Edward Dimsdale

I am a sucker for all things Japanese and this image is beautiful
The last image is from an exhibition soon to be on at Hackel Bury Fine Art, one of the best photgraphy galleries in London. What makes these images so etherally beautiful is that they are from paper negatives. I do miss all that dark room stuff, so much so that since I was given a dark room, I am seriously thinking about setting up a couple of emlargers so that I can dip my toe back into the developing fluid.

The Youth have got the Legs and those with Age have got the Money.

By EMNH 2006
not always! but it helps.




The thing that I love about this Parisian woman’s look is that none of the individual pieces are expensive or by well-known designers, and yet how much would you pay to look like this when you are her age? from here



Funny, but I was just talking to Cathy Horyn about my recent 20-year high school reunion. We were talking about aging gracefully, and she talked about how so many women do it backwards. She was talking about how, as women age, they should wear less makeup, wear flatter shoes, cut their hair shorter, and be less obvious with their sexiness and more mysterious, and definitely stay away from Botox…

Later that day, while I was walking on Via Verri, I saw this woman. Could she be any more chic, and yet utterly simple and straightforward about her age and her comfort with that? from here
I have said it already but the fun I am having trawling through the Sartorialist archives on style.com is endless. If you go back to 2006 you will see he wrote more. I love these two awesome posts. Inspirational, I am really looking forward to the book.

I did not think it could get worse but now this stupid computer will not let me see my pictures or re-edit work I am SO frustrated.

House love - Shoe love

It is easy to take IT for granted, I am very lucky that I live with someone who is IT literate, one of his few saving graces. Despite moving to a new site at work the relentless litany of problems would fill its own blog.
One problem that has caused me unnecessary suffering is that the central server frequently crashes. Not with a bang but a sly whimper. The first time this happened I did not realise and lost not one but four documents, all vanished into cyber ether. It happened again yesterday but I now know the signs and have learnt to whip a memory stick in before I lose more work. I still struggle without access to my blog. I can read others sans pictures but not comment. By the time I get home and remember, my comment is buried at the bottom, its momentum lost.
Yesterday I had to install a simple programme on Kitty’s computer, to do this we had to empty a lot of stuff, as her memory is nearly full. Still no joy, it took Emin 3 hours to unravel and install the programme, he sat muttering about the amount of crap the girls have managed to unknowingly install and that “nothing in IT is simple”
I failed to go to my exhibition on Sunday because I had foolishly agreed that if Emin endured State Of Play I would in return sit through Star Trek. Whoop-di-doo! Not quite the gentle pace that I remember, with wobbly sets and wooden acting.
I was exhausted.
Watching the trailers. he rubbed his hands with glee at the prospect of Terminator. Oh bloody joy, there must be a special brew that actors drink to give them this ‘rusty nails’ growl, refreshingly the baddie was an American for a change rather than the usual British stooge and this was one angry baddie, and trust me you wouldn’t like him if he was angry!

On a more upbeat note I would love to get my hands on this magazine. I have a few copies of the British version but I bet the homes in the India version are gorgeous, a perfect antidote to the bitterly cold north easterly winds cutting me in half at the moment
I have just looked at the British web site which is surprisingly user friendly.

Enjoy the house porn.

You might be forgiven for thinking that I have a bit of a thing for white paintwork and reclaimed wood, and you would be right. I love it. Sadly I live in a VERY colourful house greens reds pinks and blues. Only our bedroom is white. One day....

Now for a little shoe porn

The 3.1 phillip lim for Tatami but out of my price range.

This gorgeous sandal is not

and this one, all from Scholl

I am going to try them all, wish me luck. I have been topping up my scrap book, and I have just printed some pages from The Sartorialist I am not a little surprised at how many images show women wearing flats.

