an old scan from an old SLR
a poor quality image
but a popular picture chosen by 24 strangers coming to flickr today
I seem to live in cyberspace these days
and at times it is as far away as the moon
Monday 29 November 2010
colfosco church
Not so much the way ahead as the way back today
an old scan from an old SLR
a poor quality image
but a popular picture chosen by 24 strangers coming to flickr today
an old scan from an old SLR
a poor quality image
but a popular picture chosen by 24 strangers coming to flickr today
Beautiful and free: The scarlet Tiger Moth
a poem from another year, another time, suddenly visited by 44 unidentified people on flickr today. Where did they come from, who are they, and why did they come?
Saturday 27 November 2010
Saturday 6 November 2010
mistress and maid.
This was my first shoot with two models working with ambient and artificial light. I have mixed feelings about the results, but on the whole I am very happy. I have used a wide aperture and a longish exposure to create differential sharpness and a soft, oil paint effect for a series based on a poem by Duffy, called "Warming her Pearls"
Friday 5 November 2010
she likes me to warm her pearls
"She's beautiful. I dream about her
in my attic bed; picture her dancing
with tall men, puzzled by my faint, persistent scent
beneath her French perfume, her milky stones. "
in my attic bed; picture her dancing
with tall men, puzzled by my faint, persistent scent
beneath her French perfume, her milky stones. "
self and other
"All day I think of her,
resting in the Yellow Room, contemplating silk
or taffeta, which gown tonight? She fans herself
whilst I work willingly, my slow heat entering
each pearl. Slack on my neck, her rope."
resting in the Yellow Room, contemplating silk
or taffeta, which gown tonight? She fans herself
whilst I work willingly, my slow heat entering
each pearl. Slack on my neck, her rope."
and so it begins
I am now getting fully into work mode again after a long period of grief , sadness and house moving. I want to share a series of images I have created to go with a poem by Carol Ann Duffy, called "Warming her Pearls".
This is the poem in full.
Next to my own skin, her pearls. My mistress
bids me wear them, warm then, until evening
when I'll brush her hair. At six, I place them
round her cool, white throat. All day I think of
her,
resting in the Yellow Room, contemplating silk
or taffeta, which gown tonight? She fans herself
whilst I work willingly, my slow heat entering
each pearl. Slack on my neck, her rope.
She's beautiful. I dream about her
in my attic bed; picture her dancing
with tall men, puzzled by my faint, persistent scent
beneath her French perfume, her milky stones.
I dust her shoulders with a rabbit's foot,
watch the soft blush seep through her skin
like an indolent sigh. In her looking-glass
my red lips part as though I want to speak.
Full moon. Her carriage brings her home. I see
her every movement in my head...Undressing,
taking off her jewels, her slim hand reaching
for the case, slipping naked into bed, the way
she always does...And I lie here awake,
knowing the pearls are cooling even now
in the room where my mistress sleeps. All night
I feel their absence and I burn.
-CAROL ANN DUFFY
bids me wear them, warm then, until evening
when I'll brush her hair. At six, I place them
round her cool, white throat. All day I think of
her,
resting in the Yellow Room, contemplating silk
or taffeta, which gown tonight? She fans herself
whilst I work willingly, my slow heat entering
each pearl. Slack on my neck, her rope.
She's beautiful. I dream about her
in my attic bed; picture her dancing
with tall men, puzzled by my faint, persistent scent
beneath her French perfume, her milky stones.
I dust her shoulders with a rabbit's foot,
watch the soft blush seep through her skin
like an indolent sigh. In her looking-glass
my red lips part as though I want to speak.
Full moon. Her carriage brings her home. I see
her every movement in my head...Undressing,
taking off her jewels, her slim hand reaching
for the case, slipping naked into bed, the way
she always does...And I lie here awake,
knowing the pearls are cooling even now
in the room where my mistress sleeps. All night
I feel their absence and I burn.
-CAROL ANN DUFFY
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