Now there’s one thing you have to understand before I proceed with my account of this morning’s little moment of madness.
When I talk (figuratively that is; i.e., for those with a penchant for taking things literally talk = write in this ‘ere cyberworld of mine) of drinking coffee (which I do; quite a bit; both talk of and drink) I don’t actually mean coffee. Not as such.
That’s to say, not those funny little brown bean things that have to be roasted, then crushed, then bunged in hot water, then filtered, and all the rest of the stupid palaver before you actually manage to get to drink anything. Which usually tastes quite foul anyway and makes you wonder whether it was worth all the effort. And leaves you with dregs to dispose of… yucch!
That stuff, far as I’m concerned, is practically poison. Or it would be for me if I drank it in the quantities I tend to consume.
“Real” coffee drinkers? Off their heads, the lot of ‘em.
No. What I mean is that freeze-dried, dehydrated, processed, all the real coffee squeezed out if it muck that commonly goes by the term “instant coffee”.
Spoonful in a mug, splosh in some milk, top up with hot water and bingo! That’s my coffee. Love the stuff. Addicted to it in fact. And probably get through about twenty mugs or so of it (large mugs that is) in any given twelve-hour period!
Just so you know. And this is not to be forgotten, cos it has a bearing on what follows.
Right. To the tale then…
Just when I think I’m beginning to get a handle on this whole photography lark; just when I think I’m beginning to understand what I’m all about photography-wise; just when I think I’m finally getting it all sussed and what the purpose of it all is… I goes and does something that once more propels me into reflecting on the possibility that I’ve completely lost the plot.
Its happened before of course. And each time, retrospectively, I’ve somehow managed to rationalise my stupidities. But I suspect I’m fast beginning to run out of rationalisations.
Well, it happened again this morning.
Bashing away at the keys it gradually dawns on me that I’m having increasing difficulty reading what’s on the screen. Dammit. I know the eyesight’s not what it once was, but surely its not fading this fast?
Er… no. Y’see, I sit with the laptop screen having the window as a backdrop. Which most of the time works fine. Cos most of the time I’m a bit of a night owl.
But on this particular occasion I was still hammering away well past daybreak. So obviously the window’s lightening a bit. Quite a bit. In fact, brilliant sunlight had started streaming through it.
(Wow! This sun thing’s getting to be a regular occurrence. Surely it can’t mean that Spring’s finally arriving can it? And that a bit of warmth might actually begin to seep into me old bones at long last? Yippee!)
Now the “sun streaming through window” effect has the damned annoying habit of rendering whatever’s on the laptop screen virtually invisible. And believe me it is annoying. Really annoying. Sometimes I’ve even caught myself muttering an utterly blasphemous “Bloody sun… just sod off!” Which is so totally out of order considering how much I actually like the sun.
Clearly then its time to hang up the extra thick drape (the one kept especially for such occasions). And as I’m being interrupted anyway, may as well grab meself another coffee, seeing as how the last one seemed to have mysteriously disappeared a good ten minutes previously. I may conceivably have drunk it but I don’t remember having done so. Hmm. Curious.
Bit like my fags really. Roll one up, light it, a quick drag and put it in the ashtray… and next thing I know some bastard’s smoked it! Leastways, its just ended up a stubbed out dog-end. And I have absolutely no recollection of how that happens… all the time!
Which reminds me… I’m right in the middle of doing a series of “fag-based pics”…
… but I’ll save most of those for another post. Probably.
Anyway, off I trots downstairs, run some water into the kettle and plug it in… cos its an electric kettle see.
Back up to the computer room, about to hang the drape, when the really very bright (incredibly bright) sunlight shining through the already drawn curtains sort of sucks me in.
“Gotta grab me a quick shot of that cos it looks so sort of… I dunno” mutters I to myself. So grab that bloody addictive cos its too damned easy Lumix, and set about taking a pic or two.
The curtains (second pic of this post) are really just a single colour. All those wonderful shades and tones appear to have been created by a combination of the sun shining through it and the angle I shot the pic. Can’t quite explain how or why the angle and the sun should create that effect but isn’t it just super?
Couldn’t shoot it full on of course cos the sun was too bright and the Lumix didn’t like it and I couldn’t be bothered to fiddle around (cos I was only after a pic or two), hence that “off to the side” angle I ended up with. That rather neatly revealed all those amazing tones.
A pic or two did I say? Yeah. Well. I’m not entirely certain what possessed me. First the curtains, then the blinds, then other odds and ends. Things, forms, catching my eye. Bending myself into all sorts of strange positions just to snag a particular perspective.
Something about the light. The colours. The lines. And the shading. Not so much the shadows this time, which is a bit of a change I s’pose. But shapes. And angles. And all sorts of other completely meaningless trivia.
Before I knew it I’d taken some 60 or 70 pics, and I really don’t know why. Just became totally carried away with it all. Absorption to the exclusion of all else… to the point of obsession almost. What is it about taking (or trying to take!) these sorts of shots that I find so utterly fascinating, so compelling, so involving?
And such huge fun. Though what a complete waste of time!
Or was it? For, having offloaded onto the infernal machine, scanned through them all, tinkered a bit, I find I end up with a handful about which there’s something that really draws me. Just wish I knew what the hell it is.
There’s no reason for them. No meaning to them. No significance in them. No point to it at all. So what’s it all about? In a word… why?
I think possibly its partly me involuntarily experimenting with what I want to do, how I want to do it, and what direction I want to take with this photography nonsense.
There are so many avenues to explore, so many different styles and “genres” so to speak (though I do so dislike that word), so many different approaches and as yet I’ve not really tried to cultivate a distinct style, technique, or even “path”. Doubt if I ever will in fact. At least not deliberately. Maybe one’ll just evolve naturally over time. Maybe not. Maybe I’ll just continue bouncing around all over the place. Just do what seems right for the moment basically.
Thing is, there are so many different “rights” cos in reality it seems that in photography one right is no more or less right than another. Whatever rocks your boat.
Though I do find myself seeming to be increasingly drawn to certain types of shots in preference to others. Not to everyone’s taste maybe but that ain’t really my concern, is it?
Anyway, having satisfied this utterly puzzling pic-taking urge I then conclude the coffee making business…
Back into kitchen; grab the mug; chuck in a spoonful of coffee; splosh in the milk; unplug the kettle and top up with water. And boy am I looking forward to it. Really really looking forward to it. Gasping in fact.
But what on earth’s wrong with it? Why’s the coffee not dissolving properly? Why’s it looking all scummy? Is the milk off?
Dammit! I forgot to switch the bloody kettle on so what I now have is a mug of coffee made with cold sodding water.
I tell ya, I’m definitely losing the plot.