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A nineteen year old with a camera in rural Norfolk. http://rosajoy.com

Sunday, 27 December 2009

Week 16.52


And all the world give back the song/Which now the angels sing
- trad.

Something terrible has happened...

I've kept all my photos - the originals, the originals, the Photoshop files, the edited jpegs - in one place: on my external hard drive.

It is broken.

Not the internal memory, thank god, but the plug for the USB; it's come loose, and I can't fix it. I cannot get to any of my photographs.

There is hope, though. It's 90% likely that the wonderful people at the camera hospital can recover everything. But, I can't take it to the shop before the New Year... On the other hand, I can still access all the new photos I take, plus Photoshop. I have my 50mm, and my strobes (which, my I add, I've spent the day setting up*.) *read as: being blinded several times.

I have a working camera, and a notebook full of photo ideas. All is not lost. (Although, my Week 16 will be late. It's taken but I transferred the files onto my hard drive just before it broke... It is on Flickr, though: fourth in comments here.)

I suppose now would be a good time to plug my new photography blog. I'm not abandoning Mystery Companion - just re-locating some of my photography posts to tumblr. It's awkward having both my personal stuff and my photography stuff on the same blog, especially now certain things are starting to happen with my photos**. Stargazing isn't just my work either; I'm using it as a place where I can collect inspiration too. Tumblr's reblogging tool is really useful for that. I'll probably still posts some of my work here, but only my 52s and the other bits I like best.

oh... **The Young Photographer asked me to be their first showcased photographer. I don't think I've ever been so excited.

Friday, 25 December 2009

Christmas lights

Something went horribly wrong this morning.
I didn't wake up until 9 O'clock.
I was worried, when I first saw that my stocking was still full and there was actually light coming through my window that Christmas was officially dead to me. How could I possibly have woken up later than 5am?!

Luckily, that was most definately not the case. I mean, how could you not be excited at: a 50mm f/1.8 lens; a new tripod; a pile of books (not including the Austen essays you asked for, but instead Dickens' Our Mutual Friend. gee, thanks Dad.); the entire last season of LOST (which you didn't get to see because of damnyouSky); way too much chocolate; and slipper-boots - so you don't have to wrap your feet in binliners when you sit at your desk in the winter.

Oh, and I nearly foget.
A full set of strobes.

aka...


(minus the soft lights. not that I'm complaining!)

Merry Christmas!

Thursday, 24 December 2009

Not a creature was stirring

Christmas Eve was always pretty nightmarish in our house. With Santa Claus on his way, getting me to go to bed (and stay there) was a mission worthy of 007. There were the mince pies to lay out and the tumbler of whisky to pour*, and the carrots to fetch for the reindeer. Then the stockings had to be chosen**, and hung up, and only then could bedtime even be considered.

But. My parents had a cunning plan. You see, in order to speed things up, I always got my first Christmas present that night. And it was always a new pair of pyjamas. Instant bedtime.



*They had always disappeared in the morning. And Mum always topped up the whisky a little bit...
**I never understood why parents insisted on making me choose one with a pair. One year, I woke up to find my stocking with teddy bears had magically changed into one with snowflakes, which looked a lot like the one I'd seen in their room earlier...

Sunday, 20 December 2009

Week 15.52


All writing is a gift.
- Aidan Chambers, 'This is all'

Only at Christmastime

Only at Christmastime will the postie slow down and pull faces as you wait at the side of the lane with your camera

Only at Christmastime can you sing and dance along to the radio, loudly, in Tesco car park with your sister - and be clapped

Only at Christmastime will a card come in the post from someone you haven't seen nor spoken to in nine years, without a return address

Only at Christmastime does generousity get the better of you (and your bank account). groan.

Only at Christmastime is it ok to laugh at your music teacher in church, as he uses his grade 5 piano skillz (and forgets to play the last verse of Hark the Herald...)

Friday, 18 December 2009

Monday, 14 December 2009

Want a free print?


Click here, and then leave me a comment below.
Just because I'm in the Christmas spirit, and this is my 100th post :)

Sunday, 13 December 2009

Week 14.52



Don't confront me with my failures/I had not forgotten them
- Jackson Browne, 'These Days'

52 Weeks on Flickr

Saturday, 12 December 2009

Shooting while shooting

When we fist moved to Norfolk, open spaces were pretty terrifying. I hadn't seen more greenery than Greenwich Park, and our new house sat in the middle of a field without a streetlight in sight. I went wandering one weekend soon after we arrived, thinking merrily about bunny rabbits and the fallow deer which graze in our garden sometimes, and stumbled off the footpath and into what I assume now was the local farmer's woodland.

Now, despite living in The Big City I hadn't seen or heard a real gun in my life. In fact, even when the first few shots echoed around the trees I didn't twig immediately. I don't remember a lot of it, I think I was too frightened, but I do remember that my instint was to crouch and freeze, and the taste of iron in my mouth. I didn't think to call out or scream. Instead, I bolted. And in the circumstances, it was the worst thing I could do.

I think they mistook me for a deer. In any case, the shooting started up again - whether as close as I remember it or not, I don't know. I got out into open field, and didn't stop running.

I was shooting my Week Fourteen in the same woodland this afternoon. Nowadays I'm far more wary of where I can and can't wander, but I often use that patch for my photographs and I know it's not often patrolled. There's shooting too, sometimes, but it's always further away, in a different copse. They were there today, but I kept a cautious ear open and didn't pay them too much mind.

It wasn't until I had wandered away from my set-up, intent on finding a spot for a concept shot I've been planning, that I realised how close they had come. Three shots echoed in quick succession and most definately in my neck of the woods. I yelled out a hello, but the only answer that came back was another burst of rifle power. Resisting my rabbit-like instinct to run, I moved back towards the clearing where my make-shift studio was situated and hoped they would go away. The gunshots only succeeded in getting louder and more frequent. So, as I started pulling down paper and slashing string free of the trees, I did the only thing I could think of: and started singing.

God knows what they must have thought if they heard me. The first things that came into my head were some old folk songs Gareth and I have been using as technical practice, and I was belting out The Ash Grove as hard as my lungs would let me. My hands were shaking so badly I could hardly get the pegs down. Eventually, as I snapped my tripod up, the shots subsided. I still couldn't work out where they had come from because of the echoes, but I jumped the ditch and didn't stop singing all the way home.

Sunday, 6 December 2009

Week 13.52


And if I'm truthful, I'll say that I was blind/To everything about this life but what I had in mind.
- Jackson Brown, 'About My Imagination'