It’s that time of year again… As soon as the bluebells arrived I alerted the various photographers who were on standby and squeezed in some arrangements for early morning/evening shoots. These flowers don’t wait around long; you’ve got to be on their schedule. They’re such a pleasure to sit in; I try my hardest to squish as few as possible in the place I now call ‘my bluebell patch’ and have taken to spritzing my self with Elle Macpherson’s ‘Calming bath and body oil’, lavender scented, to discourage any bluebell-loving insects from settling on me.
I don’t care that I’ve done this type of bluebell shoot before and still have many more coming up over the next ten days – one of the things I love about these short woodland sessions is that, somehow, each photographer always seems to get completely different results, whether by using different angles, wanting different themes or just because the light is so changeable, varying itself in intensity and colour minute by minute. I love the morning mist. It turns out I’m shit at getting up early unless shooting, so I love the fact that these 6am alarm calls are kick-starting me back towards my new year’s resolution with a vengeance. It’s an amazing feeling to be back at home having done a good ‘day’s’ work when most people are just setting off for theirs. 🙂
I’ve already received some images from Mike Castle, who is primarily a traveller (not the irish kind) and secondarily a photographer. He likes things not to be overly posed, preferring a beautiful scene with a girl in it, rather than a girl posing in a scene. This was my third shoot with him (see here and here for previous stuff). I love the relaxed feel and bokeh in these (and am delighted to be able to use one of the few technical terms I know, photography-wise). Here goes:
Lean and stooped, clumped at the feet
of elephantine trunks, by scrubby roots
and washing open spaces, grow
the bluebells. Emitting
periwinkle, leaving stains
on butterfly tongues, they knit together,
their dense heads close,
soaked overnight like pooled ink.
In sun they wisp, slight and arcing
as if to say there’s nothing to see;
this is what we do. As if being blue
means nothing more than reflecting
sky. On the ground, the clouds are spaces
to be grown in, hushed, amassed; barren
blanks to be sewn up,
like bubbles linking in water.
We then found some blossom:
It’s Good Friday today – Happy Easter everyone!