Dreams of Summer


There are bruishes on my legs, scratches from when I walked through the bushes in the forest and the trees with their branches caught me and held on. There are mosquito bites too and two, very small red marks from where the ticks got me. Half-healed scratches on my hands.


My knees are the brownest I have seen them in years, even if that doesn’t say a lot and for a few days my hair, my skin smelled of saltwater and the sun.
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A Little Life Update


I can’t believe it’s April already and that this is the first thing I have posted this year. The first thing in fact since November, where work in the bookshop speeded up.
After I recovered from the craziness of the shop during Christmas and everything calmed down a bit in January, I decided to focus more on getting back to writing and working on my photo projects, as well as spending more time actually reading the books I buy, rather than spending it composing photos and putting up posts of them on Instagram. So while my website and social media feeds haven’t been brimming with new updates, my life has been full in a different way and most of March went by in a blur of work, some much appreciated overtime, photography and a week’s holiday in Denmark with my family, which I have just come back from.

Most of last year was like that really. I had so many new and fantastic experiences and I wanted to write about them all and show you all the photos I took from them but I just never got around to it because one event followed the next. I preferred to savour those moments when I was in them, rather than stressing about sharing what I had just experienced in the moment that went before and while I would have liked to post a lot more, I don’t regret taking time to just be in whatever I was doing. read more

The British Museum in B&W

The South Stairs leading up from the entrance

 

As you might have seen in one of my latest posts, I decided to spend my birthday this year in my favourite bookshops and at the British Museum. That’s my new thing now, photographing museums. While I spend most of last year trying to freeze fleeting everyday moments with my film camera, my new obsession this year has been to not only wander through museum galleries but to photograph them as well.

If you had asked me a few years ago if I liked the British Museum I would have said that I liked it as much as the next person. If you had asked me if I was interested in history, I would probably have given the same answer. As much as I would like to claim to be an independently minded woman, it has taken my boyfriend’s interest in history to realise how interesting both can be and it’s become a place we visit together.

 

 

Even though they always tend to be overcrowded, my favourite rooms are the galleries with the Greek sculptures. Daniel on the other hand tends to seek out the Middle Eastern galleries, particularly the ones with the huge Assyrian gates, Lamassu and friezes. Because the weather was unseasonably bad the day we went, it wasn’t as busy as normal and it was nice to be able to walk around more freely.

 

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Photographs from a Birthday in the Snow

 

It’s been a few months since my birthday in March but last week I got the prints back from the film rolls I shot that weekend and I thought I’d write a little post to share some of the pictures I took. I have already mentioned in another post that my birthday didn’t exactly go like I had planned because of the snowstorm that decided to take over the country but looking through the photos of everything covered in snow made me realise that the memories I have of those two days have been made quite special because of the whole snowstorm affair.

 

Canterbury looking very Dickensian in the snow

 

The snow falling down over the riverbank that runs next to our flat, after we got back from Canterbury read more

Winter Days

 

I woke up this morning to a flurry of snowflakes falling from the sky, so I thought it was the right day to publish a short piece of writing I wrote earlier this month on how I feel about winter. I was inspired to write it after I got prints back from the photo lab with photographs from my first ever roll of Foma Retropan black and white film. I took them in January when I went home to see my family and most of the roll I shot around our cabin in Sweden and on a walk in the surrounding landscape down by Järnavik, a beautiful stretch of Swedish archipelago that I’m very fond of.

I had just finished reading Kazuo Ishiguro’s An Artist of the Floating World, so I had been thinking a lot about Japan and Japanese art, which, as you might be able to tell, ended up influencing the way I took some of the landscape shots. Anyway, here is what I wrote.

 

I might have come from the North. From the cold and the long, dark months in November, December, January. Maybe it is true that I feel most like myself, wrapped in my long, dark-red woolcoat and a big scarf, gloves covering my fingers.

But winter, like summer, is not where I’m at home. I do not like to be cold, and I am easily cold. I am more tired, more hungry and more grumpy. And even if I like the cosiness, the flickering candles reflected in the window and to sit under a duvet or the soft blankets, the surrender there is in that, to let go and say “okay, we will go into hibernation” then, it still isn’t my time.

For those months I can never really get warm and I long for the coming days of Spring with their fresh winds and a sun you can actually warm yourself on. Or I long back to the autumn and the same kind of days we had then, tempered.

But when all of that has been said, I am still fond of the way the trees stand naked in the winter, the patterns they make against the heavy, grey clouds; that you can see what they really look like without all of those leaves, without all the embellishment, everything stripped back to its essentials. Nothing taken for granted.

I live in the silence and the stillness, and in the mornings, when I withdraw the curtains from the windows to find another curtain outside in the fog that presses itself against the cold glass and in the dark silhouets of the trees that appear nearly obscured on the riverbank behind it, a receding hairline of tangled branches. The way a dried orange leaf left over from the autumn lights up over everything else.
Then I live, not just in it but for it. The winter, I mean.

 

 

 

Shot on my Ricoh KR5 with my 50mm lens on Foma Retropan 320 film, set at box speed.