You know, I am so thankful in many ways for my current illness as it has crystallised things for me.
It hadn't occurred to me to look to make my living from something I enjoy, but now I have the belief in myself that I can do this, nothing else will do.
For me, the need to use my camera is like an ache. It's an addiction, a need just like some would have for alcohol or drugs. I get 'itchy' if I haven't taken some shots in a couple of days.
With a camera in front of my face I'm more inquisitive, more daring, more interested in the world around me. I'm not sure if it's because with most of my field of vision blocked off I can take in and appreciate the finer detail I see, but I seem to notice things camera in hand that would go unnoticed otherwise.
When I am in photographer mode I will go places I would never go without my camera. Believe it or not, I'm actually quite shy, but with my camera out I put that aside to just get the shot I want. Recently, when on holiday in Dorset and going round the gorgeous Christchurch Priory there was a little room in the church which looked so private I wasn't sure whether the public were even supposed to go in there. I popped my head in and quickly retreated, but then thought better of it and with camera in hand went in and took a couple of shots. When I was taking shots of a local church on Monday I hesitated at the thought of walking round the grounds, as churches are pretty hallowed places to me, but nevertheless I spent at least half an hour exploring, even though I was perhaps worried I'd be 'caught out' by the vicar!
It's almost like the camera acts as a mask and barrier between myself and the subjects in front of me, enabling me to do what I really want to do despite my fears.
After so long of feeling 'wrong' in every job I've done it comes as an epiphany to realise the reason I was soo unhappy was because I'm just not cut out for the 9-5. I'd wondered what was wrong with me as I'd NEVER had a job I really enjoyed. I knew I wasn't lazy as I worked my tits off in every job I did, and I just couldn't understand why I couldn't knuckle down to a 'normal' job like everyone else without being depressed. I described my work as 'soul destroying' and leaving me 'with nothing left for myself at the end of the day'. Not a good way to spend my life, I'm sure you'll agree.
It's like someone had been hiding a piece of the puzzle from me for years, and as it was an abstract I couldn't see what the picture was supposed to be without it. Now it all comes clear. The older I've got the more I've felt the need to create and now that need is burning a hole in me. If I don't do what I need to do I'll be destroyed....and doing my last job pretty much initiated my destruction.
Now has to come a time of faith, both on my part and on James's. He knows what it is I want to do. He also knows it's not a quick process. Just like an actor on the dole as they find regular work too frustrating hopes and waits for that big part to come up and justify their very existence, I have to work at my dream and have faith it'll happen one day and hope the poverty in the meantime doesn't make us implode. I have no doubt it'll be hard, but I have no doubt I can do it. I've never wanted to do anything as much as I want to do this.
When I am technically better and have more equipment I intend to set up a scheme whereby I take photos of people with cancer, amputees, injured soldiers and disabled people to make them feel beautiful. I feel strongly that a photograph can make someone see themselves in the beautiful light other people see them in that they themslves can't see. Society is far too obsessed with perfection and I want to give back something to people who really need cheering up and deserve to feel as valued as anyone else.
In the meantime I'm going to take as many photos as I can to improve my technique. College starts in 2 months and I can't wait to learn more, as after all I intend to make my living from photography.
We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars ~ Oscar Wilde
You can only become truly accomplished at something you love. Don’t make money your goal. Instead pursue the things you love doing and then do them so well that people can’t take their eyes off of you ~ Maya Angelou
Wednesday, 29 July 2009
Wednesday, 22 July 2009
Hey Marina and Wendy!
Thanks for following me!
You get a blog all to yourself, admittedly a very short one though :o) :o)
You rock! x x
You get a blog all to yourself, admittedly a very short one though :o) :o)
You rock! x x
Thursday, 16 July 2009
Everyone has had their say on Michael Jackson. Here's mine
For the first time since Michael Jackson died, I'm going to put my two pence worth in. I know this has been done to death on Facebook, MySpace and Twitter, but I haven't had my say yet! I was a fan of MJ in my youth, but as I got older my tastes grew heavier, and I haven't really listened to any of his music since the early 90s.
The amount of 'people' (and I use that term loosely) who came out of the sewers to speak ill of the man before he was cold shocked me. I knew some people would have bad things to say about him, but I was surprised at the sheer number of haters.
My mother raised me not to speak ill of the dead, is that not the same for most other people?!