The view from here

There was something rather sad that these flowers were so easily discarded after the student had finished photographing them. The students sat a 15 hour exam over 3 days, unlike the old days of developing and printing their film this exam ran very smoothly. No tears as film was over developed or under exposed, any images that were too dark were quickly lightened.
I suggested a montage, did she use scissors? No, two clicks and 2 hours of relentless cutting was done in moments.
Are the end results better? Strangely no, neither are they any worse. I personally hate Photoshop I will not use it, but I can appreciate that they prefer to work that way. Even annotation is quicker typed than written by hand.
Whilst they slogged I trawled through some old Vogues and put together a scrap book including topping up my jewellery ideas. I decided in my usual perverse way that having eschewed colour for a cleaner palate I needed to add a brighter slice, and so took back this lime green cardie I had given Daisy.

Worn with a black tunic and wide leg trousers I love it.
I took Daisy to Victoria today and put her on a bus to mothers. She has a lot of revision which is difficult in this house of chaos. She will return on Friday when we will go and see a performance of Ibsen's Dolls House, one of my favourite plays. On the way back I bumped into these Morris Dancers.

Can you spot the ice cream?

Not a drop was spilt!

I loved all the hats

These two were fantastic

The jewellery was pretty funky too.

This takes me right back to my childhood which was rather idyllically spent in a village in West Yorkshire. I remember Morris dancers in the square often clutching a pint. It maybe pagan but it is great fun and I hope it is a tradition that does not die out.

BENEDICTE EMSENS

For many years I have explored zones of uncertainty where something is becoming something else, these 

blurred moments where misrecognition is taking place before recognition, where mishearing is part of 

hearing, misunderstanding part of understanding. I am interested by the move of limits and boundaries 

between ‘it is’ and’ it isn’t’, by the play of appearances unfolding layers of reality

More from this web site.

I found the about photographer via this gallery's web site, which amazingly is just down the road from where I live so hopefully I will make there this weekend.

Viewfinder Photography Gallery

Painterly Photographs 

24 April to 17 May

Steven Spencer, Ben Ali Ong, Caroline Fraser and Benedicte Emsens

The exhibition rekindles historic debates as to the relationship between the painting and photography: if photography has established itself as an artform in its own right, why are some photographers drawing once again on painterly approaches? How does it change how we read a photograph when we're no longer sure if it is a photograph or a painting?

The view from here

Yep the fugliest dog in the world.

A joy to have but a pain in the butt at night as he is STILL a bed wetter, nappies for dogs perhaps?

This post from The Year in Pictures really jarred on me.

Let’s start by saying American photography so dominates the medium as to make other countries’ contribution a footnote. So we’re really choosing the most iconic photograph of all times.

Avedon-Russian

Lange- ne Nutzhorn-German

Capa- Hungarian

Eisenstadt- Austro Hungarian

Abbott- ne Nemerov – Russian*

This list is by no means accurate but illustrates my point.

America dominates, should really read Eastern Europe dominates, just as it did with painting and architecture after in the early part of the 20th Century. The boarders of most of Europe were wooly and very mercurial from the late 19th Century onwards but in my opinion it could be argued by some one more articulate than I that America has built it’s reputation on the refugees of Fascism and Communism. ( now that IS a sweeping statement) 

America is to be applauded for its open minded attitude  to new technology when much of Western Europe was dogged by tradition and expectation. America without a doubt gave rise to some amazing photographic images. Revolution and War took its toll on Europe but I for one was a little disappointed by this blanket generalisation from someone I thought would have the experience and knowledge to come out with such a xenophobic generalisation. But that is the beauty of this medium; it is all about opinions and the freedom to express them which is why so many headed for America.

On a more domestic front I took Daisy to see Time and the Conways by JB Priestly. on at the National Theatre . I had read an Inspector Calls and loved it, but did not know much about this play, it resonates as much today as it must have done when it was first staged in 1939. References to poor government, shady financial practises all thrown into the heady mix of a typically dysfunctional family. There were moments of extreme discomfort for me as Mrs Conway  morphed into my mother. Scary stuff, brilliantly acted. We saw it before the press review I much prefer it that way as no matter how fair they are they can often taint and misdirect your feelings.

My mother has put her house up for sale. Originally she had intended to move to York but recently she has been toying with moving to London. I think she feels she would have more to do and my girls would obviously want to be round her house 27/7. 

