Just looking

[thewalkingwriter]

The indecision set

I have finally retrieved all my photos from my old laptop and am going through all the folders...very slowly...This is one of my first attempts at still life, dating 2 years ago, when I was "inspired" by a personal situation that required making a decision - and it wasn't an easy one, hence the title The Indecision Set. My favourite is Spin the Bottle, but I quite like the other two as well.

[thewalkingwriter]

Winter details

A few weeks ago we had a cold spell, but fortunately without rain or worse... I obviously found the perfect excuse to skip the gym and go to the park instead... I love it when it's cold and dry, the air is so special, walking in a park is a fantastic feeling with the leaves crunching with frost, the pond frozen, that tingle on your skin...

[thewalkingwriter]

Mountain view

Another trip to the archives...This is a really old photo, in fact I took it with my first digital camera, so I think it probably dates back to...2011? I don't even remember where we were, exactly, except somewhere about forty minutes away from my hometown (where we parked the car...to get to the specific point in the picture, at least an hour, I'd say!). The man is my father, and I'm really pleased to have him in the picture, not only because it adds a "human element" to the photo, but also because for me it shows who my dad is: a hiker, lover of mountains, forever fascinated by the view even though it has surrounded him all his life. Somebody who is still curious, still asks questions and tries to find answers, who wants to know more of the world. I am going home for xmas in eleven days and I have been thinking about him a lot: we have a very difficult relationship at times (among other things, because we probably are quite similar), but I miss him very much and I can't wait to see both him and my mum.

[thewalkingwriter]

Wishing for snow

A photo from some years ago, when we had a wonderful December (or was it January?) with lots of proper snow at home. It meant doing one of my favourite things, going for a walk in the snow, while everyone stays at home, and the streets are empty and silent, and I can only hear the crunching of my steps in the snow, and the sound of the snowflakes landing on my umbrella. Then I'll close the umbrella and let the snow whiten my hair, and I'll just enjoy the beauty of the moment.I love snow. It makes things difficult if you have to go to work (my family lives on the top of a hill so we are pretty much isolated if it snows too much), but it's so lovely, so perfectly wintery, so holiday-right. I'm kind of hoping it will snow a little bit during my week off, visiting my parents, it would make for a fantastic time!

[thewalkingwriter]

The sun breaks through. Rose-tinted gossamer clouds, frail above the hills, weakly allowing for a ray, maybe two, to come through, point a finger at the windows of the houses lining the street. Most cars have left, while it was still dark, after waiting for the frost to melt down the windows, engine running, traffic increasing on the main street. She looks outside, again, then back to the sheet on her lap: torn from the notepad with a controlled movement, having been scribbled on, and subjected to multiple erasures and rewritings. Now it’s covered in purple signs and comments, her pen underlining and circling on every line. She sighs. It’s a long day, and it has not yet begun, on the other side of the ocean.She leaves the flat, blocking the sounds of the city with music, thoughts left out too. It has become increasingly difficult to stop thinking, to concentrate only on the music, the words of the podcasts, the muffled voice signalling the stops on the way to the city centre. They crowd around her, her thoughts, screaming incoherently, big heavy words thumping into each other, like balloons clashing in the air. Single words, blurred, electrical waves that stop her breathing, shock her stomach into cramps. The sound of the pool: the regular strokes of a body swimming in the furthest lane to the right, a fluid breaststroke, head dipping into the water at intervals, resurfacing, the mouth opens, breathe, repeat. At the end of the lane, a stop, a sip of water from a bottle, turning, starting again. She watches for a moment, breathing in the familiar, reassuring smell of chlorine. She lowers her body into the water, still not thinking. I guess this is mindfulness, she finds herself thinking, all the fuss about focusing on the moment, it is this. How my body reacts to the change in temperature, how my movements are mechanical, instinctive, brought on by years and years of training. This is the preparation stage: breathe, sink underwater to wet my hair, put swimming cap on, goggles; take position, take larger breaths. Focus on the end of the lane. One more breath, feet ready to push, go. Every stroke, long, strong, her body caressing the bottom of the pool, legs kicking regularly, one stroke, one kick. The pressure wants to push her up, her body tightens and keeps pulling, keeps pushing. Bubbles of air released as she breaths out at the end. Turning, preparing, pushing, starting the sequence of lengths again. Outside, on the other side of the ocean, people are waking up, walking, more likely driving, queueing, eating, cheering, talking, screaming. A silent film in bright colours plays in flashes in her head, as she focuses on the number of lengths she wants to swim today. Wondering what difference it makes, frustration mounting, then deflating, resigned. This isn’t the first time. Old age, she thinks. I’m not even outraged anymore. Not even frustrated. I would have screamed in anguish, discussed it for hours, my voice raising and shaking. I remember, fifteen years ago, driving to university the week after, with Lou at the wheel, the words and comments and sharing of articles we had read, videos we had watched, all the information we had gathered. It had been a shock, an outrage. It had lasted for months. It’s all forgotten now. So many wars, so many people, so many photos of crying children, cities destroyed, bodies sprayed in blood and dust. Later, the earth shook. More dust, more tears on TV, more cities and villages collapsed, crumbled, abandoned. People sleeping on chairs, huddling on the floor, eating from plastic plates in the street. Volunteers in yellow and orange, heavy boots, a resigned look of determination as they step cautiously on the ruins, the sound of broken bricks and glass crunching under their feet. Silence all around.Twenty more lengths, she thinks, adjusting the goggles, taking a deep breath, pushing and stroking the water, head in, head out. The feeling is not there. It’s all mechanical. The sun, shy behind the clouds, intruding at times, a weak ray on the water, a thin veil spread on the fake wooden huts in the square, the Christmas lights an unexpected guest who’s turned up way too early again. And all this, the lights unswitched, the huts unopened, the music on a loop in the shops; the grey light of the sky, all set to snow, by the look of it, it just feels like snow will come – but no excitement, no tingling feeling eliciting a smile; the swoosh of the tram flowing on the tracks, tooting its proximity to the early shoppers; the distant cold of the flat, the clean click of the mouse, the whirr of the fridge; the hours, moving slowly. The wait. All this she wants to say, how the day begins and ends with the slow realisation of warm inside and cold outside; how the hours tread along with her, clad in grey and black, covered like nuns, wrinkles framing their unsmiling faces; how the sun, this autumnal air of red leaves, carries waves of nostalgia and melancholy, tired, as they chain her feet to an invisible weight. She touches the edge of the pool, one last kick pushing. She looks around, stretching her legs in the water, pulling herself up and out, casual steps walking her to the changing room. More mechanical actions, the shower, the moisturiser, the clothes, the hair lotion. Walking out, smiling, into the day, which is already vanishing into darkness and night. She checks her mental list of things to do: keep busy, she thinks. Be active, keep busy; everything else will disappear, like mist, like dew, like the sun behind the mountains. The hours move slowly.

