[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 3 October 2021].
his end was peace
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 13 September 2021].
It's been a crazy busy few days.
I have so much to tell you.
New friends to introduce you to, as well.
And, hopefully, tomorrow I'll have a new self-portrait to share with you and can share a little of my new assignment with you!
monday mourning
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 6 September 2021].
Last week was another rollercoaster of emotions, for better or worse.
A phantom anniversary. Remarked upon but left uncelebrated.
The fire under emotions briefly rekindled. Absentmindedly stirred and warmed then left forgotten upon the cooling stove once more.
A meeting related to the new assignment I mentioned last week inspired me, excited me and made me at least a little jealous. But at least that jealousy will be assuaged by the opportunity to live and work in a space for a few weeks that I see as hugely inspiring.
Maybe this experience will lead to other similar opportunities. Let's see...
And then, on Friday evening, it seems I found a lovely new flatmate (subject to referencing). All going to plan, she'll move in at the beginning of October.
Between emotional and physical upheavals, September will potentially be looked back upon (and for now, looked forward to) as one of impermanence.
But, mostly, I hope, in a good way.
unstained glass
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 29 August 2021].
This week has been such a mixed bag. A rollercoaster of emotions.
High points: spending the evening with friends doing a BYO quiz at a pub on the other side of town, and long chats with friends far away about life, love, art, work and the future.
Low points: feelings of panic, fear and dread. Some of that feeling has calmed, but it'll be a while before it goes. And there is so much more left to do to lift it.
Meanwhile, and possibly related, the past few days have been the most productive I've been able to have since before I caught Covid. Especially in terms of working on things long overdue that will move me further in the direction I want to go.
I've been working on avenues to find new clients, including updating and adding projects to my profile on The Dots. I still have more projects to add, but it now includes some social media design and copywriting work I did in my previous job.
Unfortunately, you can only view the content of my projects when logged in. If you're a member, feel free to connect with me.
I've also been working on profiles on other sites. And I need to create a portfolio website showcasing my design, social media, book design, editorial photography, writing work, etc. Not just my photography, which is what my main website is for.
I also seem to have fallen into a new line of work. My first assignment is expected to start from 13 September for three weeks, running alongside any other projects I pick up during that time.
Some of you already know what it is (no spoilers in the comments, please!) But I'm going to keep it under wraps for everyone else until it starts.
I hope it will inspire me, lead to new photo series, and maybe even involve collaboration. I'll say no more for now.
I hope those of you in the UK are having a pleasant bank holiday weekend and that all of you are staying safe and well x
swan song
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 23 August 2021].
I'm a day late with my Sepulchral Sunday offering for last week. But I was out most of yesterday catching up with Phil to visit The Wallace Collection.
It was an inspiring day that included seeing Les hasards heureux de l'escarpolette (The Swing) by Jean-Honoré Fragonard up close.
Other highlights included:
two views of Venice by Canaletto I was familiar with from a book I read about the city many years ago, and
a selection of Animalia and hunting-trophy paintings by Jan Weenix.
I was pleased my second attempt to visit a gallery almost a month after my previous disastrous attempt was successful!
Sorry things were a little quiet around here last week. I finally managed to finish cleaning my flat post-Covid and then ended up laid low for about a day and a half after getting my second dose of the vaccine.
The pain from the vaccine was less this time. But I had a few dizzy and nauseous moments and spent most of Tuesday evening and Wednesday feeling like I was about to come down with something. My face felt warm and like I was on the verge of a headache or fever - neither of which came, thankfully - so I took the time to rest until the side effects passed.
Around that, I did some research for a client and continued my hunt for a new flatmate.
Hopefully, all the health issues are now behind me. So I can get back to the things I need to do, including regularly sharing work with you here!
until the day break and the shadows flee away
communing with nature
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 8 August 2021].
A new image from my stained glass series for you this Sunday night.
Wednesday to Friday of this week was full of cleaning and life admin. On Thursday and Friday, I wanted to share work here but was too exhausted to manage it.
