Saturday, November 24, 2012

tough bubble

These are some photos I shot of the stunning Laura Irvine a few weeks ago. It was freezing cold outside, but she was really supportive and even took her coat off once for a few pictures. This shoot was also the first one which I had a makeup artist on set, so it was pretty exciting. I didn't get to shoot as long as I would've liked to though, but well, there's always next time. 

Model: Laura Irvine
Wardrobe: Model's own
MUA: Shauneen Moynagh

I'll share more soon!

Friday, November 16, 2012

just an absence of warmth

these fickle things like light bulbs don't warm me; bring me my sun.

The weather's been nice, but it has also been gloomy, all on days and times that I least expect. I've woken up to the rays of sun passing first through the skylight above my bed -which I keep open so that I might watch the stars before I sleep if it's a clear night- before hitting my barely opened eyes in a flood of bright; and I've had dinner by cold windows where I took the photos above.

But it's not so much the weather as my insides that have been cold. 
(Yet, now, as I find myself here, I don't really want to tell those stories, those that don't serve me, anymore.)
Warm up again, love. Everything's fine as they are and everyone's growing.


Wednesday, November 7, 2012

the quaintest city

This morning I caught a flight and flew myself to London. For some reason, my flight arrived half an hour earlier than expected, so I took my time making my way to the train station. I stopped at the Marks&Spencers in the airport to get myself a drink, thirsty as I was, and found some chocolate cookies so I bought them for my friend whom I was going to crash with.

The photo above was taken through a glass wall that looked out onto the motorway. There were people sitting on some benches to my left, and they might've stared but I'm not bothered anymore -I do too many weird stuff just to get photos already. There was a man who sat beside me with a little son of his, probably just about three to five years old. He, the little son, was one of the cutest things ever, and I was really tempted to ask if I could take a photo of him. He had these gorgeous moon eyes, that is if the moon had a deep navy sea for surface; soft blond hair and an adorably round face. However, I was really tired -I have been out quite literally every night for the past week- so I slept as soon as I had my seat belt buckled. The dad woke me halfway, requesting to be let out as his son needed a visit to the bathroom and I was in the aisle seat, and I almost asked when they returned, but I unfortunately didn't. Then the plane landed -the boy was a really excited and slightly cheeky one who already understood the art of humour-, I got my bag down and while waiting for the front passengers to stream out, I very almost did. But I didn't. The line started to move, I stole one last look and moved on; and in the tunnel going into the airport, the image of the photo of what it would've been like if I'd actually done it floated about my mind and still does now.

Arriving at Waterloo station. 

I then met my friend -we walked into one another without even having our phones out! It was amazing!- and we walked out onto the London streets.
I spotted this guy and snapped a picture of him, a question of what he was doing there surfacing there in my head as the camera's shutter clicked. Then I turned, as my friend was directing me around the corner, and when I stole a quick look back, he was with a girl I presumed was his girlfriend and they had probably planned to meet there and he was waiting for her.

And now it's half past midnight and I have a long eventful day I've been waiting for weeks already, so I'll leave you here and share more stories soon. 

Hope your days are lovely, and remember that you can make things happen too!

Saturday, November 3, 2012

inside intoxication

This is not insomnia. It's one past one in the morning, and it's one of those nights where I stay up because life has been fuelling me with it's greatest force, that is, inspiration. I think of Virginia Woolf's quote which states: "Madness is terrific I can assure you, and not to be sniffed at; and in its lava I still find most of the things I write about. It shoots out of one everything shaped, final, not in mere driblets, as sanity does." I'd thought that the wheels of my writing skills had gone rusty; I hadn't written for a while; but then again, thoughts aren't matter, they're vibration and you just have to hook up with what you want.

But I digress. 

My friend and I went to the cinema for 'Skyfall' earlier in the evening. That movie was a visual feast, or perhaps, even delicacy -if I'm not stretching that a bit too far. The cinematography, its aesthetic, was absolutely gorgeous. It was about all I was watching for, yet, it also somehow managed to inspire me to write again. Write stories; having the plots planned out in my head like I used to do. 

Anyway, along our walk back after the movie ended, we walked through this group of three guys. Presumably drunk, one of the guys lifted his arm and patted me on my head, saying 'hi love', or at least something along those lines with the greeting word 'love' in it. Besides this, happenings at the club above the bar -in which I'd gone to with the film society on halloween night- got me thinking. There, a guy had requested for a kiss on the cheek three times, when I returned to my friends in the middle of the place where people were dancing (mind you, I hardly do this. Going to clubs and all, that is, if I haven't explained why before) after a visit to the bathroom.

Don't you think that it's weird that people get so intimate when they're drunk? It has been said that people are the most honest when drunk (although honestly, I don't think I will, or even, can get drunk on drink. It's impossible for me to comprehend even just the thought of surrendering my mind to something as fickle as drink. Now, life itself, inspiration, these are beautiful things to get drunk on. Not alcohol. Never. This isn't to say that I don't mind a glass or two every once in a while though.) But back to the thought of inhibitions brought down. If the inner self is revealed during intoxication, and the desire for closeness is also then openly displayed, doesn't it clearly illustrate that separation is an illusion the ego has built from the roots of fear? Those chilly winds whose strength we'd fed through our walk in life evaporate with the dousing of alcohol's flames, especially for those who can only do it this way. Doesn't it demonstrate the cravings for closeness, which ultimately, is the harmony of love.

(They told me that there is always another side of a story, a flip side for everything, even though this is hardly a story.) Perhaps, for this then, is the revulsion of unknown closeness. My friends had pushed them firmly away. A defence mechanism, to be fair -even though justice is an illusion, which might be discussed in-depth some other time. 

But mostly, for me, I either just smile or, mostly, ignore them with the feeling that it's wiser to stay away from unwanted trouble and stories I don't wish to tell. After all, I'm rather easy to love and I find myself intentionally putting down blocks every once in a while to remind myself of the focus I have to guide me to what I truly want.

Still, I walk away with the soft hum of understanding rippling through my heart, hair slightly rustled by the last breeze of an encounter.