tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-78666892842212650552024-02-19T06:17:41.190+02:00Evanescent PhotographyFinding the light and beauty in all things.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10568613927703995624noreply@blogger.comBlogger254125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7866689284221265055.post-57767022884839514612015-08-11T09:00:00.000+02:002015-08-11T09:00:00.412+02:00Puku Story Festival - Part Two: Story-Telling<div>
<i>In February, 2015 I was privileged enough to be asked to photograph Grahamstown's Puku Story Festival - a festival aimed at promoting the telling, writing, publishing and reading of stories in isiXhosa. This is part two of my experience of the festival.</i></div>
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Stories. They fill our minds with wonder and open new worlds for our imaginations to explore. They show us our own world in a way that we had never quite seen it. Whether they're meant for the young or the old, stories allow us to both escape from the world and to find our place in it.<br />
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The Puku Story Festival celebrates stories of all forms - sung, spoken, written and acted. It embraces stories that have been written, and encourages the writing of them. It encourages those with a voice to use it in whatever way they can to tell their own stories, and more than anything, it encourages them to tell those stories in their own tongue, and in their own way.</div>
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Those who follow this blog may know that I have a tendency to tell stories through photography and explain them through words. I don't want to explain too much today. I think I'll just let the photographs tell their own story of the wonderful Puku Story Festival that I was privileged to be a part of.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfwCs2kn9xjl9mS6biQxfB0MFzKVZJTGmmI92U9Srodi9r9J1Zv3XL7h2oIwNlJv2Z2V3VzEvSn3Ql6PlfihLHWitd-aju-Kg_M74X-5zqn8FvDNyXoQZFZoufDeWvC56xbEt1pMZfEhs/s1600/Welcome+and+Reading.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfwCs2kn9xjl9mS6biQxfB0MFzKVZJTGmmI92U9Srodi9r9J1Zv3XL7h2oIwNlJv2Z2V3VzEvSn3Ql6PlfihLHWitd-aju-Kg_M74X-5zqn8FvDNyXoQZFZoufDeWvC56xbEt1pMZfEhs/s640/Welcome+and+Reading.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb00IQbFkRH8nGKUEgecaAOHBJ2QkZufHQM7a0pBITK_f3vINYV8qMs_Qs2RYE4569u4uw0m23AWgfKoFjfBB0WxZGE4H1bNJm7oqrxTTm62idGhLjuueMPc46uhE4zpDEgUc-rEWZ1Dc/s1600/Writing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb00IQbFkRH8nGKUEgecaAOHBJ2QkZufHQM7a0pBITK_f3vINYV8qMs_Qs2RYE4569u4uw0m23AWgfKoFjfBB0WxZGE4H1bNJm7oqrxTTm62idGhLjuueMPc46uhE4zpDEgUc-rEWZ1Dc/s1600/Writing.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH_uJ_yiaif7JBOQ6zqsu4A5QXg0XlL5yzxBCPfLDlFVIPw7TCZlBXod4IdmYqiQc2YOTpvgeF9qtxAqh2-9tPIYCJgHk2eSx0eVdM4NoDmUm4fIiu7mPRNz1bUObPlomKLcHwg0IaDtc/s1600/Books.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH_uJ_yiaif7JBOQ6zqsu4A5QXg0XlL5yzxBCPfLDlFVIPw7TCZlBXod4IdmYqiQc2YOTpvgeF9qtxAqh2-9tPIYCJgHk2eSx0eVdM4NoDmUm4fIiu7mPRNz1bUObPlomKLcHwg0IaDtc/s640/Books.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10568613927703995624noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7866689284221265055.post-40067768401006982402015-07-01T22:28:00.000+02:002015-08-10T20:01:31.391+02:00Puku Story Festival - Part One: Hitting the Road<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>In February, 2015 I was privileged enough to be asked to photograph Grahamstown's Puku Story Festival - a festival aimed at promoting the telling, writing, publishing and reading of stories in isiXhosa. This is part one of my experience of the festival.</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhupjQsHWwERR-r3QtF7GCLNFnN2IR6JczMrVaeAdTuRQwbHm2LwiM9J4kzK9N4VoF-niKIftHr9RCbYElLYLGOO9u8xwqztjRrfZIUOY8RYYDkjkZcGmmAEvRLYJcCHWQyHut2nqB6bkA/s1600/Main.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhupjQsHWwERR-r3QtF7GCLNFnN2IR6JczMrVaeAdTuRQwbHm2LwiM9J4kzK9N4VoF-niKIftHr9RCbYElLYLGOO9u8xwqztjRrfZIUOY8RYYDkjkZcGmmAEvRLYJcCHWQyHut2nqB6bkA/s640/Main.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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I can’t understand a word that they’re saying.<o:p></o:p></div>
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There are over forty children, all under six years old,
crammed into a classroom with no fewer than six adults, myself being one of
them, all talking at once, and there is not a single word that I recognise. My
primary school lessons have failed me, my “Khunjani khakuhle” nothing more than
a mixed up memory that makes no sense in the real world. At least not when
strung together in the sing-song way that stuck in my head. And not only is this
just day one, it is just school one of day one. What have I gotten myself into?<o:p></o:p></div>
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The answer? Three days filled with endless smiles and
laughter. Three days of excited shouting and running and twirling around to “Lizzy
Lizzy”. Three days of making music with hands and mouths, emptied tins of jam
and sosatie sticks or washing pegs. Three days of barely understanding a word
that is spoken, but seeing with my own eyes wide faces filled with wonder at
stories that I can’t understand, and don’t need to.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The Puku Story Festival was on its way to Grahamstown, and I
spent three days travelling from school to school for road shows <o:p></o:p>in areas that I didn’t even know existed, and got to see the excitement first hand as the children were told stories in their mother tongue. I got to capture their spell-bound glances, their shoulders hunched in anticipation and their unrelenting joy at having story-tellers come to visit.</div>
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I couldn’t understand a word that they were saying. I didn’t have to.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqtslafnpRLG3TJb2w8G_dVIQfk8qPaNyN0SWO-7g8i3IGqFsnQ80CtC8rE_9yKfemAXJWRYevUnDW_AZtTVNTZweV8wBCXvjq1WrrcLwFjYipXuTXEt4KR9K4VGHHQTJmeKR3RU3TjQw/s1600/Group+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGiKP4mLnphXKKHRgs_qWrmffuAgktjSe3H6_ohyphenhyphen-yH_pKP8DsjChJOtKgLW266CrlG82NjtPRi0632_QptYdeB0oUHHgbVKSxU1pezTrB6bBtE4mgz0wkMMqcvir63Pqm3eUCNK1u3c8/s1600/Learning.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGiKP4mLnphXKKHRgs_qWrmffuAgktjSe3H6_ohyphenhyphen-yH_pKP8DsjChJOtKgLW266CrlG82NjtPRi0632_QptYdeB0oUHHgbVKSxU1pezTrB6bBtE4mgz0wkMMqcvir63Pqm3eUCNK1u3c8/s400/Learning.jpg" width="198" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFS9j4B89MF0fHqCg3vctY59FoMxGEsF48VYDMK1HYsZv01PeQQw1_i-GvzNJ3nJI-p9ankr9V6GKfyZHMuomz0HRW88fRCb-YNnSjsAfSTma0dT3fIcOC0NieJQSZpzNCEgGhjpclby0/s1600/Children.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFS9j4B89MF0fHqCg3vctY59FoMxGEsF48VYDMK1HYsZv01PeQQw1_i-GvzNJ3nJI-p9ankr9V6GKfyZHMuomz0HRW88fRCb-YNnSjsAfSTma0dT3fIcOC0NieJQSZpzNCEgGhjpclby0/s400/Children.jpg" width="197" /></a></div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10568613927703995624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7866689284221265055.post-61870587277848355482015-03-09T22:17:00.001+02:002015-03-09T22:17:30.211+02:00The Visitor<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZFdOLfXrs5OZwHps-FQvnUQr8JzN904hu3HNHVVpFLJkwTcA2upl8QZYihJdcnRu_dgpZWCUv5EqJu6jSUV2RfNKeUkrimUWnX8Ef_7LXotqoByXCbqvlUxXF4_dE6gSjVXD2J8es9tQ/s1600/Main.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZFdOLfXrs5OZwHps-FQvnUQr8JzN904hu3HNHVVpFLJkwTcA2upl8QZYihJdcnRu_dgpZWCUv5EqJu6jSUV2RfNKeUkrimUWnX8Ef_7LXotqoByXCbqvlUxXF4_dE6gSjVXD2J8es9tQ/s1600/Main.jpg" height="425" width="640" /></a><br />
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<b>Ashlea Strydom</b><br />
<b>Grahamstown</b><br />
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There is a phone call that I look forward to every year. It's a call that will come out of the blue and brighten my spirits. "I'm coming to visit," a voice at the other end of the line will say, and there will be little shouts of joy as I let Grant know that Ash is on her way.<br />