At the time of the Jordan Chandler sex abuse allegations I was unsure if MJ was guilty or not, but since he died I have been made aware of a fact which have has made my mind up. The $20 million pay off the Chandler family received was at the insistence of MJ's insurance company, not from the man himself hushing up a dirty little secret as I'd previously thought. I'll tell you a little something for nothing- if my son had been sexually assaulted by someone I'd sooner die than take money from his attacker- I'd have fought to the death in court to prove the veracity of the allegations. The pay out was win-win for the Chandlers- because they took the money and disappeared off the face of the earth. They could never admit to lying through their teeth, even after MJ's passing. A cynic may say their absence on the chat show circuit was telling. I'd have been all over Maury Povich like stink if that were my kid. Hmmm.
I believe the second allegation - made by the family of Gavin Arvizo - was a crock of shit. Not one shred of evidence was found to incriminate MJ, and do you not think that the police would have been baying for his blood at this second accusation? No smoke without fire, right?! Anyone who says MJ was cleared because of his money is a tool. The mother had a history of trying to extort money out of people, including Jay Leno and a couple of police officers she'd never even met. She consulted a lawyer about the alleged abuse before she consulted the police, which speaks volumes of her intent.
I could never speak ill of MJ, as I believe he had a simply awful life. Of course, if I believed - as some do - that he was guilty of child abuse, I would be less charitable towards his memory. He was thrashed by his evil father as a child, grew up seeing his older brothers using and abusing female fans like dirty tissues, toured the world and grew up in front of the baying press. Is it any wonder he lived his adult life as a child?
I watched Martin Bashir's interview with Jackson 6 years ago. I think anyone who saw it would agree MJ was a strange fellow, to say the least, but I believe Mr Bashir set out to make a highly controversial documentary. He succeeded. MJ's denials about plastic surgery were a blatant lie, but in hindsight, if he had admitted the extent of his operations he would have thus acknowledged his deep-seated self-hatred, and we'd have all known too. He met Debbie Rowe when she attended to him after he burnt his scrotum with strong bleaching cream. Can you imagine living a life where you hate your body so much you'll go through agonising treatments to change yourself into something else? Reading about that incident made me feel so sorry for the man- I don't think anyone believed he had vitiligo, but to bleach even his most tender spots shows how much he loathed his natural self. When he was married to Lisa Marie Presley he'd wake up before her to apply lipstick, mascara and blusher, and would dash out of bed if she awoke before he'd done his face. What an awful way to live your life, not even letting down the guard in front of his wife.
Some have said that MJ's seeming addiction to plastic surgery may have in fact been an addiction to the strong painkillers he was given to deal with the pain afterwards. In the Mail online recently, it was alleged MJ asked to put under for 72 hours at a time after surgeries. A man with a terribly low pain threshold or a man with no lust for life? Either way it comes as no shock to us now that MJ's body was riddled with drugs when he died. It is said he was in pain every day of his life, an affliction many dancers would share with MJ. Once again- just as he was taken advantage of by his cruel father in childhood- he was let down by the medics supposed to be looking after him. Numerous prescriptions littered his rented house in many different names, a product of a system where you can obtain health 'care' from anyone, as long as you have the green to pay for it.
I feel an overwhelming sadness when I think about the life of Michael Jackson. Even with all his money, I'd have never wanted his life, as I doubt he was a happy man. Three children are now left without their father, something people speaking ill of the man would do well to remember. I hope for them his legacy is his music, not allegations of kiddie fiddling.
It's easy to forget in the media maelstrom that MJ was a musical genius. American blogger and all-round cool lady Nina pointed out something to me I wasn't aware of. She said that Michael Jackson was the first black person featured on MTV, and that he opened up the floodgates for other artists of colour. Prior to that, if Nina had wanted to watch people her colour, she'd had to stay up to stupid o'clock to watch them on special shows. MJ paved the way to the more tolerant society we live in today, and for that alone we should be thankful.
Just my tuppence on the subject. Now I'm going to listen to some of MJ's music on Spotify.
The amount of 'people' (and I use that term loosely) who came out of the sewers to speak ill of the man before he was cold shocked me. I knew some people would have bad things to say about him, but I was surprised at the sheer number of haters.
My mother raised me not to speak ill of the dead, is that not the same for most other people?!
