South London Photographer: A change of tempo

This is the first time I’ve written here for a month. That may be the longest gap between posts since setting up this site, which I originally did to increase my SEO. For anyone lucky enough not to have to devote time spreading news about services they offer, in my case photography, across the internet, that means Search Engine Optimisation. I had no idea what it stood for to begin with. I know now it’s about making sure as many people as possible notice you. For someone who occasionally feels she might prefer to walk round with a pillow-slip over her head to hide the sense of embarrassment she quite often experiences, this hasn’t always been easy. But before I started posting a couple of years ago people insisted, YOU MUST HAVE A BLOG.  So that’s what I did. I got a myself a blog. Then I couldn’t work out what to write about. I didn’t feel able to talk about photography with any authority as I was and am still learning. But I do know about my own life, and I know about the feeling of inadequacy parents often have, and since I was trying to appeal to families (as a sort of vague marketing goal) I thought I’d write about kiddie related subjects which, of course, I do have experience of, like feeling really crap, or being judged, or wondering if everything I’m doing or failing to do is in some way damaging to my precious brood.  So what you see here is a digital record of an experiment as I tried to discover, a) how to get over myself and b) who I might be talking to. If you’ve followed me you will know I began to witter on about my boys, mixed in along the way with stories of learning about images. (It has turned out, for now, most of my work is corporate although I am employed by families occasionally as well.) I have really enjoyed writing about life and my boys.  And I’ve really loved it when people have come up to me to say they found something I wrote funny, or that I made them feel better about their own parenting, or just that they look forward to my ramblings. But for the last few months I have found it very difficult to know what to write about at all. And not because I haven’t got anything to say. As anyone who knows me will agree, I could probably talk the hind leg of someone or something, as the saying sort of goes… And I certainly have plenty of opinions. But the world is so fucking confusing at the moment that blathering on about how the boys were splashing too much water on the floor as we battled for space with imaginary Greek gods in the bath just doesn’t seem right (although reading that sentence back, it does sound kind of worthwhile in that particular case).

So what do I talk about? I just can’t bring myself to ignore what’s going on in the world and I feel wittering on about family life regardless would be a failure of some sort. I will mention something about my oldest here: that recently I was accused of taking too much notice of his political views. In fact, I was told I rely on my son for political opinions. Whatever unconscious motivating factor prompted the accusation is perhaps as irrelevant as it is absurd. What is important is that I am immensely proud of my son for being politically engaged even though we don’t share opinions on many things. You might say I’m more left-wing than he currently is, just as my father had more right-wing views than I held when I was growing up. Perhaps those distincitions matter less nowadays. But back in the 80s my dad used to moan,”Oh, I can’t believe what a Trotskyite you are!” I’m not by the way but I didn’t think Thatcher was up to much good and he felt deeply betrayed by my view. Although my dad was always a Conservative voter, and felt pained by the fact I wasn’t, I know he would have been appalled by much of what is happening in the UK today. He  told us the reason for not trusting socialism or anything that sounded vaguely related was because Hitler had headed the National Socialist German Worker’s Party. Whatever the merits or lack thereof in his understanding, the point is we were able to discuss it. I was encouraged to explore ideas and think about the way the world worked. And by choosing to engage in discussions with my 12 year old son about politics, even when his views appear to be unsound or uninformed (they’re often very well-informed actually) I hope to give him room to think, question, explore and form well founded opinions of his own, which I’d say is pretty important nowadays. Talking and valuing our discussions is a really good way of doing this. And avoiding the sort of ludicrous, not to mention abusive, name calling we see on social media is absolutely imperative.