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This year was a little different. This year involved Grant and I informing Ash that we were in town to visit, not for long, but wanting to see her. We went to lunch - it was innocent enough. And during the course of a three hour meal and conversation, we managed to convince Ash to come and visit us once more. For Christmas nogal!! We had our doubts that she would brave the bus trip, but she did, making it in one piece, more or less, and with a lot of stories to tell from the journey.<br />
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When Christmas day came around, we sat together, Grant, Dee, Ash and I, under our tiny, makeshift tree, and tore wrapping paper to shreds (which I would later force the kitties to sit in so that photographs could be taken) as we unwrapped gifts. And while many wonderful gifts were given and gotten, one stood out as the bestest for me.<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"I hereby promise to do a photo shoot with you before I leave... (and you won't even need to nag this time hehe)"</blockquote>
I was practically jumping for joy. In fact, some jumping may have been involved. And so, on a sunny day in January, Ash and I made our way from the lounge to the studio, and from the studio to the botanical gardens and I got to have fun taking some wonderful photographs of my gorgeous, amazing, one of a kind friendling.<br />
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It's taken awhile to get them up, but here they are.<br />
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Thanks once again to Ashlea, for being the best kind of sport - climbing trees on command and doing things that must have made you think that I was out of my mind. Here's to another two decades of friendship, and many many MANY more visits!!</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10568613927703995624noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7866689284221265055.post-22554569303970649022015-01-28T17:00:00.000+02:002015-01-28T17:00:01.118+02:00Simply Stunning<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgTMc-osX7a4BfsNU9VSQ3l8ZQS_yWuBfVeQwmQoYggdG0VKmUrhXV1W5HTsVm2oo7d8_WHWq_bMA1iXUOm_bQmLJtCzSWJVd4Ae7FHh9sfVDhn6GbOtN645FLnWRc_mHidlTqOqsTF_Q/s1600/Main.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgTMc-osX7a4BfsNU9VSQ3l8ZQS_yWuBfVeQwmQoYggdG0VKmUrhXV1W5HTsVm2oo7d8_WHWq_bMA1iXUOm_bQmLJtCzSWJVd4Ae7FHh9sfVDhn6GbOtN645FLnWRc_mHidlTqOqsTF_Q/s1600/Main.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></a><br />
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<b>Verne and Monique</b><br />
<b>Wedding</b><br />
<b>Cape Town</b><br />
<br />
"Are you sure this is the place?" Grant asks as he pulls up outside the facebrick house.<br />
"I think so," I say, though I'm unsure myself. It's not all that different from the houses around it - nice enough, but not exactly the wedding venue that I had been imagining. I know that it's going to be a small wedding, but from this perspective, it doesn't look like the house could fit more than 20 people inside it. Maybe 30 at a stretch. I ring the doorbell, expecting a confused voice on the other end when I say that I'm there for Verne and Monique, but instead I'm met with the groom himself making his way down the steps to greet me. As he leads me through the house, I start realising just how much effort has been put into the day by Monique's family - champagne glasses line one table while a candy station that rivals even the best Sweets From Heaven lines another. Beautiful bouquets of hydraengas dripping with pearls sit atop collections of books making up the centre pieces for each beautifully laid table. A bright blue pool filled with white roses begs you to jump in. More roses held in glass teardrops sway from the side of the tent in the breeze. The more I look around me, the more I realise just how perfectly the space suits the two of them - it's simple, but stunning. I pull myself away to go and see the bride.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyfciHvK0dhbx9c1CCfypUiRb41puCCNsbkJ-fA9yEKRNjtak1IhBj7EwRqUwRvKw9_eZ3c_a83Zc1MCPOasNbTfnQP6DJy7341m7w7UXXSn5i4EeNRz3hm_EiaKPPmcpxOeg68YM8q8Q/s1600/Details.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyfciHvK0dhbx9c1CCfypUiRb41puCCNsbkJ-fA9yEKRNjtak1IhBj7EwRqUwRvKw9_eZ3c_a83Zc1MCPOasNbTfnQP6DJy7341m7w7UXXSn5i4EeNRz3hm_EiaKPPmcpxOeg68YM8q8Q/s1600/Details.jpg" height="160" width="640" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMwpba5salk0P4umf2LlnjrWi_BbuzXyWVXRR1z6jg50WmOLN73KAsJwIey8gd_jl3lAqj92WnInNmOaVbWMi3X6dTNGKalPQ4fVRwT10mAUp5oUdDIglPzPaWuK2-WD8Vyr1a4RGiNUM/s1600/Makeup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMwpba5salk0P4umf2LlnjrWi_BbuzXyWVXRR1z6jg50WmOLN73KAsJwIey8gd_jl3lAqj92WnInNmOaVbWMi3X6dTNGKalPQ4fVRwT10mAUp5oUdDIglPzPaWuK2-WD8Vyr1a4RGiNUM/s1600/Makeup.jpg" height="640" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmqDSBfVGJUYMGAo2cvXaIkPax9zOgkodgMAneaofc5wZry82_pc1yH630O_slq1Pvx17MiEdXO0nTDlKcpEZxJzLRXHU8T2iJol2UUcnGr-LLegoHZEz9JR5xS9oiWN1wEVtWtPgTOJw/s1600/Welcome.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmqDSBfVGJUYMGAo2cvXaIkPax9zOgkodgMAneaofc5wZry82_pc1yH630O_slq1Pvx17MiEdXO0nTDlKcpEZxJzLRXHU8T2iJol2UUcnGr-LLegoHZEz9JR5xS9oiWN1wEVtWtPgTOJw/s1600/Welcome.jpg" height="640" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPkxWpdmnMSemMtMGq2Za3LkO3jWkZNh69XYRVJHP5hHMWEMh9EslEFEysUM5xdlQKW3F1-DW-6XIIEYd1g2PvaERcJ97Q0QZz0OroQGf_GhV0B0VmZ85k_ms_7kBZJi9foOYtJozCXOg/s1600/Dress.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPkxWpdmnMSemMtMGq2Za3LkO3jWkZNh69XYRVJHP5hHMWEMh9EslEFEysUM5xdlQKW3F1-DW-6XIIEYd1g2PvaERcJ97Q0QZz0OroQGf_GhV0B0VmZ85k_ms_7kBZJi9foOYtJozCXOg/s1600/Dress.jpg" height="348" width="640" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzUhgMznGPXDDTl6R1IY2kS73MnUpcIE5UFivhO_tPN70GKfrRLIn3qZ2NM5pjb1EyNgr6iCz6tIFgQS8g6liPBEN7TcIrvhytMysm0ncTrgu8o0EljfQulfPprkD2YPDOnN_v3mbUQ2M/s1600/Bride.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzUhgMznGPXDDTl6R1IY2kS73MnUpcIE5UFivhO_tPN70GKfrRLIn3qZ2NM5pjb1EyNgr6iCz6tIFgQS8g6liPBEN7TcIrvhytMysm0ncTrgu8o0EljfQulfPprkD2YPDOnN_v3mbUQ2M/s1600/Bride.jpg" height="240" width="640" /></a><br />
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Monii is nervous, not used to being fussed over or being the centre of attention, but she's hiding it well. On the other side of the house, Verne's almost as bad, but both are handling the excitement and nerves by remembering one important thing - today is the day that marks the beginning of the rest of their lives together. As they come together and walk hand-in-hand onto the balcony to the applause of the family and friends that have gathered to celebrate them, it's as though a weight has been lifted off their shoulders. The speeches are filled with recollections and advice, the conversations with joy and laughter as old friends meet far-away family members and drinks are shared from picnic baskets filled with goodies. Some notice the geeky details like the Skyrim theme being played for the first dance (though few realise that the inside of the rings are inscribed with "Player 1" and "Player 2", a reference which I delight in) while others comment on just how beautiful the bride looks in blue. By the time the couple are ready to slip away for a short sunset photo shoot, the atmosphere has slipped into comfortable relaxation making it easy to sneak out almost unnoticed.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg-TJu6kaNUPou3AnaEy6jhnF5LL3N6KuUM7EtfnW8csfs5zjF2_h-cC5ZLVu4JEkpF0DCkTk4cLwKCEMQL6Y-AGi288JC3gC_aIfibNN7jVvC34tcD4S41eMfWH83aX_cd5f5FWBD6FQ/s1600/Couple.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg-TJu6kaNUPou3AnaEy6jhnF5LL3N6KuUM7EtfnW8csfs5zjF2_h-cC5ZLVu4JEkpF0DCkTk4cLwKCEMQL6Y-AGi288JC3gC_aIfibNN7jVvC34tcD4S41eMfWH83aX_cd5f5FWBD6FQ/s1600/Couple.jpg" height="532" width="640" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4-SvGxiECZ6oGpY2I72Vg6ZE5YbZk_Gl1Alp8efZxHZQ7JM6hsuFb8HzIfKJeTgcKVupyU0mfVBfyxNxte5IFe8377uw3xrudVVh_u1mSJEWsdeGz1P0I4klUoKf0ndSCQHunJbibBpE/s1600/Celebration.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4-SvGxiECZ6oGpY2I72Vg6ZE5YbZk_Gl1Alp8efZxHZQ7JM6hsuFb8HzIfKJeTgcKVupyU0mfVBfyxNxte5IFe8377uw3xrudVVh_u1mSJEWsdeGz1P0I4klUoKf0ndSCQHunJbibBpE/s1600/Celebration.jpg" height="320" width="640" /></a><br />