At the time of the Jordan Chandler sex abuse allegations I was unsure if MJ was guilty or not, but since he died I have been made aware of a fact which have has made my mind up. The $20 million pay off the Chandler family received was at the insistence of MJ's insurance company, not from the man himself hushing up a dirty little secret as I'd previously thought. I'll tell you a little something for nothing- if my son had been sexually assaulted by someone I'd sooner die than take money from his attacker- I'd have fought to the death in court to prove the veracity of the allegations. The pay out was win-win for the Chandlers- because they took the money and disappeared off the face of the earth. They could never admit to lying through their teeth, even after MJ's passing. A cynic may say their absence on the chat show circuit was telling. I'd have been all over Maury Povich like stink if that were my kid. Hmmm.
I believe the second allegation - made by the family of Gavin Arvizo - was a crock of shit. Not one shred of evidence was found to incriminate MJ, and do you not think that the police would have been baying for his blood at this second accusation? No smoke without fire, right?! Anyone who says MJ was cleared because of his money is a tool. The mother had a history of trying to extort money out of people, including Jay Leno and a couple of police officers she'd never even met. She consulted a lawyer about the alleged abuse before she consulted the police, which speaks volumes of her intent.
I could never speak ill of MJ, as I believe he had a simply awful life. Of course, if I believed - as some do - that he was guilty of child abuse, I would be less charitable towards his memory. He was thrashed by his evil father as a child, grew up seeing his older brothers using and abusing female fans like dirty tissues, toured the world and grew up in front of the baying press. Is it any wonder he lived his adult life as a child?
I watched Martin Bashir's interview with Jackson 6 years ago. I think anyone who saw it would agree MJ was a strange fellow, to say the least, but I believe Mr Bashir set out to make a highly controversial documentary. He succeeded. MJ's denials about plastic surgery were a blatant lie, but in hindsight, if he had admitted the extent of his operations he would have thus acknowledged his deep-seated self-hatred, and we'd have all known too. He met Debbie Rowe when she attended to him after he burnt his scrotum with strong bleaching cream. Can you imagine living a life where you hate your body so much you'll go through agonising treatments to change yourself into something else? Reading about that incident made me feel so sorry for the man- I don't think anyone believed he had vitiligo, but to bleach even his most tender spots shows how much he loathed his natural self. When he was married to Lisa Marie Presley he'd wake up before her to apply lipstick, mascara and blusher, and would dash out of bed if she awoke before he'd done his face. What an awful way to live your life, not even letting down the guard in front of his wife.
Some have said that MJ's seeming addiction to plastic surgery may have in fact been an addiction to the strong painkillers he was given to deal with the pain afterwards. In the Mail online recently, it was alleged MJ asked to put under for 72 hours at a time after surgeries. A man with a terribly low pain threshold or a man with no lust for life? Either way it comes as no shock to us now that MJ's body was riddled with drugs when he died. It is said he was in pain every day of his life, an affliction many dancers would share with MJ. Once again- just as he was taken advantage of by his cruel father in childhood- he was let down by the medics supposed to be looking after him. Numerous prescriptions littered his rented house in many different names, a product of a system where you can obtain health 'care' from anyone, as long as you have the green to pay for it.
I feel an overwhelming sadness when I think about the life of Michael Jackson. Even with all his money, I'd have never wanted his life, as I doubt he was a happy man. Three children are now left without their father, something people speaking ill of the man would do well to remember. I hope for them his legacy is his music, not allegations of kiddie fiddling.
It's easy to forget in the media maelstrom that MJ was a musical genius. American blogger and all-round cool lady Nina pointed out something to me I wasn't aware of. She said that Michael Jackson was the first black person featured on MTV, and that he opened up the floodgates for other artists of colour. Prior to that, if Nina had wanted to watch people her colour, she'd had to stay up to stupid o'clock to watch them on special shows. MJ paved the way to the more tolerant society we live in today, and for that alone we should be thankful.
Just my tuppence on the subject. Now I'm going to listen to some of MJ's music on Spotify.
Tuesday, 14 July 2009
Bad things happen for a good reason
Sometimes they really do.
Let me just say I’m not one of those religious do-gooders who tells someone that when their 3 year old infant dies of cancer it is ‘God’s Will.’ No no no no nooooooooo. I am not one of those people. What I mean is sometimes in life something bad will happen to us and we will have an epithany. We will be stopped dead in our tracks and forced to re-think.
