Me

I always struggle to spell narcissism. What an interesting word. I was inspired by a tutorial on a photography website, though I was lacking some equipment so made do with the LED on my Speedlite and a Nepalese shawl. Further inspiration from a painting by Joseph Wright.

I feel I need to write a little bit, for my own well-being, about the goings-on of late. Albany was something of a struggle for me last month. I felt housebound and isolated and lost much of my will to live. Much worse though, I lost my will to photograph. My passion died- and not in a spectacular wrists-slit-by-your-lover-before-he-slits-his-own-so-that-your-heart's-blood-can-mingle-because-he-loves-you-but-he-must-remain-loyal-to-his-master kind of way. Nor in a shot-down-at-your-uncle's-wedding-because-you-dared-to-dishonour-a-promise-to-marry-his-daughter-before-your-pet-wolf's-head-is-severed-from-its-body-and-used-to-replace-your-own. No, it simply died like a snail in the dark accidentally trampled on or a small, sweet gecko shifted lovingly outside of one's abode only to be snapped up by a hungry kookaburra who soon devours it and begins the search for further nourishment.

I am beginning a new paragraph because the previous one was getting a little lengthy, but grammatically this may not have been correct. I found myself hastily taking a photo-any photo at all (I once photographed a smoke alarm with a smart phone), often at the eleventh hour in order to meet my Blip commitments. Eventually, I could not even manage this so deep was my desolation and I found myself breaking a promise I had made myself to blip each day this year.

Had I been within some sweeter mind space, perhaps this broken promise may have caused me some discontent. But, alas, I did not even flinch at this great mark on my honour. I simply continued to slide deeper and deeper into the abyss of my nonchalance, ice-cream encrusted spoon in one hand, jelly-beans in the other and grandpa slippers on my remaining appendages- for a loveless house in wintry Albany is chilly indeed. At times I pretended that my camera was not even there, gazing at me, ever-lovingly but so forlornly waiting patiently for my passion to be re-ignited. Will I ever forgive myself for this unjust, appalling treatment of someone who had always been a true and worthy friend? I do not know. Given my previous experience in similar circumstances, it seems unlikely.

But then, at last, the sun did shine once more. I woke one afternoon to a shiny new hire-car, and with it, the possibility of photographing a wind farm. Tenderly and patiently, the fire of my passion for life was re-lit. I found myself in a house of love where broken hearts are carefully nurtured so that healing is inevitable. I found myself able to smile again. Able to hope again. Able to sing again. Able to believe again. To promise again. I found myself able to photograph again.