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It's the first chance that they're really had to be alone all day, and as they watch the lights turn on over the city, the lean into each other and I step back, letting them have the moment to themselves. They talk, out of my earshot, but I can see it in the faces and their smiles. They could be talking about the cars, about games that they want to play, about work for all I know, but their expressions and the small gestures that they share speak volumes. It's the little things in life that mean that most, and it's clear to me that Verne and Monii mean the world to each other.</div>
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I would like to thank Verne and Monii for inviting me to be a part of their day, and would like to thank both the Mulholland and Franszen families for making me feel so welcome!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10568613927703995624noreply@blogger.com0Loevenstein, Cape Town, South Africa-33.8840507 18.608656099999962-33.8972327 18.588486099999962 -33.8708687 18.628826099999962tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7866689284221265055.post-29072613755883362302015-01-20T20:09:00.000+02:002015-01-20T20:09:21.411+02:00Playful<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>Verne and Monique</b><br />
<b>Cape Town</b><br />
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Monique and Verne are a playful couple. Mostly I've known them to love playing computer and board games, but it was the playfulness between them that stuck in my mind when I was trying to think of somewhere in Cape Town to do a couple shoot with them. I grew up in Cape Town, right up the road from where the two of them were staying, and all that kept running through my head was the idea of playgrounds. So we found one!<br />
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At first there was a bit of hesitation, both Verne and Monique not being used to being in front of the camera. But before long, all the awkwardness was forgotten and it became an afternoon of fun and laughter. From tyre swings to tiny slides, roundabouts to seesaw horses, there was a lot of talk about childhoods spent in parks and memories coming up left, right and centre. To top it all off, we found a perfect tree for climbing, and Monii graciously volunteered!<br />
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Thank you to Verne and Monique for a wonderfully fun afternoon reminiscing about childhoods, laughing and climbing trees. You guys were absolutely fantastic! This is actually the second shoot that I did with this awesome couple. Watch this space for the photographs from their wedding, coming next week.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10568613927703995624noreply@blogger.com0Loevenstein, Cape Town, South Africa-33.8840507 18.608656099999962-33.8972327 18.588486099999962 -33.8708687 18.628826099999962tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7866689284221265055.post-82820740517700866222015-01-02T21:17:00.002+02:002015-01-02T21:20:04.268+02:00Meant To Be<div class="MsoNormal">
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<b>Rudi and Roxanne</b><br />
<b>Grahamstown</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdxPB1MOkTdw9HmR5iKKEEGouzT4K8lydKOeYzfilZMq8JVWepNiZXNmLNZRji6tgR2qV7-o7nepl44zi1UXqNNfV4YRXVRhFdhfxKvzrYfzna8nZ81NGVxyDaen7IwMtw8RAahz6eQuM/s1600/Bench.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdxPB1MOkTdw9HmR5iKKEEGouzT4K8lydKOeYzfilZMq8JVWepNiZXNmLNZRji6tgR2qV7-o7nepl44zi1UXqNNfV4YRXVRhFdhfxKvzrYfzna8nZ81NGVxyDaen7IwMtw8RAahz6eQuM/s1600/Bench.jpg" height="400" width="197" /></a>“Just make yourselves comfortable,” I tell them, as they sit
down on the bench and I turn my back to grab my camera. By the time I turn
around, they are already hand in hand, leaning against one another, him
laughing raucously, teasing her relentlessly, and her taking it all in her
stride, her smile unwavering. There is nothing on earth that could ruin this
day – the day that Rudi and Roxanne got married.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Rudi and Roxy are one of those couples who are absolutely,
without a doubt, meant for each other, and I can hear it in the way that they
talk, their conversations filled with loving teasing and inside jokes. As Rudi’s
family joins us, I can see how much a part of the family Roxy has already
become, laughing with her second mother and her new sister, giggling as the
family tries to share a bottle of champagne that has been warmed in the sun, but
which they swill regardless, because this kind of celebration requires
champagne, even if it is warmer than you’d want it. The bubbles flow with
laughter and hugs and happiness abound.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Before long, the celebrations move from the peaceful quiet
of the Monument to the Mouse and Budgie, where friends gather to celebrate with
the couple and chilled champagne awaits. It's a small party, but the kind that stays in your memory, filled with good people, good food and good fun. And so a beautiful marriage starts and
a wonderful relationship continues with friends and family, well-wishes and
joy.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Rudi and Roxy, wishing you all the best for the many many
many years to come.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10568613927703995624noreply@blogger.com0Grahamstown, South Africa-33.3 26.526666999999975-33.40615 26.365305499999973 -33.19385 26.688028499999977tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7866689284221265055.post-91526151523594495672014-11-19T17:00:00.000+02:002014-11-19T21:08:30.297+02:00A Love To Remember<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>Jacques and Priscilla</b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>Grahamstown</b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>Wedding, October 2014</b></div>
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<span style="text-align: center;">Letters, handwritten, sit on the counter-top, waiting to be delivered. One for him and one for her. They're filled with thoughts, hopes, dreams and promises. "My love," Priscilla's written in the one meant for Jacques, "I will see you at the altar in just a few short hours." It's signed: "Your Wife To Be", while hers is signed "Your Future Husband". The future is not far off.</span><br />
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Clouds hang low over Grahamstown, making idle threats of rain which we hope they have no intention of following through with. Rain on your wedding day may be good luck, but few people wish for a wet wedding dress on their big day! Still, the two of them are unfazed by the weather as the final preparations get underway. Suits are ironed, dresses tied and jewellery gently placed as the hours fly by, until it is time to go to the chapel. As Priscilla walks through the doorway, all stress, all nerves subside and, as she reaches the end of the aisle and takes her place by Jacques side, it's easy to read the wide smile and shared glances. She's home.</div>
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It's a day for celebration, of family, of friends, and of the love that they all share for the happy couple. The clouds relent to let a bit of sunshine through, and Jacques and Priscilla take advantage of it to have their group photographs taken in the beautiful chapel garden before we make our way with the bridesmaids and groomsmen to the veld outside of their reception venue.<br />
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"We love long grass," Priscilla had said when we were discussing where their couple photos would be taken, and I can see why. The tall grass studded with fallen branches from trees no longer standing and the abandoned building that surrounds the field makes it feel like the group has stepped outside of time, the only suggestion of the army base that they're standing in being the towers that dot the distance. It's a time for fun and laughter as the bridal party climb onto a branch here, fan out in all directions there, hide their faces from the kissing couple and celebrate the love that they see before them, all finished off by the boys racing down the road.<br />
