't a thing.
I took surprisingly few photos of London during my time living here in 2001-2002. Most photos were taken in Bunhill Fields Cemetery, or in and from our flat in Clapham North. The majority were taken during travels with my parents during their 2001 visit. And during trips to Europe with David and our friends.
But I developed a love for the city that didn't die when I decided I was ready to go "home". I remember looking at flight prices in November 2001 for a trip home for my birthday in April 2002 and suddenly, out of curiosity, looking at one-way flight prices. That night I went home and asked David if he was ready to go "home". He said he was and we booked our flights without telling our employers.
What I didn't know then was that about three months after my return to Australia, I would realise I had just needed a break. That a month away with family and friends in Australia, and maybe reconsidering my relationship, and finding a new job on my return, was what I really needed.
Within those three months, I knew Melbourne wasn't home. I should have stayed in London. But it took me about nine years to get back here.
I've been back in London for over ten years now, and I don't see myself leaving anytime soon. I've visited Australia twice in the past three years and both times been reminded that I love the people - my friends, my family - and aspects of the country. But it's not my home anymore.
London is my home.
From foreign correspondent, a piece I wrote while living in Melbourne in 2006:
some days my heart is in london though, or somewhere not here.
i dream of returning to londinium. two year and some months spent in the kingdom; less than half of that lived in the grand city, but daily commute from reading to camden for months before i moved. its grey, wintry, polluted streets are like a lover you know is no good for you, but you want to be held by nevertheless. it's a city to love/hate and not be able to differentiate the taste of either. moreso, i have unfinished business with her; a wish to return on my own terms with a confidence i had not before.
promise made to self that my return would be on the understanding of permanence, not fleeting. and for now, that is a commitment i am unable and unready to make. for now i love being in my rainy city, and the freedoms that affords me, that the lady would deny: such as a dwelling larger than a box of cardboard, with no need of company.
i visited blake; or rather the stone that marks an empty grave. i found him at the tate and felt myself overwhelmed by such a fantastic volume of work. dante's inferno in illustration, amongst other works.
kinfolk bred me with feet hungry for the touch of new lands. eyes wide at the unknown, thirsting for new targets for my memory-catcher.
for now i enjoy being in the present, potentially visiting the isle of the dead in summer and satisfying my taste for one destination...
P.S. I apologise for the quality of the photos in this post. I don't currently have a scanner, and I don't have a proper set-up for rephotographing prints. Previously scanned versions I have are too small to share here. Over the past 6-12 months, I've been reminded that purchasing a scanner should be one of my Patreon goals. So I can share more of my older work with you and also for creating digital collages.
P.P.S. Some images in this post have been published before on previous iterations of my website. But many of them haven't been seen except in photo albums and piles of photographs by close friends many years ago.
P.P.S. Some images in this post have been published before on previous iterations of my website. But many of them haven't been seen except in photo albums and piles of photographs by close friends many years ago.
love letters to london
Today I celebrated my tenth Londonversary!
And I've decided to commemorate my ten (consecutive) years of living in London by sharing a series of 'Love letters to London' with you during 2021.
The series will cover a selection of things I love about London. Each post will focus on a different aspect and will, of course, feature previously unedited and unpublished photographs to illustrate it.
For now, I'm thinking twelve instalments - one a month - but let's see how we go. There might be a monthly broad-themed post with a smattering of bonus posts throughout the year focussing on a particular place, for example.
Whatever the case, I'll be sharing them to my Patreon first, early access for patrons. I'll share them here and elsewhere around the web about a week later when the post becomes public on Patreon.
I'm hoping to share the first one with my patrons later this week, so now's a good time to become a patron!
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.