Happy Snails

Just so you know, the term 'happy snails', which I have used a few times on posts is a reference to an early unknown work by a lesser known child prodigy composer. Me. Sadly, unlike Julia Donaldson of Gruffalo fame, who I recently read describing how she started composing children's songs at a young age before progressing to prose, I was rubbish. Sadly I don't see the Scotsman piece on my stratospheric rise to fame starting with the old 'I've always written little stories for my sister' (don't have one, another reason) line a la JK Rowling and the aforementioned. Still hoping to wheel out the episode where I copied the family copy of 'The Haywain' in watercolour aged something small, but I have a horrible feeling that I would make a certain face if said copy ever came to light again. I can dream. The happy snails, to return, were part of the very lovely work 'Freddy the frog and the slimy pond'; I seriously thought of quoting it there, but I shall maintain what shred of dignity I have and leave well alone. Suffice to say that the closing line 'Happy, happy, happy snails' has stayed with me these long years as a reminder of my childhood promise.

Looking again at my Paula Rego book this morning and realised that one of the things I love about her women is the expressions she captures; unusually mobile and descriptive. A customer in Ritchie's gallery commented on the expressions on the faces of my angels (positively) which has led me to ponder working this into some new pieces; I love the idea of angels being grumpy, irritable, pissed off... not angelic. Took some rather comic self portraits on my digital camera in the kitchen with this in mind that would make excellent blackmail material if anyone saw fit to steal them; not the most flattering portrayal and enough to have me reaching for the vitamin E cream post haste. June Carey's comments on drawing the face are also milling around in my head so I am looking forward to the next biggish piece being grumpy angel portrait based - although maybe after my acrobatic angel over Archie's Park, which has also taken residence in my head these last two days.

Darn it, sad news too in the paper; an article on Corrine Day, the photographer, mentioning her death from a brain tumour which I had no idea had happened. I remember the first couple of shoots she did with the very young Kate Moss and loved the one in Vogue in a 'grungey' flat with fairy lights stapled to the wall. I think my own fairy light obsession dates back to this, now I think of it. (Love the ones you see all over Thailand on the spirit temples and in random parts of restaurants). Corrine Day's appeal to me was that, although she staged or coached her models to a degree, the photos all finished up with that artfully nonchalant vibe that can be so hard to achieve. 'Directed realism', like Bruce Weber's all American version but with London grime.

A great loss as she had been working away with minimal ego and publicity for years in a way I really admired producing great images. I have never lost my love of photography as a medium, particularly in the realm of photojournalism or this kind of personal vision.

On a more postive note, I kicked butt this evening despite fatigue due to Stu's nasty little 1am finish followed by the old 6am alarm. 'Trade winds' is pretty much done; the one with the angel riding a blue elephant. I'll post it tomorrow when I have had a finish-up in daylight.

Oh, and a mini rant: how can anyone seriously throw a wobbler about a dented tin of food that they 'could not possibly eat' without feeling ever so slightly spoilt and over-priviledged?