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The crowds fade, and it's just the two of them left, almost alone together for the first time all day. They hold each other close, her whispering into his ear sweet nothings that make him giggle, and their fun side comes out as they walk together, joke together and laugh together until the clouds finally break and the rain starts coming down, slowly at first but with determination. They run under the reception venue's awning, and there they kick off their shoes and practice their first dance with the rain pattering down on all sides.<br />
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The speeches are filled with tears and laughter, memories of times gone past and of those who can't be here mingling with hopes and wishes for the future - threads of anecdotes from the two families joining together to create the couple's story. As the speeches fade, the voices are replaced by music and laughter and dancing. Couples young and old take to the floor, as do friends, mothers and daughters, complete strangers before tonight, and then Priscilla and Jacques, to a round of applause, perform their first dance. And it is a performance, graceful and sweet, filled with twirls and turns and dips and met with ooh's and aah's from the crowd.<br />
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"Love," as one of Priscilla's favourite Bible passage says, "does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud." And when love is shared, it does not need to. Their day has been filled with love for each other and for their friends and family, and as I head home late into the evening, it is love that sticks with me. Thank you to the beautiful couple for letting me be a part of their day, and to my wonderful second shooter, Sara Long!</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10568613927703995624noreply@blogger.com0Grahamstown, South Africa-33.3 26.533332999999971-33.40615 26.371971499999969 -33.19385 26.694694499999972tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7866689284221265055.post-82270842758171498182014-10-22T10:56:00.000+02:002014-10-22T10:56:01.211+02:00Coming Home...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCw4kpnMGSU5ZEcYcovtWcwzHyOAc7BE7wr26UT62Ws34WsAtlQN_GpoOCfuvuVDkT4E9gENw7KxmT69bQYW4Et1VhMY6KAA_Nny69b_W6sscouFety46BrowzLmAOtcjjeNgrHBa-5s4/s1600/Main.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCw4kpnMGSU5ZEcYcovtWcwzHyOAc7BE7wr26UT62Ws34WsAtlQN_GpoOCfuvuVDkT4E9gENw7KxmT69bQYW4Et1VhMY6KAA_Nny69b_W6sscouFety46BrowzLmAOtcjjeNgrHBa-5s4/s1600/Main.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<b>Jacques and Priscilla</b><br />
<b>Grahamstown</b><br />
<br />
"What should we do?" Priscilla asks as we arrive at the railway lines.<br />
She's nervous, but hiding it well. If I hadn't met them before, I wouldn't have suspected. But I have, so I know that her quiet demeanour is just a mask for her nerves at being in front of the camera.<br />
"Do what you always do," I tell them. "Be yourselves."<br />
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<br />
<br />
And slowly, but surely, it happens. The nerves fade as Jacques takes her hand and they walk together, talking, laughing, and trying their best to forget that I'm there. Which is perfect for me - as I tell them, "I want to capture the way that you are when you're together." As their focus shifts from me to each other, I can see their poses adjust into comfortable familiarity. Priscilla smiles at first and then laughs at Jacques' jokes, and his soft voice is joined by a wide grin, which is echoed in her smile and her eyes.<br />
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<br />
<br />
The railway lines that I've chosen to start off their engagement shoot are more than just a pretty backdrop - they're a part of their story, a symbol of the journey that led them to this point, and it hasn't been a short one. It's spanned George and Cape Town, and now Grahamstown, and it's just the start of their journey together. But, Grahamstown is a beautiful place to start a life together, and to show them that, I take them to my favourite part of town, just as the fog is rolling in.<br />
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<br />
<br />
The two of them lean into each other as they sit in the long grass looking at the spectacular view of the town at sunset before it disappears into the all-encompassing fog. This is where they are for now, and who knows how long they'll stay, but just looking at them I know that wherever they are, as long as they're together, they'll be home.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10568613927703995624noreply@blogger.com0Grahamstown, South Africa-33.3 26.533332999999971-33.40615 26.371971499999969 -33.19385 26.694694499999972tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7866689284221265055.post-9586788978297414422014-05-17T22:23:00.000+02:002014-05-17T22:23:30.099+02:00The Traveler<div class="MsoNormal">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRdnauSnRU3Z475DK8pUsZmBc_ijTgVRB7GSa0kzufFl7_5mgMZkSCHARhha_I2Vm6WNY4B46Yn7V2tvh2b9-Ds8kS2ygXDAFZaxVeXJz8gCvSLQBaPAOZYKOASJm8vatqhzhR7Wkmh6Q/s1600/Main.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRdnauSnRU3Z475DK8pUsZmBc_ijTgVRB7GSa0kzufFl7_5mgMZkSCHARhha_I2Vm6WNY4B46Yn7V2tvh2b9-Ds8kS2ygXDAFZaxVeXJz8gCvSLQBaPAOZYKOASJm8vatqhzhR7Wkmh6Q/s1600/Main.jpg" height="427" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><b>The Traveler</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><b>A Fictional Account of a Sunrise Photo Shoot</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><b>With Amy Caroline Goodenough</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHmrV8xfhLT-TmORhyphenhyphenLKtI2z_z1SY0RdpGHZlqdFQ3juXV4ayTww8Ry0tHQlT8EQFeCaZK65-iYnaV2CR44K3eMFnf-ZEmAMVXcgAz2arre-7-3PG6P8VtHHUSElEMsg-jXcPGG1AOtSY/s1600/The+Road.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHmrV8xfhLT-TmORhyphenhyphenLKtI2z_z1SY0RdpGHZlqdFQ3juXV4ayTww8Ry0tHQlT8EQFeCaZK65-iYnaV2CR44K3eMFnf-ZEmAMVXcgAz2arre-7-3PG6P8VtHHUSElEMsg-jXcPGG1AOtSY/s1600/The+Road.jpg" height="320" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">There is
something wonderful about the world at 5am. Before the sun has touched the
horizon, long after the night has ended but before the morning has begun, the
tip-tapping of heels and crunching of gravel beneath my feet acts as my anthem.
It is as relentless as the humming of the insects that rise to greet the
morning as I do, and about as voluntary. My legs move on without my mind – it’s
left to wander cities and streets of memories as my muscles move me ever
forward.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Sometimes
there are lights that guide me, other times the darkness is my sole companion.
A car will occasionally race by, blinding me, taking advantage of the empty
road in a way that I can appreciate, the lingering scents of petrol and burnt
rubber the only impressions that they leave. I breathe in the aromas as they
blend into the still cool air and hold them in my lungs, a reminder of
civilisation.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbYz1oZ8qvDCdmtSUpTozdZ3JR4gzP1y4w7_Dk9e4T0gPvkL4_BSfNhMOvKxoKQSVotfrmVHF1K2gh-FIIOIOqtPXgf_sveqQRSpzbWhqrBJ3ellOUeWdWLcgKMrfD2opKNzDh8imDpt0/s1600/Traveling.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbYz1oZ8qvDCdmtSUpTozdZ3JR4gzP1y4w7_Dk9e4T0gPvkL4_BSfNhMOvKxoKQSVotfrmVHF1K2gh-FIIOIOqtPXgf_sveqQRSpzbWhqrBJ3ellOUeWdWLcgKMrfD2opKNzDh8imDpt0/s1600/Traveling.jpg" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I will
wander roads for days at a time, never conscious of the direction in which I’m
heading, never knowing where my feet will lead me next. The world is my
roadmap, the flora and fauna its markings as well as my shelter. I carry little
with me but memories that weigh me down and keep me grounded.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixCL7nyN8mFuYUhvT8i-ttFbY0Eo8eILvaY1Gg1LCIWWx8YWpUNRJWtrvfSLLN4aX0PLV7ikHy1A5TGG66OTZyX1axaNkXUYZcIkUIbF4dD3I_2sURfc41Rat6db4j6eb-BzPsx74Hxuw/s1600/Grahamstown.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixCL7nyN8mFuYUhvT8i-ttFbY0Eo8eILvaY1Gg1LCIWWx8YWpUNRJWtrvfSLLN4aX0PLV7ikHy1A5TGG66OTZyX1axaNkXUYZcIkUIbF4dD3I_2sURfc41Rat6db4j6eb-BzPsx74Hxuw/s1600/Grahamstown.jpg" height="454" width="640" /></a></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10568613927703995624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7866689284221265055.post-65292355950846825632014-05-10T22:57:00.003+02:002014-05-10T22:57:45.009+02:00Fire Binds (Culture of Colour - Part Two)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
