Berry orange

Once I was supposed to take pictures of a play and they did not work out, they were all blurred. When I had the camera poised to snap Serge in his boater hat, he looked at me and I was intimidated and did not dare to take the picture. It was engraved deeply on the inner membrane that holds images. I felt that if I had just snapped the picture blithely, I would have forgotten about the image; we sometimes rely on the camera to remember for us.

Twenty five years later I surfed the web looking for Serge and lo and behold, I find him wearing his boater hat. Someone else was able to photograph him because he did not look at them.

in a blaze of glory

Hedging your bets

For at least a month now, every time I drive past this hedge I want to stop and take photographs. The day before yesterday I stopped. I love the orange berries, they are so bright.

I have tried to capture the hue before, not very successfully. This hedge has three shades of orange – pale orange, orange orange and red… I took the photos with my phone. Makes me almost want to try to acquire a real camera. It was a very bright and sunny afternoon, and you can see my shadow in some of the pictures. In this one, my shadow is right in the middle, as if it was part of the hedge.

I say almost because I don’t trust cameras. I have owned 2 cameras. One was a present from my sister; the other was a present from my mother. I don’t want to buy one because it would be just another cog in the wheel of consumerism. And also because part of my mistrust stems from the fact that I believe that sometimes you have to not take a picture to remember a scene clearly. And who do we think will look at all our precious images after we have gone, anyway?

I'm off to Scotland for Hogmanay. See you next year!

Ways of becoming.

In March, I posted two photos of L’amour en cage in it’s lacy skeleton stage, one with the orange berry inside. I put other photos in the slide show, with the lanterns fully covered. It’s amazing that the original colour of the lanterns is the same as the berries. Like a magic trick, the orange is outside then suddenly it disappears and reappears, locked up on the inside of the delicate cage.

The other day, I caught sight of a withering branch outside, and was intrigued. I suppose I had assumed that the orange faded, and one of these is fading… but the other one is losing the cover with the colour intact. Now, there were silvery trails around, so it is possible that my assumption was right, and the colour fades first and then disintegrates, and the other one is being eaten by snails. It would be nice to be able to film the process and see what’s really happening.

Only goes to show, not only is life not a straight choice between black and white, or orange and colourless, but there are different ways of getting from one to the other.

How did the Body Shop
get their bath cream from clover – which suggests abundance and comfort – to clou de girofle, which screeches toothache? Depends on the hand you've been dealt. I googled 'clover' and found a French film
- Crooks in clover –
les Tontons Flingueurs. The review says: “What was originally envisaged as a serious gangster thriller ended up as a classy comedy thriller”. Which reminded me of my recent experience with Margaret Atwood. I just finished reading The Robber Bride. Although not as mind-bogglingly grave as the Handmaid’s tale – which I saw as a film - I found the book food for serious thought. Imagine my surprise when I looked for some reviews and found – “the TV movie version of Margaret Atwood's comic novel.” I do sometimes tend to take things too seriously. Have been looking for a Beckett quote I love – can’t find it – something like “I was born too grave and seriously worked hard to become less grave”. Years ago I put all my seriousness into writing a play in French, called Cinq Lui Même, which the first reader laughed at. I was hurt at the time, but I’m becoming less susceptible, in some ways.

Blue earth

Autumn has always been my favourite season, although this year, for the first time, I got such a kick out of spring I almost changed favourites. One of the things I love about the autumn is the colour orange. Photographs are frustratingly dull compared to the splendour of the countryside, but they do convey something of the excitement of the hue.

I gave this picture to a friend.

This is an attempt to paint the aftermath of sungazing.

La terre est bleue comme une orange

April is the cruellest month.

April is the cruellest month. I didn’t have time to post much.

These fairy bells are called Ancolies in French. In English they are called Columbines.

Mais, l’ancolie am I when I think of Virginia Tech.

Bégonia is just Begonia. La terre est bleue comme une orange.