The Gallery: Faces

"street photography"

The theme over at The Gallery is ‘Faces’ this week. We actually have until next week to do a post, but as we’re moving house in the middle of next week and I’m likely to be offline, I thought I’d get in there early.

I was torn between a ‘pretty‘ picture and an ‘interesting’ one but in the end decided to go for interesting. I know this is not a photo that everyone will love, but it’s an important one for me for a couple of reasons.

The guy is called Lewis, and he is something of a local celebrity. He can often be seen walking up and down the Royal Mile in Edinburgh, or sitting on a bench in the centre of town and chatting with a crew of assorted other characters. He is very friendly, and has some good banter, although has also been known on occasion to hoist up his kilt and bare his arse to tourists if they try and take a photo without asking his permission.

I think he has a brilliant face – brimming with character. You can tell that he is someone who has really lived. The slightly aggressive look in his eyes is tempered by the jingle bell and badges on his hat. And really, who wouldn’t want to grow themselves some awesome facial hair like that?

I like this shot because it’s the first time I ever approached a ‘stranger’ in the street and asked to take their photo. I got quite into street photography for a while, but to begin with I always took candid shots rather than asking for permission. I ended up torn between frustration at not being able to get close enough to people to capture anything very interesting (it’s quite hard to blend into the background when you’re pushing a pram with a noisy toddler in it…), and a slight feeling of unease I couldn’t shake off about taking people’s photos without them knowing.

There are some brilliant street photographers in Edinburgh. And also some brilliant opportunities for honing your street photography skills during the Edinburgh Festival, when there are all kinds of people wandering around the streets desperate to have their photo taken! But hardcore street photography, really getting into people’s faces and capturing them up close without permission, is not something that feels right for me.

This style – more street portrait than street photography, I guess – is the focus of the 100 Strangers project which encourages photographers to get out of their comfort zone and take pictures of strangers, but approach them for permission first, and have a chat to find something out about them. It appeals to me greatly, although I haven’t committed to doing a full 100 shots yet. If I did, I think I’d try and find Lewis again, and ask him to be my first.

What a face.

See how other people have interpreted the Faces theme over here on Sticky Fingers.

Thieves, Nosey Parkers & Snobs: Our Prospective Buyers

I am firmly of the mindset that my house is a fortress. It’s my safe place. Family and close friends are always welcome, especially if they come bearing white wine and gossip. Meter readers and tradesmen are tolerated, as long as they show up when they’re supposed to. Salesmen, market researchers and god-botherers shouldn’t even waste their energy walking up the path.

With that in mind, you can imagine how much it has pained me over the last few weeks to allow a constant stream of strangers into my home. They have poked in our wardrobes, commented on our decor, and traipsed mud and grass all over our carpets. One of them even stole something (yes, really. But don’t get me started on that).

‘Prospective buyers’, they call themselves. Usually they are polite enough to call our estate agents first, and then show up at a specified time. But sometimes they just spot the For Sale sign, and wander into the garden on the off chance that we’re in and they can have a look around. Sometimes they make an appointment but then show up early, ring the doorbell, and wake DorkySon up mid-nap. That never makes for a good introduction.

In the current property market I shouldn’t be complaining about having viewers, and I’m not really – we are genuinely very grateful to be getting people through the door at all – but that doesn’t mean that I can’t also share some of the conversational highlights from the most bonkers of the buyers to cross our threshold. Take it as a given that where I don’t have an answer to whatever inane comment or question I’ve just been given, I’m thinking something a bit sweary and rude.

Viewer: Was it you that put up those boards outside?
Me: Boards?
Viewer: Those brown boards in the garden.
Me: Umm yes. That’s called our fence.

Viewer: Well your cornicing is lovely, but I don’t know why on earth you painted the gold bits. I have a similar style in my house and it’s much nicer all in white.
Me: …

Viewer: Why on earth do you have this as your bedroom? It’s so big and light, it’s obviously supposed to be the drawing room. Why waste it on a bedroom?
Me: …

Viewer: Well we’d really like to put solar panels on the roof, but do you know how we’d ensure that the electricity was divided evenly between the three flats.
Me: Umm, no.
Viewer’s Wife: I think you’d probably just have to put on three times as many panels as usual.
Viewer: Christ, you’d need another roof to accommodate that.
Me: …

Viewer, looking out the window: Oh dear, that’s tree is rather menacing isn’t it.
Me: Do you think so? We’ve always liked it.
Viewer: No. No, that just won’t do. Very menacing.
Me: …

Viewer, settling into my rocking chair: Now I think I’ll just sit down and make myself comfortable for a minute.
Me, slightly taken aback: Mmmm, okay. Let me just go and let the next person in.
Viewer: No wait a minute, I wanted to ask you something. I was looking at your family tree. Is that a Cornish name?
Me: No I don’t think so.
Viewer: Oh, I think it might be. But anyway, where did you meet your husband?
Me: We were working together at the university.
Viewer: Gosh, that sounds very naughty!
Me: …

Viewer: When was the house built?
Me: Oh I don’t know. Maybe 1850-something
Viewer: Gosh no, that can’t possibly be right. I’ve been looking at the maps of the area from 1870 and the house isn’t on there. And look at the shape of the windows. They couldn’t possibly be earlier than 1870.
Me: …