<b>Asha and Dharmesh</b><br />
<b>Grahamstown</b><br />
<br />
"I thought I'd be more nervous," Asha says, smiling as she stands before me, draped from head to toe in jewels that make up the most beautiful dress I think I have ever seen in my lifetime, "but I just feel normal." The day has arrived, a day that has taken weeks and months of planning, and her excitement is infectious.<br />
<br />
The day itself passes in the blink of an eye, a blur of colour and laughter that will be remembered for years to come, not only by the couple but by all the guests in attendance. It's one of those weddings that becomes the talk of the town and the one that future weddings will strive towards. And what made it truly incredible was the couple themselves - their calmness under the overwhelming stress of the day which came from the knowledge that, once it was over, they would be able to go home to one another.<br />
<br />
I usually have a way with words, but today words fail me as I look back on this beautiful Indian wedding. I think that the photographs, in this instance, speak for themselves. Enjoy!<br />
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<b>Asha and Dharmesh</b><br />
<b>Grahamstown</b><br />
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"I thought I'd be nervous," Asha says, smiling as she stands before me, draped from head to toe in jewels that make up the most beautiful dress I think I have ever seen in my lifetime, "but I just feel normal." And it strikes me that even on one of the most important days of her life, she seems like her normal, bubbly, friendly self. While some brides turn to monsters on their big days, Asha has kept her cool throughout the journey to her day, and it's been a long journey.<br />
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Yellow, red, purple, blue, pink, yellow, red.<br />
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From the outside, the house looks the same as always - the only visible difference is the garland that dresses the patio's doorway, the main thoroughfare for the guests who will be coming for the first of three ceremonies. Once inside though, the lounge has been transformed into a small temple and it lends an air of excitement to the day.<br />
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Though the room is empty when I arrive, within minutes it is filled with friends, family and neighbours, more people than I would have thought the room would allow for, who have all come to celebrate with Asha and to wish her well by joining in to paint her skin with a mixture of chickpea flour, turmeric, rose water and other natural bits and bobs that make up the Pithi paste. Though it starts as a solemn and serious affair, the room is soon filled with chatter and laughter, light and colour as each of the guests takes their turn to adorn the bride with paint and pass on their few words of sage wisdom.<br />
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Green, pink, yellow, red, blue, orange, white.<br />
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The Masonic Hall is mostly empty when I arrive. I'm a little early, but it's worth it for the chance to take in the details - the statuettes and bright garlands, the salts and spices, the powders and string - before the hordes of people begin to file in. It's time for the Grah Shanti to begin.<br />
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"I drove from PE," one of the guests informs me as I wait for the bridal party to arrive.<br />
"It's only right," he continues, "that she has family here."<br />
His words hang in the air, his thought uncompleted, but I know what it is that he isn't saying. The memory of Asha's father hangs heavily over the festivities, a constant reminder of the pain of loss that comes from love. But the Daya women are strong, and today is about celebration, initiation and family. I'm reminded of this as the family come forward towards the end of the ceremony to be bound by red string, as they stand together as one with Asha at the centre, a uniting source of mutual joy.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY35BHATrpWyZuza0-PKTjUoJjbbcoWZ_LXcNZq8mFeldUFgAzxjNe8vjm82i-IrjxAEGD3pfQ-9D1Dv1WFb_V20Lt_m0a7ElaQl-1EtLmL3i59FZ34zzg242g9dK6hvIsod2HKCCW8kc/s1600/Grah+Shanti+Hands+and+Faces.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY35BHATrpWyZuza0-PKTjUoJjbbcoWZ_LXcNZq8mFeldUFgAzxjNe8vjm82i-IrjxAEGD3pfQ-9D1Dv1WFb_V20Lt_m0a7ElaQl-1EtLmL3i59FZ34zzg242g9dK6hvIsod2HKCCW8kc/s1600/Grah+Shanti+Hands+and+Faces.jpg" height="640" width="624" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10568613927703995624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7866689284221265055.post-62323566619384246752014-04-04T21:33:00.000+02:002014-04-04T21:40:52.362+02:00A Lifetime of Happiness<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<b>Lolita and Tshepo</b><br />
<b>The Monument</b><br />
<b>Grahamstown</b><br />
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Grahamstown is quiet on Sunday mornings. There are no cars lining the road or stopped at the traffic lights and few people mill around the streets, especially at this kind of time. But there is one house, on this particular day, that is filled with hustle and bustle, noise and excitement. It's an environment fitting for a wedding day - the energy is contagious and though I'm not used to being up quite this early, I am wide awake and ready to capture those moments that Lolita and Tshepo will remember for a lifetime.<br />
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I have always considered Lolita to be beautiful, and myself lucky to be her photographer, but this morning she is glowing as the bright morning light shines through the windows and falls on her, wide-eyed and nervous, but filled with excitement and expectation for the day ahead.<br />
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Just a few houses away, Tshepo is quiet and calm as his friends celebrate around him. Already dressed and anxious for the big day to begin, I can see that he has no doubts.<br />
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In both houses, cellphones ring and voices echo from room to room as the friends and family members run around putting together the finishing touches, until finally it is time. Ribbons and jewels, gloves and shoes are slid into place, and Lolita emerges in a gown that would be fitting for any modern-day Disney princess while the men pile into cars and make their way towards the Monument.<br />
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People slowly trickle in, starting with Tshepo and his groomsmen, followed by family and friends and finally concluding with the bride and her bridal party who are greeted once more with exuberant singing and dancing, smiles and well wishes. It is a day for celebration, and the celebrating rings through the hollowed venue and fills it with joy, laughter and song. As Lolita arrives, it starts and it continues throughout the ceremony, throughout the reception, throughout the day - a truly jubilant occasion, filled with happiness and laughter making for a wedding unlike any other that I have had the privilege to capture with my camera.<br />
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Nerves which have been written across the bride and groom's faces throughout the morning are forgotten as they stand before each other, knowing that this is where they are meant to be, and that they are meant to be here together with the backdrop of Grahamstown to one side and their friends and family behind them. From the moment they are joined, they are inseparable - they are truly one - and it comes naturally to them.<br />
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It is a beautiful day for a wedding in Grahamstown, and the quiet of the morning has been broken with sounds of celebration and love. Things are the way they should be. Lolita and Tshepo are married, and have a lifetime of happiness ahead of them.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10568613927703995624noreply@blogger.com01820 Settler National Monument, Grahamstown 6139, South Africa-33.3195007 26.51923469999997-33.3211592 26.51671319999997 -33.3178422 26.52175619999997tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7866689284221265055.post-55338580432096411242014-03-24T21:39:00.000+02:002014-11-19T15:47:09.384+02:00Love Is...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvqu-jXQcS0gMoBews8xb1tNX2yrEO2iP7aeULEgPzlTKXMlL8tfq5_7iNMK05v1RtKxcBSA7_ZaYEazlYmO3YJYXBNtI-ngoB_q9PI8SRFJxB1sa-KuAYKJXRAiGdcdlbIZyWTTyOr7I/s1600/Main.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvqu-jXQcS0gMoBews8xb1tNX2yrEO2iP7aeULEgPzlTKXMlL8tfq5_7iNMK05v1RtKxcBSA7_ZaYEazlYmO3YJYXBNtI-ngoB_q9PI8SRFJxB1sa-KuAYKJXRAiGdcdlbIZyWTTyOr7I/s1600/Main.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br />