Words themselves are also crucial right now as are the ever-changing meanings they might contain, especially since much of what is being said in the press has led to extraordinary outcomes in recent months. I believe some of the press are currently bandying words around in ways that are dangerous in the extreme. And my socialist-adverse father would have been truly horrified and frightened by what is going on. As such as I am not sure how I will continue this blog for now. I feel I need to choose my words very carefully. These are political times and to ignore that seems wrong. What I do know is that I don’t really care about SEO anymore. I have a blog because I have something to say. Often saying it makes me want to hide my face, but too late for that probably. I also know we should encourage and allow our children to have political views if they’re interested, and the best way of doing that is to take their thoughts and opinions seriously. They, after all, are the ones who will be left to sort out the mess our world is currently in. It behoves us to listen to what they are telling us. I’m not sure how often I will write. Perhaps only when I’m prompted to ask questions. Or when I’m truly shocked by events. Whatever else is true, we in the UK really need to think about how we’ve found ourselves here in this place where societal empathy has been turned down to very low indeed, or in some cases simply switched off altogether.

(c)SJField 2016

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Taken at Skipton Castle in October’s half term, a critical location during the English Civil War, 1642-1651. I wonder what sort of mess we are leaving for our children to sort out (c)SJField 2016

South London Photographer: A list of contraband words

“So, we need to make a list of words and phrases that we mustn’t use,” announced my oldest son a couple of weeks ago. We were eating supper round the table at the time and as far as I can remember no one had just been rude or insulting, but then perhaps I’m just inured to the open aggression that flies about the place and which three young boys seem to accept as humour.  And in any case, are the harsh words they sometimes use towards each-other any worse or more difficult to be near than the physical aggression they accept as ‘play’? “OK,” I said with encouragement. I’m always very pleased when he appears to want to implement some structure in his life, no matter how small, even something as simple as a list. It’s so alien to him usually.

Immediately he leapt up from the table and grabbed a piece of paper and a pen, despite not having finished his meal. He’s not the only one who does this. For some reason these boys simply can’t stay seated for an entire dinner, and spend most of the time finding reasons to spring from their bottoms constantly. And as for the middle one – he’s got jumping beans in his pants and is genuinely unaware, I’m sure, that a seat is for sitting on, despite my constant pleading, commanding and finally demanding that he ‘sit down!’ each and every evening.  I feel myself wanting to erupt and am on the point of yelling, a litany of aggressive language desperate to explode out of my mouth, when fortunately and just in time  I remember my son’s desire to do away with harsh language.

The boys make a list of phrases and words they can’t say and all, especially the youngest one, enjoy very much the business of saying the words in order to put them on the list of words that can’t be said.

“So mum, what can’t you say?” I’m reluctant to give up any language. But it’s right we don’t insult each other constantly even though there are moments when the impulse to is overwhelming. Eventually I say, “Obviously, all the words you’ve already listed”, and then I also stupidly offer the word ‘twit’. Straight way I retract my offer. How on earth will I get through life if I can’t transform the genuinely dreadful words that are in my mind into a relatively benign and ineffectual word, used by Roald Dahl never forget, when I want to express my rage because they won’t put their shoes on, refuse to get dressed, or forget to throw away sweet wrappers and leave them on the floor instead?  “Nope!” says the oldest one, “you’ve given it up. It’s on the list”.

“Mum needs to say, twit!” says the youngest with force.

“N0!” replied his brother.

“You take twit off the list now or I’ll hit you really hard with my fists!” Oh, I think to myself, this moment hasn’t unfolded so well.

The words bounce of the big one, and he says calmly, “Well, if she’s allowed to call us twits, then we can call her one.”

At which point the littlest walks up to his  bother and punches him in the stomach. “Mum can say twit,” he yells, “and you can’t!!!” For a moment, I’m so proud of him and his desire to protect and fight for me with such passion. It’s too adorable. Although I do see it’s not so great that it comes with such a hefty blow to his sibling. Thankfully, rather than prompting my first-born into a full-on fist fight with his four-year old brother, which has been known, Mr. Sensible laughs and tells us he’s happy to remove twit from the list, leaving me at least one word to insult them all with when I feel like it. By now the middle child is laughing hysterically because seeing a four-year old take such command over everthing is simply the funniest thing he can imagine.

