santa's potting shed
all that glitters is not gold
never a dull moment
a bird in the hand
i only want to be with you
also perpetuating
happy birthday, anthony
This year's visit to Australia was predominantly about family and officially saying goodbye to Mum.
But alongside that and reuniting with some wonderful friends, I also had the chance to (officially) say goodbye to one of my oldest friends, Anthony Horan.
My thanks go out to Anthony's brother, Chris, and mutual longtime friends, Amy and Richard, for accompanying me and making the visit possible.
It was lovely to finally meet Chris and reunite with Amy and Richard after so long.
It was a sombre visit. Rain threatened. There was much mud on the 'lawn'.
But there was also cheeky humour amongst us, in keeping with the sort of comments and jokes Anthony would have made if he'd been able to reply to us as we stood by the grave his ashes share with his father's remains.
When I visited, there was a temporary marker for Anthony and his dad. I'm sure when I visit next it will look different (if it doesn't already).
I've been catching up on sharing iPhone photos from my trip on Instagram, and this morning, I reached my photos from that day. I thought I would share them on the second anniversary of his passing in January, oblivious to the date.
But, when I remembered later in the day it was his birthday in Australia, it was obvious today was the day to share.
It's currently his birthday in Melbourne and London.
So, the penguins and I are raising a toast to an old friend.
Love and miss you, Anthony. Always. xx
shot through the heart
like water for chocolate
uplifting angels
life is a jest
I usually steer clear of including identifying details in my photographs of headstones if they are of those more recently deceased. I may take a photo of the grave in full but not share it.
In most instances, it feels respectful, especially with the possibility that a family member or friend might happen across my photographs and perhaps take offence at them or my often puntastic titles.
But, as a fellow hedonist, I feel Julia Nunn may appreciate her grave being seen further afield after her passing. Though I can't find anything online that I can confirm is about this particular Julia Nunn to share with you.
Her epitaph initially caught my eye, but the quote on her grave from English poet and dramatist John Gay drew me further in.
I didn't know anything about him until researching the quote tonight. The phrase - his own words - is inscribed on a monument to him in Westminster Abbey.
crucifixion
On a rainy day in late September 2021, I was returning from a few days away in West Sussex with my friend and fellow photographer, Phil.
That day, I was scheduled to return to finish my first cat-sitting with the kittehs I'm currently sitting.
Shiloh is nestled in my lap as I type this, despite my semi-regularly lifting her off my lap to go to the fridge or the bathroom during the past few hours of photo editing. When I do that, she gives me a Marge Simpson-like sound of disapproval.
I had an off-peak return ticket to London from Chichester, which meant I could take any train on any permitted route to get back to London within a month of the original booking.
Arundel was on the route back, so we drove there and wandered through the drizzle. Visiting a bookstore. Visiting Arundel Cathedral and the nearby St Nicholas' Church and its churchyard. And having food in a local cafe before Phil dropped me at the station for the next train.
Coincidentally, the train I had planned to be on was cancelled. But I digress.
In the churchyard of St Nicholas' Church, we experienced drizzle, rain, the beautiful after-rain sunlight and the saturated hues post-rain brings to stonemasonry, plant life and... well, everything.
In the churchyard, we also found this elaborate crucifixion scene.
At the time, I presumed it was a monument for someone with a lot of money. Perhaps with a name in the local community.
But, in retrospect, I presume it was installed by the church. Though I can't find anything online to confirm or deny that.
Since I took these photos, I've been keen to share them, but I knew I had to share them as a series, not as individual photographs. And, obviously, Easter is a timely point to share them.
I didn't capture a long shot showing all the participants in this act of mourning together. But, from the individual photographs and the photographs of Christ and the two women, I'm sure you get a sense of the scene.
I presume (with my limited atheist knowledge) the two women closest to Christ are his mother, Mary, and Mary Magdalene. A quick Google search tells me the man is unlikely to have been Christ's father, Joseph.
Earlier today, I tried calibrating the monitor I'm working on, but I'm unsure how successful I've been. Hopefully, successful enough that I don't have to redo the edits on these photographs over the coming days.
Happy Easter to those who celebrate it.
death in reserve
As with many of my friends and lovers, my parents reached a point where they not only accommodated my obsession with visiting and photographing cemeteries, graveyards, churchyards and other final resting places. But they facilitated it.
Sometimes I wonder if it was because they felt they owed me for all the times my brothers and I were left to our own devices in winery car parks in our childhood and teens. While they tasted and purchased wine, muscat and/or port, whether on a day out or on a road trip.
I spent most of those times reading the books I was absorbed by, and I came to enjoy wine in my early 20s. My brothers didn't. Maybe they "owed" my brothers more than me.
Sometimes, it was because the cemetery was near where they or their relatives lived at some point.
I vaguely remember Mum mentioning that one of her relatives was buried in Peachester Cemetery. Dad confirmed it was one of her cousins.
Whatever the initial reasoning, my parents seemed to find them interesting the more they lurked in them with me.
And with Crohamhurst Ecological Reserve on its borders, Peachester Cemetery was one of the more scenic cemeteries I've photographed, although the graves were simple.
now he's gone aloft
jesus christ pose
life's a short summer, man a flower
The final stanza of Samuel Johnson's poem about Winter (with some tweaks), inscribed on a headstone in Arbroath Abbey that I captured in April 2011.
The original quote reads:
Catch the, O! catch the transient hour,
Improve each moment as it flies;
Life's a short Summer - man a flower,
He dies - alas! how soon he dies!
Though the quote on Wikiquote varies from the above and attributes it to a poem with a different name and only cites the final stanza.
I don't have a copy of the original poem to be 100% sure which is correct, but I'm okay with artistic license on headstones.
until next year #136
until next year #137
lichenometry
I love when my photography leads me to discover new (to me) and very geeky things.
In seeking an appropriate word to use as a title for this image, I read about an intriguing way of measuring time and dating rock.
No, not that kind of dating.
Rather, establishing the age of exposed rock.