<b>Angus and Sara</b><br />
<b>Grahamstown</b><br />
<br />
I thought that I knew where the best view in Grahamstown was. I, like many before me, used to think that it was the view from the Monument, looking over the wall of Fort Selwyn and seeing the Cathedral laid out at my feet. But, on one beautiful afternoon, I was shown just how wrong I was.<br />
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I remember Angus saying the last time he was in my studio that cameras make him uncomfortable, but with Sara beside him, he just can't stop smiling. The grins refuse to fade from either of their faces, and as I ask them to look into each others' eyes, it's like they are acknowledging a shared secret - one that no one else knows and that they won't let on. They dance around each other as they position themselves, comfortable in each others spaces. There is nothing that these two don't share as they have made space for each other in their lives.<br />
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As we consider where to go for the second half of their
photo shoot, I am going through the regular Grahamstown favourites – the
Botanical gardens, the Monument, Grey Dam perhaps if they are looking for
something a little different – but they have somewhere else in mind. We head
onto the highway, and I wonder where they are taking me, especially when they
tell me to turn off only a few k’s down the road. As I manoeuvre the little car
between the potholes that line the road, I wonder what I've gotten myself in
for, but as we pull up alongside a single house set on a hill and the view
comes into sight, I understand completely why this is the location that they've
chosen.<o:p></o:p></div>
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From here, we are on top of the world, looking down on it in
all its glory. From here, you can see everything – Grahamstown as a whole –
painted in sunset tones, and as they stand together looking over it all, I can
see how at home Angus and Sara are. While I am tiptoeing, worried about
potential snakes, they are in their element, surrounded by nature and the place
that they call home. As they walk between the strands of long grass, their
hands clasped together, supporting each other, I smile to myself.<br />
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This is their
secret, this peacefulness and love, and a Love Is... comic comes to mind. Love is... Tranquility.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcLqrYKL44-oZ8TxI0K2FDa61YTosdpZAfUcYprDv-vz-jLK2Bg67UhyphenhyphentgR6Ty7RlnGhrvqPtFYQKYqLIibD_j1VkCWZZ6hZIVKtPMqjD_9t1CI-bDCqzSxcvslcXGgQ2Ywz0n5TVVtQ4/s1600/Location+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcLqrYKL44-oZ8TxI0K2FDa61YTosdpZAfUcYprDv-vz-jLK2Bg67UhyphenhyphentgR6Ty7RlnGhrvqPtFYQKYqLIibD_j1VkCWZZ6hZIVKtPMqjD_9t1CI-bDCqzSxcvslcXGgQ2Ywz0n5TVVtQ4/s1600/Location+4.jpg" height="320" width="640" /></a><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10568613927703995624noreply@blogger.com0Grahamstown, South Africa-33.3 26.533332999999971-33.40615 26.371971499999969 -33.19385 26.694694499999972tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7866689284221265055.post-48009296619204661442014-02-11T18:06:00.000+02:002014-02-11T18:06:40.513+02:00A Rose By Any Other Name<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrtP8fSQfuunEXLgvX9wZQCeZieMgJiCH4ptkKOeVZznvk6RlyYvGNrbEW8Ydix2dx9xU_ffE3V4iER5LoN69XRSInbD0npYvfwq4hwRgxrV5x0792Mpc2VXKdk2N5DviwlpgTZlB0LYk/s1600/A+Rose+By+Any+Other+Name.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrtP8fSQfuunEXLgvX9wZQCeZieMgJiCH4ptkKOeVZznvk6RlyYvGNrbEW8Ydix2dx9xU_ffE3V4iER5LoN69XRSInbD0npYvfwq4hwRgxrV5x0792Mpc2VXKdk2N5DviwlpgTZlB0LYk/s1600/A+Rose+By+Any+Other+Name.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br />
<b>Rosa Brandt</b><br />
<b>22</b><br />
<b>Grahamstown</b><br />
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It's been a busy day for photography, and clothes and props are strewn across the studio floor in between empty glasses of wine and bottles of "cheerleader beer". Laughter and giggling can be heard ringing through the garden and the house beyond as my friends and I chatter between shots.<br />
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"I love this jacket," Rosa announces as she slips it on over her dress and poses for a shot or two in it. It's one of my favourites - the black leather one from my days in Korea - and it suits her perfectly. But the jacket is just the beginning, and before long the studio has turned into an extended wardrobe for outfits to be tried and tested and fun to be had. It's like going clothing shopping with your best friend, and knowing that you won't end up spending any money - you just get to look great in an outfit for a few minutes before moving on to the next one. It's like the fashion shoot that I have been dreaming of, and Rosa makes a wonderful model for it with her slim frame and her outgoing personality.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUJPoELzURFPVhetMbUU3MA1zThPADFYuwiNBeq_25mIhS4BEgGC127enGWxI-GPs9gXz0QYJgQuy3Vdo3sdtVBMJ6-_HIqjPgOZN9xd9fxTnXUcOf_V2IsuGEnPuS0ngbGp2jQi160QU/s1600/Poses.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUJPoELzURFPVhetMbUU3MA1zThPADFYuwiNBeq_25mIhS4BEgGC127enGWxI-GPs9gXz0QYJgQuy3Vdo3sdtVBMJ6-_HIqjPgOZN9xd9fxTnXUcOf_V2IsuGEnPuS0ngbGp2jQi160QU/s1600/Poses.jpg" height="284" width="640" /></a></div>
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It's not just the clothes that get the Rosa treatment, but the props as well as she picks them up and transports us into her imagination. She jumps from socialite to entertainer, from naughtiness to innocence with an ease that brings out the actress in her, and it's wonderful to witness and capture. It's easy to remember while I watch her why it is that we are friends - her easy going nature makes her a pleasure to be around and brings out the fun side of me that often gets ignored and lies dormant for months at a time.<br />
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It's the last shoot that I have a chance to get with her, her Grahamstown visit a short one this time around, but it's one that will linger in my memory, bringing a smile to my face for a long time to come - tiding me over until the next time I get to see her.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10568613927703995624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7866689284221265055.post-80866726032369419982014-02-10T21:54:00.001+02:002014-02-10T21:56:22.200+02:00Scheherazade<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia7UTww9qDNF4GvsFbqUdcOWCU38Jh7vc0B0hjau5G4u_rTKuMfClt5ThDj-AwzB9xBW0ZJlnV8d81H1x9yjytxlrXup7q4_khqEjK_EI55vfLINBEeEwk30gjMDC1xnRigeNf7AIrk1Y/s1600/Scheherazade.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia7UTww9qDNF4GvsFbqUdcOWCU38Jh7vc0B0hjau5G4u_rTKuMfClt5ThDj-AwzB9xBW0ZJlnV8d81H1x9yjytxlrXup7q4_khqEjK_EI55vfLINBEeEwk30gjMDC1xnRigeNf7AIrk1Y/s1600/Scheherazade.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
<b>Amy Goodenough</b><br />
<b>23</b><br />
<b>Grahamstown</b><br />
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<span style="text-align: center;">I'd never noticed the tattoo before - the font that twirls around itself to tell a story just like its namesake. Though it's not loud or bold, it speaks volumes about its owner. "Scheherazade" it reads. The storyteller.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqIt85CikqTSL4aKS8FlwPiNBmq17GjfLrSjZLrKT3epkhyphenhypheny_0ZLFfDjQK9ZUhqzpwlfURMxD5udn8d121lXjhiCXi8U4Hu7RdL4pr5X7VpB0_TDmg5EtirV_7vBGaubeDE4d8prlfwFA/s1600/Portraits.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqIt85CikqTSL4aKS8FlwPiNBmq17GjfLrSjZLrKT3epkhyphenhypheny_0ZLFfDjQK9ZUhqzpwlfURMxD5udn8d121lXjhiCXi8U4Hu7RdL4pr5X7VpB0_TDmg5EtirV_7vBGaubeDE4d8prlfwFA/s1600/Portraits.jpg" height="296" width="640" /></a><br />
