Caged Muse

I had an interesting message today on my photostream on Flickr from the highly talented WorldScope. One of the things I most admire about his work is the great flexibility he shows in subject, genre and even technique whilst still retaining a great sense of personal style and feeling. Honestly, you must check out his work. Personally I'm still trying to work out how to go about pinching his new camera...

Anyway, he suggested that I should post more work outside of the Macro genre in which I am comfortable. He has a very good point and I've been trawling through my archives for examples I could upload (and have done...take a look and see what you think)

I'm somewhat house-bound due to illness. I am able to get out, but the process is quite involved and doesn't happen often. When it does, it's usually for a necessary action rather than an enjoyable photoshoot. For that reason, Macro photography has been extremely important to me. I've been able to expand the relatively small space I inhabit by looking much more closely into it. A flower bed suddenly becomes a forest. An every day object can become a fully paid up (and extremely cooperative) model.

This doesn't mean that I am necessarily content with things as they are, though...and I do rather wish I had people around me to model and the chance to tramp through the countryside capturing some of the images I dream of. So this rather limited selection of photographs from holidays and rare days out are rather important to me. I don't know how much skill and art they demonstrate, but every single one has a story and were of great value to me.

Yesterday an ice-cream van drove by my bedroom window. It's signage was bright in the strong spring light, though the engine was rough and clattered in the quiet Saturday morning air.

As it disappeared down the road, the engine fading, I heard the music start up. I didn't know the tune, and it danced through the air, spinning and twirling, dipping in and out, behind hedges and cars and houses. It was at once heart breakingly beautiful and infinitely fragile.

So what'll it be? A 99, perhaps? A flake, rocket or lemonade lolly? Or the frozen tears of victorian maidens caught in a void of crumbled lace and wasted dreams? They've got it all.