I don’t know what eventually happened to that list. It lay on the kitchen counter for a couple of days and hasn’t been seen since. I thought about it afterwards and felt, as much as I agree with choosing to be kind to each-other over meanness, removing words from our language entirely actually presents us with different problems. There is always a cost. Making words illicit risks giving them greater power, and probation tends to force things underground. When we’re angry, instead of expressing it we risk suppressing how we feel if there is no medium for communicating it. And suppressed anger leads to bad feelings building up inside and transforming into trapped emotional wind. And we all know what that results in. It’s painful and uncomfortable and stinks when it escapes. Passive-aggressive language is far worse is my mind than outright verbal insults, even though those aren’t great either. At least you know where you are with open and honest words. But in the end you can’t have small children wondering about the place calling each-other by unmentionable names and shouting out swearwords really loudly down the street now, can you? So, we currently have no contraband list in the house, but we know we’re all OK with twit and flippin’ or frikkin’. Personnally,  I tried friggin’ for a while until I thought about it and resolved that friggin’ was no less ‘rude’ than fucking when you get down to it, although it’s often used as a replacement. I’m not sure you can wonder round saying you ‘friggin’ anything at all to your kids. But I am sure there are times when you and they have just got to say something!

Image (c)SJField 2015

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They follow you, they reflect you, they shadow you. Our kids learn so much from us and repeat whatever we do. Sometimes the responsibility can be overwhelming as we navigate all the pitfalls. This image was taken on my phone and edited in Snapseed and Hipstamatic Tintype apps. I have a  very limited number of prints available. Contact me for details. (c)SJField 2015

 

South London Photographer: Managing expectations

I like so many women I know, can do lots of different things. And often simultaneously. I can get dressed, hoover the carpet, eat toast and reply to an email on my phone, and all at the same time as yelling at a small child who can’t find his shoes because he’s hidden them in a basket for reasons only he understands. Sometimes I truly impress myself with that common mum-like ability to travel through the day successfully, surrounded by several virtual plates spinning maniacally all about my aura. And often they don’t even come crashing down before I make it to the end of the day. Instead I’m able to place them neatly in the corner ready for the next morning, when once again I’ll be getting dressed, eating toast, tidying up and yelling at a child about getting dressed before he ventures out into the street to hunt for ants to observe, because he’s decided that they are the greatest possible pet option on a growing list of exotic creatures, all of which I’ve rejected so far. Nevertheless, I’m sometimes saddened but also perfectly honest enough to admit, there are plenty of things I have yet to master, and many that I likely never will. I have not worked out how to grow an extra couple of arms, although, lord knows, I could really do with a spare set. I haven’t worked out how to be in two places at once, and I can’t even deduce that young boys in places quite far from me are disgruntled because I’m not where they think I ought to be, at exactly the time they think they need me to be.

“I exist in a reality outside your head too, young boy! I’m a person in my own right, really, I am. How can I possibly know you’ve not got your keys if you don’t call and let me know?” He replied, “I did!” I looked at my phone. And it’s true, he did, precisely three minutes earlier. But not at the very beginning of the 45 minute episode that he’d been sitting on the doorstep waiting impatiently. “Where are you????” he implores with utter indignation on my voice mail.

And no matter how hard I try I will never be able to morph into a dustbin, coat-rack, towel or snack, regardless of how much my children think I am surely any one of those objects at any given point. And I will never, ever, ever be able to control the weather. Nope, not ever. And nor do I wish to either. This comes as a shock and rather bad news to at least two of my children who make weather-dependent demands and then become infuriated when it just doesn’t work out the way they hoped.