Sister 2 lives in York in one of those houses that should be condemned as a hovel with my psycho weirdo Goth of a niece, add this heady mix of company to some octogenarian friends riddled with a range of ailments too lengthy to list and I can kind of see her dilemma. So I walked around and found her a few to look at. Leyla approached the task with the enthusiasm that only an 8 year old could muster up. Every single house with a for sale sign got the once over. many were out of the price range at which point Leyla demanded that I should help pay. My reluctance to do so she found offensive, after all she could have a bedroom AND a playroom in some of the larger properties. 

I don't have the heart to tell her it's only a maybe  not a definite.

 Finally after tonight I am bereft of my absolute most favourite TV show. Yep mad men is over, I could cry. A weekly slice of perfection beyond compare. Like a walking, talking William Eggleston. Each frame was  just a delight. Once I got over the slowness of pace and the constant smoking and drinking I warmed to the series enormously, unlike the author of this article I found the sexism less surprising, although my intense loathing of 'Don' intensified throughout the series maybe I am more pragmatic. My one consolation is I have yet to see series 1. 

Patchwork Quilt

It was two years ago today. (well and two days)

A lot has changed since I wrote my very first post and yet in a way very little has changed.

Those opening images are now a record of what was. Now my 'room' has no window, it is tidy and organised, waiting for the first paint to be squeezed the first colour to be mixed. I thought at first this blog would be a sort of visual scrapbook. But it is and it is not, in a way it has become so much more. One rule I have is I do not monitor visitors, I have no idea how many people read this blog or by what search they arrive by. For me the blog has become a diary, all be it one that is very ephemeral. I do not own it, it could be shut down at any time. If I press delete there is no back up to save it. I quite like it like that.

So why a patchwork blanket?

Many years ago, before Leyla was born Emin found a lump in my breast. I shrugged, with the insouciance of a seasoned ostrich. He mentioned it at Christmas by Easter he started to nag.

It was at this time that on a bit of a whim I flew to Pusan in South Korea to visit my father, he taught at a University and had managed to get me a room in the hall of residence to stay at for free.

I had the trip of a lifetime, if I could ever return I would. I had time to think and time to walk and take lots of photographs.

The journey however was relentless, coming home I succumbed to the on flight entertainment and watched Step Mom. Not a film I would choose to watch but anything to pass the time. During the film Susan Sarandon discovers she only has a few months to live, she sets about making a patchwork quilt, to leave to her children, giving them memories to draw upon as they grow older.

Only then did it dawn on me how stupid and selfish I was being. This lump was not about me, it was not my lump, it was their lump. Daisy and Kitty had a right to a mother.

They day after I landed I went to the Doctor, a few weeks later after a biopsy I had the lump removed I was so very lucky that despite it’s size (walnut) it was benign.

Whilst I was in hospital I started to talk to the women opposite, she had two girls and one was called Poppy. She had found a lump despite breast feeding. That was all we had in common, she was having a mastectomy and reconstructive surgery.

What we both agreed on, however was that before the decision to investigate we were both equal. The decision to go to the doctor is what separates the lucky from the unlucky. Like me she waited, just not as long she was a nurse and she knew the consequences of delay.

I now have one breast a cup size smaller than the other which is a small price to pay for a life. That I could be that selfish was wrong, but fear does strange things to us.

I realise that this blog shows a very different side to me, the side my family see is different to the side Emin see’s which in tern is different to the side my colleagues see.

I think we are all very multifaceted people and if anyone was asked to describe me no two descriptions would be the same. So despite my rude good health, I see this blog as my patchwork quilt.

I realise this post comes on the tail end of some other self indulgent navel gazing, that in its self highlights the other anathema, that this blog has absolutely no directional theme at all. It is both curatorial and self promoting. It feeds of other blogs and also is still a place to put ideas of my own. It has made me edit my images and open a Flickr account and if I could choose my ideal job I now know at last it would be as a travel/flower photographer. If Gardens illustrated could just give me a call will be there. My next goal is to put together a book via Blurb. I have been very taken by some of the books other bloggers have cobbled together and I would enjoy the editorial process. I am now waiting to get my scanner connected so that can archive my negatives. I had a look through them recently and I can't wait to get them on line.