No, I am not talking about baby photography. Not really my cup of tea, although I have done some of it for practice and for friends. The baby steps in the blog title refer to my journey back into photography’s arms. Yes, it’s another self-referential blog post – so shut up or get out now 😉
Still here? Ok. You’ll be pleased to hear that I have decided to stop wallowing and finally get my arse into gear. If the heart isn’t in it, the mind has to push. And so I chose to bring marky Mark out from his coffin and against
better worse judgment took him out at the weekend. We were off to a family event, but had a couple of hours to spare which we spent at a favourite holiday haunt of ours, just over the Wicklow-Wexford border.
Grumblingly I lugged marky Mark in my Crumbler bag from the car. Le BF set off on his own, obviously not in the mood for yet another moody walk with the “Disenchanted Photographer”. First I managed to get my trainers soaked in the mud and my mood sank down below sea level. And then I looked up and saw what was around me. And for a split second that old impulse was there, the automatic reach for the camera. To document and to archive the moment.
What clinched it, however, was the “Episode of the Moving Rock”. Having caught up with the uncooperative BF, we were staring at a grey rock about 30 meters away from us in the water. Rather depressing really. And I thought I had definitely lost it, when the rock started moving. I mean, you kinda have heard of “artists” losing their mind over their art á la van Gogh or Francis Bacon. But I didn’t really expect to lose the plot this early on. A little more suffering, please, before the creativity is replenished. Alas – it wasn’t just me who saw moving rocks. The camera saw it, too:
And thus the first little step has been taken. I have touched him. I have even imported the images. Who knows – maybe I will be able to think of a project next week? In the mean time – if anyone has a happy pill, I’ll take that, too!