All of which made me immensely grateful when I spoke to a client who has some weather specific aims for her photographs. We’ll need to play things by ear and see what the weather is doing for that, I said. Of course, she replied, I’m all over ‘flexible’. When you’re dealing with small people on a daily basis, flexible seems like a most precious and cherished trait to come across in someone. Mind you, my client is a yoga teacher, and not a somewhat willful and intractable 8-year-old boy, so it seems perfectly acceptable to expect that of her. And because she’s a mum, I bet she can do loads of stuff at the same time, and a sun salutation to boot too. But of course she wouldn’t even try, because we all know, that way sheer madness lies.

(c)SJField 2016

If I could control the weather, as I’m sure my children believe I can, I’d make sure it was foggy a lot more often. I love the mysterious atmosphere it brings and the diffused light is just beautiful. I’d also have been able to order a bit of lovely dappled sunlight in the woods this evening. (c)SJField 2015

South London Photographer:A brand new year

Yes, that’s right. I’ve decided to make September the start of my new year. Bollocks to January! It’s grey and cold. No-one has any money and nearly everyone I know gives up drinking too, which always makes me feel vaguely guilty for not doing so. But come on, didn’t you hear me? It’s grey and cold, and surely everyone can see that’s the worse time to give up – unless you’re really dependent, then anytime is obviously good. But in September, it’s still sunny and mildly warm, even baking hot on some days, and while no one has any money after all those summer days out and camping trips and pizzas which still cost a fortune even with the 30% off voucher, having no money anytime at all is the new reality for most of us, regardless of the month. So, far better to mark time passing, to celebrate the communal endings and societal beginnings, when the brats return to school and we all get to go back to what ever it is we spend our lives doing when they’re not around. Even if that something is simply sitting and enjoying a moment of peace for five minutes without someone yelling, “Mum, wipe my bum!” Or else banging on and on and on about a new game that the whole world is playing on their phones which seems, frankly really boring, except for the fact that since everyone is wandering around holding their phones up to their faces, anyone taking surreptitious street photographs with one can kind of get away with looking like they too are simply playing a game and not being a weird creepy pest, as my eldest son likes to call me.

Hang on, is that peace and quiet I hear?  It’s been such a long time since I last experienced anything along those lines, I’m not sure if I should trust my ears along with the slow sense of returning to something approximating a relative type of equilibrium. Oh, yes… I think it is. Allowing it to creep in and take hold of me feels …’oozy’, a bit like the sensation of cool mud squelching between my toes. I like it! And it gives me a chance to come up with a new year’s list of things to consider going forward. Because they do say writing things down is good for something or other, not sure what, but here it is

  1. Create something brilliant and award winning
  2. Have realistic and achievable goals
  3. With reference to point 2 adjust point 1 and internalise point 2
  4. Keep telling youngest son he mustn’t randomly grab a women’s boobs
  5. Or anyone else’s for that matter
  6. Nor lift my skirt up in the high street to show everyone passing my knickers
  7. Or even my T-shirt in the supermarket to show everyone my post-3-children stomach
  8. Nor should said small child carry on thinking its acceptable to swear really loudly in public
  9. Or quietly
  10. Or at all
  11. Sit and do homework with middle child even though he’s a whiny pain in the arse about it
  12.  Try to remember point 11 for the whole of the academic year not just week 1 of term 1
  13. Force oldest child tidy to his room occasionally even though he’s going to be taller than me very soon and already has much bigger feet than me – especially so perhaps since I won’t be able to for much longer
  14. Be nice to kids generally
  15. Be stricter with kids generally
  16. Try hard to reconcile points 12 and 13
  17. Make some money
  18. See point 2

And with that I must get on and order things and answer emails and work. Oh yes, now I remember. That’s what I do when those small people are at school. I work!

Have a great week!

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Street photography taken on my phone. Did they they wonder what on earth I was doing photographing them, or did they assume I was playing a game featuring these crazy little virtual reality critters?  I have a friend who has given up his smart phone altogether. I said I would like to do the same thing but for the camera and he said, heh, here’s a crazy idea, why don’t you use one of those actual non-phone cameras with the really excellent image quality you’ve got there? Good point!

