Fortunately blue skies always cheer me up

Noticed while walking down the stairs after a meeting. Sometimes there are good things about being at work. The view is one of them.

When love dies

The flowers die too. I wasn't happy last night.

Because there aren't enough people

Final one. And then to bed.

My mum with a folly, the runied roman arch. Now even more ruined than it once was.

Moore Kew

I like the brooding.

8/3/2008

On days with no photo...

I'll use one from the one of the days I was feeling more inspired and had too many to choose from. 15 hours at work left me lacking in inspiration and missing beauty. You already saw my pig yesterday, that's about as good as my desk gets.

So today, more tulips. These are the watercolouresqe prints that reminded me that I can have fun with my camera, and that typically, it isn't even that far away. I love the deep pinks against the night sky.

If the pig had flown...

... I might have gotten out of the office earlier

6/3/2008

Day 3: The Boy

The boy. Illuminated by his machine. The technogeek prepping for his interviews tomorrow.

He is a natural with the haddock, although that isn't really illustrated here.

Paper cranes

Day two.

Paper cranes, under the bridge at Vauxhall. They hung under the bridge, fluttering in the wind, paper cranes hanging from the nets that keep the pigeons away.

The photo blog

A photo a day for two weeks.

Today, tulips, and the Valentine's card, both from my boyfriend. It's soppy, but he is a great thing to wake up to.

Last night, I photographed the tulips against the evening sky. The grain, and the rich colours remind me of an oil painting. In the morning light, against condensation rather than a textured night sky they are less dramatic, more subdued, but they reflect the expectation of a new day, ready to develop.

Just been bumbling along these last few days. Stayed at home this weekend, without any company, which made it pretty quiet. Gave me the chance to do mundane things like tidying my room, plaiting my hair – I now have a surprisingly small head, and actually finishing my creative writing assignment though. Highlight was going to see The Educators. Lowlight was finally facing my bank account and shocking myself with my own profligacy. Selling stuff on eBay now to try and make amends... Cue frequent refreshing of the page to see how fast the bids are mounting up. It's already up to £4.20 and I only made the listings this afternoon, so not doing too badly.

I went to a really interesting exhibition on Friday at the Millennium Gallery in Sheffield. The Real Ideal – Utopian Ideals and Dystopian Realities. It was mixed media and there were some really amazing pieces. The idea was to subvert the viewers’ expectations, showing scenes that should be idyllic but which contained an edge of darkness.

There were some huge photographs by Gregory Crewsdon. They were incredibly detailed, with amazing depth of field (everything was in focus), bold colours and suggestive lighting. One was of a woman, sat alone on her bed. From the door to her bed lay a trail of roses. But not your average Valentine’s style floor littered with delicate petals, this was a trail of mud, thorns and vivid blood red petals. The woman’s arms and legs were covered in mud, in the bed lay the thorny remains of the rose bush that had been dragged through the house. On the bedside table were pills, alcohol and cigarettes. A suitcase sat in the hall, waiting by the door. The picture was saturated with detail. Others in the series showed a car parked in the middle of an intersection, driver’s door wide open, the passenger left alone in the car; and a Bree-type lady with red hair sat at dinner with her son, waiting for whoever was meant to be sat in the two empty places. The meat on the table dripped blood onto the paint and you could see the defeat in the woman’s eyes.

Still lives by Mr and Mrs Ivan Morrison showed photographs of bouquets of flowers in the tradition of the old masters. However, juxtaposed against the blooms were images of death and decomposition – a dead pigs head beneath one, wood pigeons below another, and putrefying fish below a third. At first you don’t recognise what is lurking below the flowers, but once you do, your reaction to the whole scene is transformed to one of disgust.

Katie Deith used painting to create her sense of unease. The pictures were inspired by holiday brochures. They showed beautiful natural scenes painted in saturated colours, with the colour conspiring to create an edge of menace.

The music from a video installation helped create the mood. The song was very tender, but in listening to the lyrics the despair became apparent.

‘What a wicked game to play, to make me feel this way.

What a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you.

What a wicked thing to say, you never felt this way.

What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you and,

No, I don't want to fall in love.

With you.

With you.’

Day in the Life #6

Quiet day at home today. Feel like I’m getting mum’s cold, so trying to take it easy. Checked the internet, read the paper, undid my hair, read my book. Called Marc to catch up with him and his London working guy adventures. He seems to be enjoying the job and finding time to fit other bits and bobs in around it. Cotched on my beanbag for quite a while – my little reading nook is doing well.

Undid, washed, dyed, blow-dried and twisted my mum’s hair. She has an infected thumb and had to have the nail removed, so currently her right thumb, and pretty much right hand is out of action. Mum isn’t a natural patient, far too self-reliant. Thus washing and dying her hair at times turned into a bit of a battle of wills – ‘Harder! Faster! Left a bit! Now you’ve got it in my face!’. Finished a bit after 10pm and went to bed not too long after.