Devon photographer



Brindle, photographed by Sam Baker
www.sambakerphotography.co.uk


You may remember a post of mine about the life and death of Brindle, one of our dogs. At the end of this I included a photograph of Brindle taken (in about 1997) by Sam Baker, a friend who was just out of art college. Sam is now a professional photographer, specialising in 'photographs with personality'.

She still lives in Devon and still does animal portraits. In addition she now photographs events - including sports, parties and artistic performance.

She has a new website www.sambakerphotography.co.uk . Do check her out.

Holiday snaps

We went to a Greek island but you'll have to work out for yourself which one as we don't want everybody going there.

I remember when I first saw the Mediterranean - in my teens. I just couldn't believe its colour. I still can't.

It is actually a long long way down to the sea from here and the cliff on the right is a geological fault line. An earthquake in (I think) 2007 sent tons of rock down to the sea to form a new beach. On the left you can just see a swimming pool. This belongs to a new complex of villas. Would you want to stay in a villa on a geological fault line in an earthquake zone? No, neither would I. A path winds round the cliff face. Needless to say, we didn't take it. I had to sit down after taking this picture, I felt so dizzy.

Most of the island is covered with trees, either woods

or olive groves

often terraced.



Ancient footpaths traverse the island

and where there are steps these are shallow so that donkeys can use them (not that anyone on the island uses donkeys any more).

These footpaths have been mapped by an Englishman (www.iankbleasdale.co.uk ) over 15 years and 26 visits but sadly many of them are now becoming overgrown or blocked with new villas. Frog and I took secateurs so that we could do a bit of clearing while we explored. Ian (as we call him) suggests a pruning saw as well, but we thought this was going a bit far.

While new villas spring up all over the place, old houses are left to fall into ruins.

I wonder why.

Spring is the time for wildflowers in Greece but we still saw quite a few.

Wild carrot

Wild hollyhock

Chaste tree



Fragrant clematis

And, as well as walking, we did lots of swimming (in warm transparent sea), sunbathing, eating in tavernas and lazing around on our shady terrace. But that probably doesn't make for very interesting pictures.

The skin underneath

On the second day of the holiday

I tripped on a protruding drain cover

and gashed my elbow.

For over a week since then

the wound has oozed

blood and pus.

(That’s what wounds do, says Frog.

Stop worrying about it.

Why did it happen? I wail.

What is its metaphysical significance?)

But today it started to dry

and bits of scab

are cracking off.

(That’s what scabs do, says Frog.

You don’t have to pick at them.)

The skin underneath is tender.

(New skin is like that.

I remember now.)

In five days’ time

I will have to go home.

The skin

underneath

is tender.

Embracing the inner artist

This morning while walking the dog – or rather while sitting down in the corner of a field out of the wind to ‘meditate’ (my version) and watch the dog excavating a rabbit hole in the hedge – I had another thought.

    I need to give more weight to my creative side.

My father was a businessman who didn’t have much time for art unless it made money whereas my mother’s family includes artists, writers and a musician, and I don’t think I’ve ever reconciled the two. Both sides are strong in me but I think the business side has always dominated – to the detriment perhaps of my health (migraines causing – among other symptoms – one-sided headaches).

    I allow myself to be creative in the spaces left over from all the ‘serious’ stuff of my life – checking bank statements, juggling money, writing shopping lists for Frog, organising – and all the time I’m being creative (be it writing, sewing, taking photographs, or simply doing nothing and letting my brain run free) I’m in a rush, knowing that my time is limited and expecting the business side of me to swoop down at any minute and tell me off for wasting time.

    So, the next step is to work out how to resolve this conflict, how to stop my business side being such a bully and embrace my inner artist.

    Writing this post (while I ‘should’ be hoovering the sitting-room/ pulling up nettles, filing, clearing mud out of the utility room . . .) is a start.

    All other suggestions gratefully received.

   

And while I’m on the subject, here are two of my birthday cards, one made for me by a niece (on Frog’s side) who is both a photographer (www.kimwhitworth.co.uk  www.facebook.com/kimwhitworthphoto ) and a banker, and the other a drawing by my mother’s brother who used to be a businessman.



copyright Kim Whitworth



copyright Herbert Despard



Pensée

About ten or fifteen years ago (dates aren’t my strong point) I saw a healer about my migraines.

    ‘There’s a difference’, she said, ‘between triggers and cause. What you need to do is find out the cause of your migraines.’

    I agreed with her. The triggers for my migraines seemed too numerous even to list and I was blowed if I was going to limit my life any more than I did already as a result of the migraines – an almost-vegan diet, minimal social life, working from home. I’d never been to a doctor about my migraines. I didn’t want to be tied to some drug for the rest of my life. I didn’t want to be a ‘patient’. I preferred exploring complementary therapies, doing something for myself.

    Over the last few weeks however – ever since I had my ‘dead dog dream’ (see previous post) – something strange has been happening. In spite of my lovely birthday (because of it?) I’ve been feeling ill most of the time. The only days I’ve woken up feeling well are the days when I had no wine the night before (and before you snigger knowingly, let me tell you that I only ever have one glass – any more and I know that I would be violently sick) and the day I felt worst was the day after the day I’d had some chocolate as well. It was as if something was pinpointing my triggers or as if my triggers were narrowing themselves down in an effort to tell me something.

    ‘Right,’ I said. ‘I shall do without both alcohol and chocolate between now and our holiday in four weeks’ time (and maybe cheese as well as that might be another culprit) and see what happens.’

    I’d been wanting to lose a few pounds before the holiday and this way I could kill two birds with one stone (not that I’d ever want to kill a bird, or anything for that matter – except perhaps a dying dog). I’d been battling with causes for thirty-five years. Just for once, I would concentrate on triggers.

    That was Wednesday.

    It’s as if something fundamental has been snatched from my life. I feel stunned. And yesterday afternoon, as I lay on my bed recovering from the shock, I had a thought.

    Life’s not about doing as much as possible. It’s about giving yourself what you need.

That may not seem earth-shattering to you but to me it was a revelation. Alcohol and chocolate had been part of a lifestyle that was toxic to me. They had propped it up and, without them, my whole life was going to have to change. I could no longer race through the day, struggling to get to the end of a never-ending ‘to do’ list, denying myself what I really wanted (not even eating) and compensating at the end of the day with ‘treats’. Those treats had gone. I was going to have to replace them. I was going to give myself what I really needed instead. And those things were:

    Food and rest.

And I have a feeling that’s just the start. Fun and real pleasure could be added to those two items in due course.

    I want to cry.

    It’s great being sixty.