Image (c)SJField 2016

South London Photographer: Fishy crisis

Oh dear, I think to myself. He’s really not very well at all. As I’ve been watching him for some time now, I have to admit it’s abundantly clear, indefatigably true, undeniably apparent that something is fundamentally wrong with him. His little black fins flap furiously as he tries to right himself. But just as he’s been doing constantly since I noticed, he gives up, floating to the top of the bowl where he bobs listlessly. And upside down too. Until the next time he musters enough strength to try yet again. Poor thing. He’s quite, quite unbalanced.

Oh, my god, I cry, I think I’ve killed the fish. Somehow, as I prepared to clean the water, I must have damaged his fin or something. Because now, this poor little creature, whose name incidentally is Joseph, can’t help but float upside down at the top of the fish bowl. I peer closer and notice his tummy. Is it fat, I wonder? Yes, I think it’s fat. Maybe Joseph is pregnant. Oh, Mary, mother of …. Little fish, we’ll have little fish. What will we do with little fish? And how many little fish?

Hang on a minute, do fish even give birth? No. They lay eggs. I do remember that much. And how fat does a goldfish with a stomach full of teeny, weeny tiny eggs get? I may not be that ‘up’ on fractured fins. But I know about reproduction. And I don’t ever recall hearing that pregnant fish swim upside down, (even though the experience may well have turned your own life upside down; it did mine). So, it probably won’t be pregnant, will it? As always in times of confusion nowadays I reach for my phone and type into a search engine, ‘upside down goldfish’. My eyes fly eagerly through the links and rest on something looking vaguely relevant. After just a few moments it is more than obvious I’ve probably not harmed Joseph at all. Phew! And, he’s almost certainly not expecting. That’s good too. What’s most likely is that poor old Joseph has a bad case of wind.

Joseph just needs to fart. Really badly, it would seem.

Yes, that’s awful. It’s not usually fatal, but a tummy full of trapped air is dreadfully uncomfortable, as everyone knows. So, for the next day or so I feed Joseph tiny pieces of chopped up defrosted peas as instructed on the web, and before very long he has righted himself and is no longer looking like a very pregnant, albeit upside, Josephine. No births. But no deaths either. “It’s alright, boys,” I report, “No need to euthanise the goldfish this week.” They look up from various screens, grunt at me and life continues as before. Which, in Joseph’s case, is truly great news.

Story: just one of many moments from our summer holidays. Pictures: taken in France near the town of Cap Ferret, where we went camping this summer. A beautiful part of the world. And good for fishing apparently although I’m not sure Joseph and his friends would agree.

For all those heading back to school this week, have fun.

SJ x

Images (c) SJField 2016

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South London Photographer: Girlhood

I’m feeling a little speechless at the moment and don’t know what to say.  The country seems to be disintegrating around us and racism/bigotry are apparently driving policy across the political divide. I’m horrified. I kind of want to talk about it but there’s so much noise, finger pointing and downright infantile name calling out there, that I’m going to resist. I can’t see how my tuppence-worth will contribute anything worth hearing right now.  But neither can I bring myself to chat idly about my sometimes funny and sweet children as I normally do here.

Instead I will use this opportunity to introduce some of the work I have been doing these last months which aims to look at aspects of girlhood.  I’m finding my way through this project and have no idea where it is going but I do know that doing the project has allowed me to spend time with some amazing young people, and I am grateful for that.

(c)SJField 2016

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South London Photographer: A day out

Whatever you feel about the current political state of collapse it would be difficult to deny how historically important it all is.  I won’t say much in words.  Everybody has their view and I know from past experience that asking people on either side of an argument to shift or broaden there positions can be hugely challenging.  But obviously I took some photographs while out and about today and I’m sharing some of those here.

Images (c)SJField 2016

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South London Photographer: Chicken!