On the plus side: all of my flat except the kitchen and my bedroom is now clean and tidy. I'm hoping to get both of those rooms sorted early this week around everything else I need to catch up on now that I feel mostly back to normal.
Yesterday, some lovely friends visited my neck of the woods, and I was spoiled with a large, tasty lunch and lively conversation. It was good to see friends in person for the first time in almost a month.
Eating out and being maskless in a busy restaurant felt a bit daunting. But we managed to get a table on the edge of the outdoor area, which made it feel slightly less so.
The in-person conversation was complimented by another long and winding phone conversation with a friend into the wee hours afterwards.
Today was relatively short but productive. I feel like my body and mind are in recovery mode after a physically and emotionally exhausting week. So I'll be having an early night - by my standards - to try to help me face all the things I need to get through this coming week.
grave dancers union
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 1 August 2021].
In 2000 and 2001, my then partner, David, and I visited Edinburgh in "festival season".
We timed our visits to coincide with the Edinburgh Book Festival, the Edinburgh International Film Festival, T at the Fringe, the Edinburgh Fringe Festival and the Edinburgh Military Tattoo.
Unfortunately, our timing meant we always missed the Edinburgh Jazz Festival. And we never actually made it to any events held as part of the Military Tattoo. We didn't even manage to visit Edinburgh Castle when it was open.
But we had some truly inspiring experiences.
For example, seeing Margaret Atwood and Naomi Klein discussing their recent publications. The latter shortly after the time of the release of No Logo. Getting to ask Irvine Welsh about choosing which short stories to include in the film version of The Acid House.
Seeing Pulp, Arab Strap and Dirty Three at various venues as part of T at the Fringe. Supergrass was a bit of a non-plus, though.
Arab Strap and The Dirty Three were a surprise gift from me to David. I didn't really know them but knew he liked them, so I booked us tickets to their gigs at The Liquid Room. Little did I know I would absolutely love both and that we would have a chance to natter with The Dirty Three's bassist (and painter), Mick Turner, over a few drinks after the Dirty Three gig. A definite highlight.
We also managed to see some excellent theatre, including a feminist take on Jean-Paul Sartre's No Exit.
Each year we went there, we made sure to have at least one day and one night without any bookings so we could get out of town for a drive. The first year we drove along the north side of Loch Ness and around the base of Ben Nevis. The second year, we stayed a night on the Isle of Skye.
Each year we spent the money we saved on accommodation by camping south of Edinburgh on hiring a car to drive there. Staying away for a night wasn't a costly experience, and a hire car gave us plenty of flexibility.
In 2001 I ventured into the churchyard of the Parish of St Cuthbert. It was, and still is, an inspiring churchyard.
I have photos from visits in 2001 and 2011. The first photos were taken with black and white film, and the second visit 10 years later was captured in colour with my Nikon D700.
I've held off sharing my photos of the churchyard from 2011 simply because I would like to share them as a collection with my black and white film photographs. I know I captured many of the same graves on both occasions. And I also photographed a homeless man in one of the derelict mausoleums on my first visit. To share those photos, I need access to a film scanner or to purchase one, and I'm working on that.
But today, I'm sharing this distinctive headstone. I don't recall photographing it on film.
Their torches turned toward the ground represent the extinguishing of life. But beyond that, I know little about the grave or the meaning of these long-haired figures in loincloths.
untitled #19
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 25 July 2021].
Today was a learning experience: I am not superhuman.
Back out of self-isolation - finally - and feeling like a million bucks, I went ahead with plans made before catching Covid. I ventured into central London to meet Phil to see the Sophie Taeuber-Arp exhibition at Tate Modern.
It was meant to be my first visit to the gallery since 8 March 2020, just before the pandemic started.
Instead, it was a fool's errand.
Double-masking for the Tube journey, by the time I reached Holborn, I knew something was wrong. I started to feel faint after the short walk to the station and about 15 minutes of standing on the train. The cooler air as I came up to the Central line refreshed me a bit. But I grabbed a seat for the two stops to St Paul's.