And my very favourite of all…

Viewer: Is there anyone here from your estate agents?
Me: No, why, can I help?
Viewer: Well I don’t think they’re representing you very well. Come out here a minute (beckons me onto porch)
Me: What is it?
Viewer, pulling a compass out of his pocket: Look at this. The north point on your property particulars is off by 5 degrees. FIVE DEGREES! That’s not doing you any favours, is it?
Me: …

The Gallery: Colour

I was totally bowled over by the kind comments on my entry to The Gallery last week, on the subject of home, so I’ve decided to give it a whirl again this week. The prompt is Colour… 

Autumn is my favourite season by a mile. Eva Wiseman did a brilliant piece in the Observer the other week about why she too is a fan of the fall, but one of the few things that she didn’t mention was the colours. It’s a brilliant time of year to get out and about with your camera – wait for a crisp, bright day, wrap up warmly, and then head out to capture some of those fantastic umbers and ambers and burnished browns.

I tried to limit myself, but it was tricky… sorry!

This is a deliberately out-of-focus shot so that you concentrate on the colours rather than the details of the trees.

This is the road that goes past our house.

I love the green and the gold together in this one.

My lovely buddy Kez Dugdale, who is now an MSP, has got a canvas print of this leaf hanging in her office at Holyrood.

Umm, yup. As I said, I love Autumn and all its wonderful colours. I’ve also been known to sit at the dining room table and cut up leaves into heart shapes. Now you know how I spend my time when DorkySon’s at nursery. Don’t judge me.

To see how other people have interpreted the colour theme, head on over to The Gallery at Sticky Fingers and spend some time browsing the links.

Last Chants…

Leaving parties tend to be pretty awful affairs. People feel obliged to bring gifts and cards, which is really the last thing you need when you’re trying to cut the size of your life in half and pack it into boxes. You never get as long to speak to people for as you’d like because you’re too busy topping up wine glasses, and someone (usually me) overdoes it on both the alcoholic and the emotional fronts, and ends up sobbing into a plate of sausage rolls.

So we’re not having one. Partly because it would be awful, and partly because we’re not really leaving Scotland, we’re just living somewhere else for a bit.

What we’re doing instead is inviting folk along to this awesome poetry and jazz gig – Last Chants – where you can see Young perform with Dave Conway and Steve Kettley from the Click Clack Club. There will also be poetic awesomeness from Robin Cairns, Jenny Lindsay, Kevin Cadwallender, Sophia, not to mention the briefly reunited Chemical Poets. All in the excellent surroundings of the Jazz Bar (where Young and I ‘own’ one of the keys on the grand piano…).

It would be lovely to see some friends there (and indeed some new faces too!). There will be no sausage rolls, but there will be wine, and I promise I’ll try very hard not to cry.

You can note your attendance and keep up to date with new additions to the line-up on the Facebook event page here. While you’re at it, why not Like my DorkyMum page too…

For Sale: 2 Bedroom Flat, scuffed paintwork, full of love

It’s strange how – when you know you’re going to be moving – you start to look around where you live and see things in a completely different way. Even before the For Sale sign has gone up outside, and the first potential buyers have stepped in the door, it stops being quite so much of a ‘home’ and starts turning back into just ‘a house’.

You refer to it, in emails to estate agents, as your ‘property’. You start to notice the cobwebs in the corners, and immediately add ‘long-handled duster’ to the shopping list in your head. You spot the scuffs in the paintwork, the cracks in the cornicing, and all those trails of spilled smoothie on the cream carpet. You realise that you still haven’t fixed the hole where the neighbour’s hamster chewed through your wall. You wish you’d had the time and money to do the bathroom, the den, and the windows.

Jeez, you think. Where are we going to put all these books? And paintings? And rugs? Maybe, you think, it’s time to get rid of all the old baby clothes.

You try and remember how the wardrobe comes apart, what angle you have to hold the dining room table at to fit it through the doorframe, and where you put that special screwdriver; the one you need to disassemble the bed.

You start to become very objective, about it all, very distant. And then a draft of the particulars arrives in your inbox – all adjectives and professional photos.

Gosh, you think, what a lovely house.

There’s the dining room, where you sat with friends over long dinners, drank wine and whisky in front of the fire. There’s one bedroom, where you were helped into your wedding dress; and there’s the other, where you stood over your new son in his Moses basket, and leaned in to hear him breathe. There’s the kitchen, cosy and cluttered; pureed blueberry spattered on the wall, music always playing on the radio, family photos pinned to the corkboard. There’s the den, where you took family naps on the sofa; and the hallway, where entire cities were built out of Lego.

Gosh, you think, what a lovely home.

Haven’t we been lucky to call it ours? We have warmed up the old, stone walls and filled the rooms with laughter and love. We have tended the garden, mended the fence, and added a beautiful piece of stained glass to the entrance hall.

There is an advert for something – I forget what, perhaps a watch – that says ‘You never own it. You merely look after it for the next generation.”

It’s a good way of thinking about material things. We have never really ‘owned’ this house, just made it our home until it was the turn of another family. I hope they don’t mind the scuffs in the paintwork. I hope they keep the walls nice and warm. I sure hope I remember where that screwdriver is.