This week I’m posting a portrait of my son and one of his greatest, most special friends. It’s a little opaque, I know, as portraits go. But then so is he sometimes. Not long ago my son decided to only use the word ‘chicken’ in place of all nouns. Now that really was opaque; “What would you like for supper?” I’d ask.  He’d reply, “Chicken please!” Followed by, “Or shall we have chicken instead? I don’t know. I kind of feel like chicken.” And later, “Chicken! Chicken’s hurting me!!” Or, “I really hate chicken, it’s so chicken.” Even so, I marvelled at his timing because his overwhelming commitment to one single noun came along just as I started the semiotic section of my course. My son, lover of the word ‘chicken’ had managed to illustrate the arbitrary nature of words in one morning whereas the complex and difficult book I was struggling with remained almost entirely out of my intellectual reach. I’m happy to say I’m getting there with it, slowly it’s true, but I thank my 8 year old for his help. I don’t know how old the author of the book is but I wonder if he’d like some advice from my son, about the way in which chickens can be so very strange. For such a cavalier disregarder of so many words in favour of one, it might surprise you to hear that he later wrote a poem at school which was so good no one believed it had sprung from his own pen. How frustrating that must have been for him. He declared sadly that no-one trusted him, except for me (and I had my doubts, I have to admit). The thing is, children and young people, when we give them the space, can do amazing things.  Let’s listen to our young people more and stop underestimating them. They’re pretty wonderful when we let them be.

Have a great chicken everyone. x

Image (c)SJField 2016

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South London Photographer: Sharing the phone fun

During the last week I have facilitated a couple of workshops, sharing some of the lessons I have learned when using my phone to take and edit pictures.  At each session I have started by urging people to stop thinking of their phones as poor relations to their cameras and start appreciating the possibilities phones offer.  “The best camera is the one you have with you” is quoted by various people all over the internet, and is the title of a book by photographer, Chase Jarvis. Regardless of where the quote comes from, it’s very true – you can only take pictures with the camera you have on you at the time. And most of us nowadays do have our phones with us pretty much all the time.  I’ve read recently that point and shoot cameras may well disappear from the market altogether as phones have replaced the need for their existence. But I was also recently sent some information about a new powerful, wifi enabled camera, which I noted has been designed in the shape of a phone.  I can’t help wondering if the makers will ultimately be forced to shoe-horn an actual phone into their camera to make it sellable.  Who knows what the future holds? We’ll see!

Here are some of the comments that were sent to me or posted on Facebook after Friday evening and an earlier worksop in the week where I taught teachers, which I have to say was a little bit nerve wracking.

“Just had the most brilliant evening playing around with phone photography under the inspiring tutelage of Sarah-Jane Field.”

“Worth every penny.  Thank you so much for a fab evening and brilliant photo experience!”

“Thank you for the workshop yesterday evening – all of us very much enjoyed it and felt that we have learnt something that we can use personally as well as here at work.”

“I loved it – definitely recommend it!”

And here are a couple of lovely pictures taken by the people who attended:

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By talented local artist, Amanda Blunden
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By Sue Medhurst
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By Rowan Conway

 

The positive reaction has generated further interest and so I’m sure I’ll be doing another local session soon. Look out for details.

Here are some pictures from Friday evening’s workshop, which I must admit I didn’t take on my phone due to the fact that it, along with the camera inside it, is pretty smashed up and broken, and has been for a while now. I really must get it together to call the insurance company and sort that out and I very much hope to have a new phone by my next outing with phone photography enthusiasts. I’m beginning to get quite frustrated by my compromised phone camera!

This week I am attending a workshop myself rather than taking it and I’m incredibly excited. Having spent the last few days sharing my love for the most up to date technology in phones to take photographs, I shall be travelling back through history and learning to make ambrotypes, one of the earliest forms of photography there is.  Aren’t I lucky?  I’m sure I’ll be posting lots of pictures afterwards about my time there so look out for those.