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As she pivots herself on the edge of the chair, as her hair sways back and forth and as she lies on the warm white rug, Amy Goodenough tells me her story through the way that she moves and the ring of her laughter. I have known her for years, but it feels as though this hour spent in the studio has granted me some kind of insight into her person that I didn't have before.<br />
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She reads through her favourite book, selecting passages to read aloud to me. They are passages that I have heard before, but hearing them in her voice makes all the difference, and the words ring through the studio leaving their echoes in my memory so that each time I think of Lemony Snicket, my mind will immediately jump to this afternoon spent together.<br />
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As she writes in her journal, I watch her hand fall across the page, her concentration, her word weaving, and I am left in awe. I cannot think of a tattoo more apt for her than Scheherazade, and I will think of her ever more as the story teller.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuF0lFXuUlMkOdWut4NSOUAbhOXumlccN42I4pHKjuPupTWVPCOi0KCoUeqGQdBq4VMX9bDDLUsb1S0SXk2l5JCLVJDn_nWZ-FYp7Tqgo3hUYWrz3QlMEo4Ep9_5vZAfiVuCIMSN7GXf0/s1600/Landscapes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuF0lFXuUlMkOdWut4NSOUAbhOXumlccN42I4pHKjuPupTWVPCOi0KCoUeqGQdBq4VMX9bDDLUsb1S0SXk2l5JCLVJDn_nWZ-FYp7Tqgo3hUYWrz3QlMEo4Ep9_5vZAfiVuCIMSN7GXf0/s1600/Landscapes.jpg" height="640" width="308" /></a></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10568613927703995624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7866689284221265055.post-28818801384978157782013-10-18T17:54:00.000+02:002013-10-18T17:54:29.661+02:00Thank You, Amanda<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8AP-pdjYMm0l7i89p_rm5ml4Lc8B3NJRlUPE3cCBLNW0awJhJGLbmrpG2sR6jvVa9DVm306Z4Sfw-wcMeqiD-h3Dzu_8ohviXifztMSi0dRoHrufvQ_Tw1M0hdeV-v4IR2-ahHVQlHc0/s1600/IMG_4418.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8AP-pdjYMm0l7i89p_rm5ml4Lc8B3NJRlUPE3cCBLNW0awJhJGLbmrpG2sR6jvVa9DVm306Z4Sfw-wcMeqiD-h3Dzu_8ohviXifztMSi0dRoHrufvQ_Tw1M0hdeV-v4IR2-ahHVQlHc0/s640/IMG_4418.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<b>Amy, Dee, Rosa and Samantha</b><br />
<b>Grahamstown</b><br />
<br />
"Who?"<br />
The question rings in my ears and I take a deep breath as I prepare myself for the explanation, which will inevitably be followed by bursts of confusion, opinions and a myriad of YouTube videos.<br />
"Amanda Palmer," I reply, and am met with a blank stare that begs for something more.<br />
<br />
I can't really blame them for their ignorance, as much as I would like to. If someone had mentioned the name to me as little as two years ago, my response would have been similarly indifferent. I did not understand the significance of the name then, just as they do not understand it now. It's my job to try and educate them, though it is not an easy task.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_xhhulyatC89B0vcpELWy26G7GW_aMu3M8nHHgINOjIjcXTn6J7UbsD85TFOTJE-Ml5RQa19uR1gv6sUmjhNlyzliLmwyaVGZmvbqjUrRHK0BCSLri3apeF2Os533YupyJyg0d2FOjZA/s1600/IMG_4356.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_xhhulyatC89B0vcpELWy26G7GW_aMu3M8nHHgINOjIjcXTn6J7UbsD85TFOTJE-Ml5RQa19uR1gv6sUmjhNlyzliLmwyaVGZmvbqjUrRHK0BCSLri3apeF2Os533YupyJyg0d2FOjZA/s640/IMG_4356.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
My education happened slowly, progressively. It started with a single video and a song that echoed in my head and my heart, its message resonating through me for a brief period, only to be forgotten in the everyday chaos that is life. Still, the message and vague memory remained along with a statement of:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Fuck yes! I am exactly the person that I want to be!" </blockquote>
<br />
If I believed in signs, I would have said that this was one. It had come to me at the time when I had only just begun to realise that the sadness that had been trying to drown me for more than two years was, in fact, more than just sadness and a feeling of having a few down days; that it was depression and that I needed help to keep myself afloat.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUFWAcKMRKO3fQ_mYKmGWdPKNTn5RXLNqoJTJc4yYh8wJtHY_JfdHdENWwobkarfHmWLgPpDEmSonIfePVCnTR9wlj8cogukgn7w3yw5vhe2hf-ACTaVRjvQQ0Ke100gsRQByIXYSPxQI/s1600/IMG_4362.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUFWAcKMRKO3fQ_mYKmGWdPKNTn5RXLNqoJTJc4yYh8wJtHY_JfdHdENWwobkarfHmWLgPpDEmSonIfePVCnTR9wlj8cogukgn7w3yw5vhe2hf-ACTaVRjvQQ0Ke100gsRQByIXYSPxQI/s320/IMG_4362.jpg" width="213" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc2MuvRJWam8qQ1InIB_dfCf4dJb1w8p0qN_y5HUz6N6fZosVqAMLmT0FzyJOFJYZeoimszXyOMcfG61t71nNz3ffqhVqnhDPrCvHDJonsGgzI7oRpcreXTfV6J914rUQ1QssivqH03Gs/s1600/IMG_4377.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc2MuvRJWam8qQ1InIB_dfCf4dJb1w8p0qN_y5HUz6N6fZosVqAMLmT0FzyJOFJYZeoimszXyOMcfG61t71nNz3ffqhVqnhDPrCvHDJonsGgzI7oRpcreXTfV6J914rUQ1QssivqH03Gs/s320/IMG_4377.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Had I come across the song a month, a year, a lifetime earlier, had I been exposed to Amanda in another way, had I had a different introduction, I am fairly certain that our relationship (or, should I say, my relationship with her music) would have been entirely different. Instead, when my boyfriend showed me a Dresden Dolls video weeks later, the image that sprang to mind was of a beautifully imperfect Palmer posed on a stool with a skirt falling in waterfalls around her and speaking to me, just me, from her podium.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh20YiZWQGLso_LOeMcm4KCwdoPNYATomK6s4b54ez5gJu8cRZ-8reDRBbpWccTQypGY9317_k1xE12tuCB3yrQfcVobzWmzFntbPaa7xKVH9-tyMR166mSGCD6lFRnAptr9NEx-dnD3oU/s1600/IMG_4419.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh20YiZWQGLso_LOeMcm4KCwdoPNYATomK6s4b54ez5gJu8cRZ-8reDRBbpWccTQypGY9317_k1xE12tuCB3yrQfcVobzWmzFntbPaa7xKVH9-tyMR166mSGCD6lFRnAptr9NEx-dnD3oU/s320/IMG_4419.jpg" width="213" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEmZY_bNrbea2pjbhd5tLJNOZJpaOP6Sxnc16V1euqKxU-cc5XL3qnwpqgsDOgInUWBHeb5YBE4Ns3o3C4geQVP7yoWy711r4XQcapP-bo5WebkXPjdCllRtfbnK2q2k93ibcKptW1k_E/s1600/IMG_4372.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEmZY_bNrbea2pjbhd5tLJNOZJpaOP6Sxnc16V1euqKxU-cc5XL3qnwpqgsDOgInUWBHeb5YBE4Ns3o3C4geQVP7yoWy711r4XQcapP-bo5WebkXPjdCllRtfbnK2q2k93ibcKptW1k_E/s320/IMG_4372.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
From there, my love for the music and the person behind it blossomed to the point where, on finding a group intent on bringing her to South Africa for a performance, I knew that I had to get involved somehow. I had to show my support and thanks for this beautiful person and what she stands for. And what better way to do so than to use the skills available to me? With that in mind, I gathered as many like-minded people as I could find on a Saturday afternoon and hosted an Amanda Palmer photo shoot in my small garage studio.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5rz4GbXH_h_Bg96F2ZjhdeMVTjAmFB-y2uJ-UKL8A7IL6asS50xcQkKwEAa1usI3Bc16WvVk1NGwdzO3WzXjzqYIElpx_MlBPcWHUNja2cQZJN6S5eLd9_OuCBAIIU7qL-xAYy1dS960/s1600/IMG_4383.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5rz4GbXH_h_Bg96F2ZjhdeMVTjAmFB-y2uJ-UKL8A7IL6asS50xcQkKwEAa1usI3Bc16WvVk1NGwdzO3WzXjzqYIElpx_MlBPcWHUNja2cQZJN6S5eLd9_OuCBAIIU7qL-xAYy1dS960/s320/IMG_4383.jpg" width="213" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWx0_CfgLlxIEey-njUyf1u9_2YlvBSAlGOddW-H2ig6vHjpO9zYT3sFQLRa7f2J2vu71h8FmaoroFnuuZ4DF3eG4E1R2U4U2-xJVxyQpU6ZTcRsFlbmMEucVimli6gdXbzFoOnqGY6ms/s1600/IMG_4445.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWx0_CfgLlxIEey-njUyf1u9_2YlvBSAlGOddW-H2ig6vHjpO9zYT3sFQLRa7f2J2vu71h8FmaoroFnuuZ4DF3eG4E1R2U4U2-xJVxyQpU6ZTcRsFlbmMEucVimli6gdXbzFoOnqGY6ms/s320/IMG_4445.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Our joint passion for the town and the idea of a Palmer <a href="http://www.nationalartsfestival.co.za/" target="_blank">Arts Festival</a> performance led to the decision of a Grahamstown specific effort rather than a general plea for a South African tour. Stationing myself behind the camera, where I am most comfortable, I was able to capture our messages, our interpretations of her music, portrayed in a way that we hoped would capture the attention of the woman herself.<br />