By the time I got out of St Paul's station, it was a quick call between the Co-op for food or sitting down to avoid falling down.
I went for the latter on a park by the back of St Paul's Cathedral, but then I was too far away from the Co-op to get food and drink to revive myself.
Full disclosure: yesterday was a mess of a day, and in the process, I neglected to eat. I'd had a handful of sour cream and chive pretzels while dressing this morning and thought I'd be okay until I could grab a sandwich at the gallery.
When I realised my predicament, I called Phil to let him know, and I ended up bailing up a passing couple who kindly took some cash from me to buy me a sandwich and a drink. They came back with both plus some fruit. Thank goodness for the kindness of strangers!
The food helped but not enough. I realised I couldn't walk 20 minutes from St Paul's to the gallery, let alone 1.5 hours slow-walking around inside the gallery in a mask. As it was, even after finishing the cheddar ploughman sandwich and a third of the cherry 7Up Free, I was struggling not to feel lightheaded standing on the spot.
At that point, I admitted defeat and told Phil to go ahead with the exhibition on his own, and I'd figure out how to get home.
It took me an hour, all told, to get transport.
I managed to get to a nearby Starbucks to use their bathroom. I then tried to head home via the Tube, but as soon as I got down to the platform, it was clearly a massive "nope".
I quickly made my way back up to the street level to try to hail a cab. There were so few of them, and those that passed already had passengers or were on the wrong side of the multi-way intersection I was near.
I sat back on a bench about two over from the one I'd landed on when I came out of the station. I repeatedly swore as I waited for the Uber app to download, and I went through the process of setting up an account. Finally, I was able to book a car to collect me.
The seven minutes to arrival felt like the longest seven minutes ever. I had a feeling of pressure on the back of my ears and across the back of my head, indicating I was perilously close to fainting. I couldn't lie down on the bench because it had armrests between each seat.
The relief when my Uber arrived was unbelievable. I was finally able to lie down in the back of the car to recover. It took about 5-10 minutes until I could sit up and talk with the driver for the rest of the journey. He was a nice guy, and we had a good conversation while he drove me back to the safety of home.
I made it into the flat safely but was still very low on energy. So I crawled back into bed to try to recover.
After a 50-minute call from a friend in Melbourne and replying to some messages, I felt like I would at 3 AM, not 3 PM. My body threatened to fall asleep while I was typing into my phone.
While thunderstorms raged outside, I slept for most of 1.5 hours. Then close to another 2 hours before I finally felt able to resurface and get some chores done and edit the photo above from a visit to St Ethelreda's Church in Hatfield in 2019.
Based on today's experience, it will be a while before I venture far from home again. I might try to walk to the high street (about 500m from my place) tomorrow for some small things. But I'll be ordering groceries online this week and laying low while I recharge my batteries.
On a "related, but not" note: it is not ideal to have symptoms of carpal tunnel syndrome for the first time when in the midst of, and recovering from, a highly infectious and deadly virus. But at least now I know what the strange tingling in my left arm is. And the panic surrounding that particular symptom has disappeared.
Also related: the virus has made me a cheap drunk, at least temporarily.
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.
semper vivum
[I originally posted this image as early access for my Patreon patrons on 11 July 2021].
the tenant of wildfell hall
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 4 July 2021].
It was a wet and windy day when I visited Anne Brontë's final resting place in St Mary's churchyard in Scarborough in June 2017.
The weather felt appropriate, as did the wilted flowers against the headstone.
of hearts and flowers
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 27 June 2021].
Another long overdue catch-up with another lovely friend today. One who's also recently gone through a break-up.
Victoria invited me to Paris to stay with her almost ten years ago. She wandered through Pere Lachaise Cemetery with me as I took the images from my stained glass series.
So good to message with her today, despite the circumstances that brought us together this time around.
'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.
father
[I originally posted this image as early access for my Patreon patrons on 13 June 2021].
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
sign of the cross
[I originally posted this image as early access for my Patreon patrons on 23 May 2021].
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 #149
[I originally posted this image as early access for my Patreon patrons on 2 May 2021].