In my case, my illness has made me think about what I really REALLY want to do with my life, particularly to do with work. Or to be more to the point, it has made me aware of what I really don’t want to do for work. The early stages of this auto-immune thing (possibly Sarcoidosis according to one doctor, but it could be just about anything *EDIT - I have Fibromyalgia and Chronic Fatigue Syndrome*) were a great time of soul-searching for me. I soon became aware that had I not endured my last job way past the point of reason, I’d probably be well today.
I think my upbringing has given me a ridiculous sense of duty, even to people who don’t deserve it. I am the oldest child in a single-parent family, and as such I grew up feeling very much an overbearing sense of loyalty and expectation. I am a very loyal employee, even when my employer doesn’t deserve it. I take on jobs that I don’t really want, just to bring some money in - I have been everything from an aircraft cleaner to a telesales operative to the manager of a shop. It had NEVER occurred to me to look for work in a field I love prior to becoming ill. How f*cked up is that?!
Really, HOW stupid is that?! How obvious.
So, almost 2 years of ill health later, I realise for me to be happy I HAVE to work in a creative field.
This is non-negotiable. At the moment I do not work at all, I am on health-related benefits, but when I do go back to work on a part-time basis (initially) I will need to work somewhere where I can be expressive, and free, and not hemmed in by stupid f*cking rules that make no sense.
Working in an office, in a shop where I have to follow half-arsed procedure……these things will kill me. I can’t hunker down like a rat with the filth of my oppressor employer pissing down my back. I love to write, to paint, to photograph. I MUST find a way to make money from these things or I will never get better.
Finally at 35 years of age I am coming into my own. I have always felt I was a late bloomer, and being made to re-evaluate my life and my goals has been a good thing. If I had never got ill I’d still be doing soul-destroying work for an anonymous fat-cat, taken for granted and treated like a number. Many, many millions of people work this way to pay for the things they want, but I can’t be one of them. I would truly rather be poor and true to myself than rich from living a lie.
This is why I say bad things happen for a good reason.
Let me just say I’m not one of those religious do-gooders who tells someone that when their 3 year old infant dies of cancer it is ‘God’s Will.’ No no no no nooooooooo. I am not one of those people. What I mean is sometimes in life something bad will happen to us and we will have an epithany. We will be stopped dead in our tracks and forced to re-think.
In my case, my illness has made me think about what I really REALLY want to do with my life, particularly to do with work. Or to be more to the point, it has made me aware of what I really don’t want to do for work. The early stages of this auto-immune thing (possibly Sarcoidosis according to one doctor, but it could be just about anything *EDIT - I have Fibromyalgia and Chronic Fatigue Syndrome*) were a great time of soul-searching for me. I soon became aware that had I not endured my last job way past the point of reason, I’d probably be well today.
I think my upbringing has given me a ridiculous sense of duty, even to people who don’t deserve it. I am the oldest child in a single-parent family, and as such I grew up feeling very much an overbearing sense of loyalty and expectation. I am a very loyal employee, even when my employer doesn’t deserve it. I take on jobs that I don’t really want, just to bring some money in - I have been everything from an aircraft cleaner to a telesales operative to the manager of a shop. It had NEVER occurred to me to look for work in a field I love prior to becoming ill. How f*cked up is that?!
Really, HOW stupid is that?! How obvious.
So, almost 2 years of ill health later, I realise for me to be happy I HAVE to work in a creative field.
This is non-negotiable. At the moment I do not work at all, I am on health-related benefits, but when I do go back to work on a part-time basis (initially) I will need to work somewhere where I can be expressive, and free, and not hemmed in by stupid f*cking rules that make no sense.
Working in an office, in a shop where I have to follow half-arsed procedure……these things will kill me. I can’t hunker down like a rat with the filth of my oppressor employer pissing down my back. I love to write, to paint, to photograph. I MUST find a way to make money from these things or I will never get better.
Finally at 35 years of age I am coming into my own. I have always felt I was a late bloomer, and being made to re-evaluate my life and my goals has been a good thing. If I had never got ill I’d still be doing soul-destroying work for an anonymous fat-cat, taken for granted and treated like a number. Many, many millions of people work this way to pay for the things they want, but I can’t be one of them. I would truly rather be poor and true to myself than rich from living a lie.
This is why I say bad things happen for a good reason.
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