Have a great week! SJ

(c)SJField 2016

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South London Photographer: Chatting with 12 year olds about photography

Last night I met up with a group of 10-12 year olds to share some fun tips about using their phones or tablets to take and edit photographs.  It was a bit of a windy, grey evening weather-wise, but even though we all had horribly cold hands by the end of it, I definitely enjoyed myself and hope the others did too. I’ve alway liked that age group. Years ago when I used to teach drama to children and young people (adults too, in fact) I remember acknowledging that I really enjoyed spending time with preteens. They’re not quite grown up yet, so mostly are still imbued with a happy childishness, however, they are without any doubt fully fledged human-beings by then. Because in actual fact, the very young ones just aren’t. Nope, not at all. I realised this fact about some four and five year olds when I offered to do an after school drama club with my oldest son’s class when he was in reception. It was then that my respect and admiration for anyone working with that particular age group soared. I tried desperately to keep those rowdy miniature hooligans in control, failed utterly, and eventually gave up, blaming my son’s obvious jealousy and discomfort over sharing his mum with 18 other children. (I’ll always be grateful to the mums who stayed behind and helped with toilet breaks and upsets). But I realised too that the uncontrollable chimp-like lunacy of those small people was not for me. Teachers who can manage it, for there are those that are brilliant at it, deserve our utmost admiration and thanks.

Last night’s workshop made me aware of some important facts as far as sharing information and knowledge goes. Perhaps a really important point was made when a lovely girl I’ve known since she was born told me she couldn’t work out whether she wanted to make her photographs look very  natural and realistic, or ‘weird’. Heh, I said, join the club! I still can’t work that one out myself and keep playing with a variety choices, and maybe will forever.  Just play, I advised, and maybe you’ll reach a decision or maybe you won’t. Don’t worry about it for now, though. One day, if you’re photographing for a specific reason then you can make choices based on what is required, for instance it might not be appropriate to have a ‘weird’ image illustrating something in a text book. Saying that, I recently read that if you want to make lots of money then settle on a style but if you want to explore and discover, don’t limit yourself.  I think it was a great photographer called Alec Soth who said that. Do look him up if you don’t know him and are interested in photography – he’s terrific.

I’m sharing a picture here which I’ve already shared on Instagram, one which has had lots of positive feedback, although I’m torn about it. I love the mood but in the same vein as my friend’s daughter who questioned her aesthetic choices last night, I never know whether I’m entirely happy using affects and apps, or if I’ve gone too far, or if I should simply accept that those choices faithfully express something I’m playing with right now. I think I should take my own advice and stop worrying about it – although I think I am probably expected to have more than an inkling about why I make certain decisions, especially in my studies. Whatever else is true, and perhaps down to being little bit ‘naughty’, for now I think I’ll continue to approach my own work by just playing and discovering for as long as I can, and trying not to worry too much.

As we had so much fun last night, I am going to offer an ongoing phone photography club aimed at kids aged 10-13 years old.  We’ll meet once a month and just hang out taking pictures and sharing them like we did last night, and generally talk about how we think we can improve our skills. Please get in touch at photo@sarahjanefield.co.uk or message me via social media with your email address and I’ll keep you informed with updates. I may well offer a different club to a slightly younger group, 8-9 years olds, because in the end a few little monkeys can be fun and they’re certainly very close to being human beings by then, but that group will be limited to a relatively small number. Again, let me know if this interests you. Keep a look out on Twitter and FB for dates regarding both. And I’ve got a couple of places left on the adult workshop/photo walk in the 17th, so get in touch about that if you fancy it.

Enjoy the rest of half term for those of you still on it. My font room seems to have been turned permanently into a den made out of blankets and duvets.  And I’m fine with that, really. Honest. No,no, no… I am!

SJ x

Image (c)SJField 2016

Alfumbreallarain
Captured on my phone, edited in apps – Snapseed, Hipstagram and Instagram (c)SJField 2016