“Decorum. That’s why I married you,” Noel declared as I brushed the dirt off my jumper, pulled the leaf mould from my hair and wondered aloud whether that was bird poo on my jeans or something that had slipped from a small child’s mouth. In my defence, it was worth getting down and getting dirty for my art.
Now I’m not saying I’m the world’s best photographer, I’m not even the best on my street, but I know what I like, and I like my photos to make a statement. I hardly ever take a shot standing up, I crouch, kneel, sit, teeter on a wall, or just lie flat out on my stomach. Whatever weather. So when I saw the sun illuminating the low-lying fritillary at Harlow Carr Gardens, there was nothing for it but to get as low to the ground as I could to brace my long lens and snap away. Fortunately it was a dry day. Mainly.
I suppose Noel did have a point, he’s the one who has to stand around pretending he’s not with me as I do the arty farty stuff. There was the time I wanted a good stance to get photos of runners and found the perfect spot, unfortunately I had to sit in a sewer outflow. Hey ho. We had to drive home with all the windows down and me in the back seat. And then the attempt to photograph while skiing, hampered by my lack of skiing skill and ending in a pile of snow and cloud of obscenities. Oooo, the sacrifices I make for my art. Still, it’s worth it to take photos that are, shall we say, different!
I’m pretty certain there will be no decorum next week when I take a bunch of children on a knee-high photowalk around Leeds Museum. I’m sure Noel will understand.