[thewalkingwriter]

A view from above

I'm still fishing from my limited archive - most of my photos are waiting to be moved from my old laptop to an external hard-drive, much needed to avoid the clutter that I had created in the poor old thing (every laptop I have lasts about 8 years, then it dies a slow, painful death!). I am also working on a new photography project and currently collecting props and sketching ideas, so I am not (ironically) using my camera very much these days...This is a view of Bergamo, Italy, in particular the città alta (high town) from San Vigilio, a small area just above città alta. Bergamo is where I studied at university, therefore spending three years of wandering around more than going to classes... It is a beautiful city, full of historical buildings, absolutely fascinating and lovely in every season. I try to go back once a year, it's always nice to have a wander there.

[thewalkingwriter]

Reflected love

This is an old photo: I took it exactly two years ago, one boring afternoon in my flat. It was a flat that I hated, cold and old and next to a church where the bells and the insomniac friars walking in and out chatting merrily at all times of the day and the night would keep me awake. I was studying photography but felt stifled by the winter, the lack of props and inspiration in my flat and in the city where I lived, and generally my life choices. Above all, I felt lonely and that my life was not going anywhere.I was also studying for my MA in linguistics, so I had a few (really big) books around...and the only good thing about the old furniture was how shiny and reflective it was. So I just went ahead and started playing around, and this is the result.In retrospect, I noticed that the ring is not exactly in the middle of the scene, I should have moved it a little. Also, if I were to shoot that again, I would use a smaller book and make full use of the reflection on the surface. But that was two years ago, and I think I have somehow grown in my photographic skills, so I consider this a good beginning.

[thewalkingwriter]

Salted caramel chocolate brownies - to begin my birthday weekend #brownies #chocolate #baking #closeup #inthekitchen #weekend #sweet #celebration #birthday

[masonyin]

Run! musicians, run!

[thewalkingwriter]

Just one of those days... #onthetrain #commute #manchester #liverpool #snow #lines #winter #colours #people #friday

[thewalkingwriter]

Solitary seagull

For this photo, I was experimenting with a new lense (55-250mm), which I still find quite tricky to use because I tend to shake ever so slightly with it. But I love it, it's a very fast lens and gives great detailed focus on the object in the foreground, and great blurred background. This was again a bit of an accident, much like the swan I posted before - it was in fact taken on the same day (this is the end of my stroll by the lake, that was the beginning). I like seagulls and ducks, I like photographing them, and I am lucky enough to live not far from great opportunities for this kind of photos!

[thewalkingwriter]

Working with green tea - again... this looks like a panda, but I only noticed once I'd taken the picture! #greentea #tea #fromabove #green #stilllife #stilllifephotography #foodphotography #creative #bright #niumephotographer @niumeofficial

[thewalkingwriter]

Playing around with green tea... #stilllife #stilllifephotography #stilllifegallery #greentea #tea #closeup #colours #flowers #daisies #naturallight

[thewalkingwriter]

Taking off

Sometimes it is only a matter of being in the right place at the right time. Taken a few years ago, when I was studying for my diploma in photography, and my camera was an integral part of me, I went for a simple, relaxed Sunday afternoon walk by the lake near my hometown. We were strolling quietly on the promenade, looking at the ducks and swans, a slightly overcast sky.Suddenly, the distant sound of wings flapped, and water moving, and my instinct did all the work: point, focus, shoot. The result is this photo, which is possibly my favourite example of great reflection, movement, and minimalism.

[thewalkingwriter]

Weekly photo of the sunrise from the train #sunrise #sky #clouds #silhouettes #cityscape #colours #morning #commute #onthetrain #manchester #wearemcr

[thewalkingwriter]

Autumn... 😍 #autumn #heatonpark #nature #tree #park #colours #red #leaves #igersprestwich #november 🍂

[thewalkingwriter]

Another lovely sunrise on the way to work #Manchester #wearemcr #sunrise #clouds #sky #commute #onthetrain #bright #cityscape