<br />
Regardless of whether she ends up in Grahamstown/Cape Town/Johannesburg or not, I felt that the messages and the love behind them remain true - Amanda Palmer remains in my (and our) mind(s) and we love her for the person she is, the songs she sings and the difference that she makes in our lives.<br />
<br />
Thank you for that, Amanda, and keep doing what you do!<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5F4_ndXZK4Zd8nrYrGfuG15PvfpijvAPLstoZQ3xt-dczemRBNSefbcHg7VTHB1jq4RpMjp73SNaBEUCgk2S2m9yNB44WXL1Y4xo-Rw3DVKouKz-uUIw_d1Jl0bDS1IfZotCU5ShVOk8/s1600/IMG_4425.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5F4_ndXZK4Zd8nrYrGfuG15PvfpijvAPLstoZQ3xt-dczemRBNSefbcHg7VTHB1jq4RpMjp73SNaBEUCgk2S2m9yNB44WXL1Y4xo-Rw3DVKouKz-uUIw_d1Jl0bDS1IfZotCU5ShVOk8/s640/IMG_4425.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10568613927703995624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7866689284221265055.post-48588970407031223212013-05-27T23:28:00.000+02:002013-05-27T23:28:51.409+02:00A Part of Their Story<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKK5VlSH2glAZS5iWbm5CHbPWvsRVV7JhOit_SeDwRsvyBikoYIez_vaVRt6ydhv_Ddw8dcfNqdLznKz1I6JiiuuGX6w4k2CCg15r5Tsz3zvIjZDsSOmz-vgmVi8Zrk2ZhON_JMobKgSY/s1600/IMG_0632.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKK5VlSH2glAZS5iWbm5CHbPWvsRVV7JhOit_SeDwRsvyBikoYIez_vaVRt6ydhv_Ddw8dcfNqdLznKz1I6JiiuuGX6w4k2CCg15r5Tsz3zvIjZDsSOmz-vgmVi8Zrk2ZhON_JMobKgSY/s1600/IMG_0632.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKK5VlSH2glAZS5iWbm5CHbPWvsRVV7JhOit_SeDwRsvyBikoYIez_vaVRt6ydhv_Ddw8dcfNqdLznKz1I6JiiuuGX6w4k2CCg15r5Tsz3zvIjZDsSOmz-vgmVi8Zrk2ZhON_JMobKgSY/s640/IMG_0632.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
<b>Michael Marabini and Vicky Heideman</b><br />
<b>Grahamstown</b><br />
<br />
"Hey, Mike."<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxBsSurhj_JUJ_VA3oliA6dGuzyQwV9B5uBLn3SxAqDRFjk3ENwgf-KZyCvyIt6ZGppnm2E3-PXBNmA2E2H8Zg05u6hNJlsUQT4liKaq8ukbUxcjZ9TW3vAK6_n-aYX1JLLWt01RRV-Hw/s1600/Couple+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: left;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxBsSurhj_JUJ_VA3oliA6dGuzyQwV9B5uBLn3SxAqDRFjk3ENwgf-KZyCvyIt6ZGppnm2E3-PXBNmA2E2H8Zg05u6hNJlsUQT4liKaq8ukbUxcjZ9TW3vAK6_n-aYX1JLLWt01RRV-Hw/s400/Couple+3.jpg" width="202" /></a>Grant moves his chair away from the desk as he answers the call - never the world's best multi-tasker - and begins to pace around the house. Into a room one minute, out the next, up and down the hall - his typical phone call routine, but this is no typical phone call.<br />
"You want me to do <b>what</b>?"<br />
I motion with my arms trying to catch his attention and involve him in a game of charades so that I can figure out what's going on.<br />
"Yes, she is."<br />
He catches my eye, but refuses to participate any further than that.<br />
"Yes, she does."<br />
I narrow my eyes now, wondering what exactly it is that I "do".<br />
"Okay, bud. Meet you there."<br />
He hangs up the phone and sidles back in front of his computer, ignoring the glares that I am sending in his direction.<br />
"What's going on?" I finally shout, giving in to my frustration and curiosity.<br />
"Oh," he says as though he's just realised that I'm there. "We're meeting Mike and Vicky at Home Affairs in half an hour."<br />
He turns back to the PC.<br />
"Uh... why?"<br />
"Just as witnesses."<br />
"To..."<br />
"Their marriage."<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Fast forward three years, and there I am, my camera in hand, snapping shots of Mike and Vicky. They're fresh from their honeymoon and standing before friends and family in full wedding attire saying, "I do." It's an anniversary party, really - a reason to celebrate three years of happy marriage with those that they love most. And once again, I am a part of their happy moment. I'll also be the one to remind them of their anniversary a year down the line.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkwETHpLvNqLHNdbfbT9Gv0Kzi76anvRO87luUs6lZ-k32cLeKSQ50Wbxl1UsDB_thXUIduuIsPA0vhf-RwXEYk9FkMMQ882LyU9lixoZeasYlYZdv07HrGGJ5hzjDrwmVqyEGmnaxsJU/s1600/Couple+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkwETHpLvNqLHNdbfbT9Gv0Kzi76anvRO87luUs6lZ-k32cLeKSQ50Wbxl1UsDB_thXUIduuIsPA0vhf-RwXEYk9FkMMQ882LyU9lixoZeasYlYZdv07HrGGJ5hzjDrwmVqyEGmnaxsJU/s640/Couple+1.jpg" width="486" /></a></div>
<br />
A year and a half later, and Mike and Vicky stand in my studio under the harsh, bright lights. I like to think of the pictures that I take as family photographs - a monument to the life that the two have built for themselves around each other, and a testament to the love that they share. They laugh and make fun of each other, they tease and taunt and compliment. They try to stay serious, but they just can't do it for more than a few seconds at a time - can never take themselves too seriously. It's just not who they are. Five years in and Mike and Vicky are just as in love as the day they got married. It's not something that can be said for every couple, not even for most. But I look at them, and I think to myself that I can see them being just as happy in five, ten or twenty years to come.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-n_FfJzJxjZghwWYG5UkyjXHBawHI07FAHTyUv8BmcJYztJZLh6lLEd6KbqM4vSR8FEeK932FdVE3Bxtu4sBOolUIk1h6YPChD-O5Eazu5dRT6WRqEKY8JCGx6ZbkXuaJ0UquOuh7Wcw/s1600/Couple+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="458" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-n_FfJzJxjZghwWYG5UkyjXHBawHI07FAHTyUv8BmcJYztJZLh6lLEd6KbqM4vSR8FEeK932FdVE3Bxtu4sBOolUIk1h6YPChD-O5Eazu5dRT6WRqEKY8JCGx6ZbkXuaJ0UquOuh7Wcw/s640/Couple+2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Thank you, Mike and Vicky, for allowing me to be a small part of your story.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7thT-uBPWtviapw8j-JR1__6pkIe6jIMe2CGDlDML3XgEy-lwwALNxA56491jBqCsSPpbwj364xcJ0Pe45sb0Rt5P_HwB4YJ0Ptio9nDHsuZ1tmdnS7d7j1YX1Tk4zHepe94ZQAALxpU/s1600/IMG_0641.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7thT-uBPWtviapw8j-JR1__6pkIe6jIMe2CGDlDML3XgEy-lwwALNxA56491jBqCsSPpbwj364xcJ0Pe45sb0Rt5P_HwB4YJ0Ptio9nDHsuZ1tmdnS7d7j1YX1Tk4zHepe94ZQAALxpU/s640/IMG_0641.jpg" width="426" /></a></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10568613927703995624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7866689284221265055.post-85250701778675299712013-05-26T10:08:00.000+02:002013-05-27T23:29:54.218+02:00Revisiting EditingTwo years ago, I took a gig that I was completely unprepared for. I knew absolutely zero about wedding photography, but when two of my friends asked me to take their wedding photographs, I accepted the challenge.<br />
<br />
You can read more about the challenges that I faced during the event itself in my <a href="http://blog.evanescent.co.za/2011/10/my-first-wedding-shoot-what-to-do-and.html" target="_blank">blog from the day</a>, and you can read more about the couple in <a href="http://blog.evanescent.co.za/2013/05/a-part-of-their-story.html" target="_blank">the post that I intend to write later this week</a>, but this is not what this post is about. This post is about how I have changed in the last two years as a photographer - how my process has changed and, more importantly, how my outlook has changed.<br />
<br />
About two months back, I decided that I needed to include more of the wedding photography from this first shoot on my website, and I started going through my photographs to try and find some more of the shots to add. And, I am not sure how it happened, but all of the edited photographs were gone with the exception of the few that I had already put up of the wedding. The originals (all 700 odd of them) still lay in a folder on my laptop, taunting me. And, after a long while, I decided that it was time to re-edit the photographs. Without any guidance in terms of how I had originally edited them, I was left to my own devices and, looking back on it now, I think that was the right way to go about the re-editing process. I didn't bother comparing the original edits with the final cuts until everything was done, and I ended up with a complete set of photographs rather than one that feels disjointed. In my mind anyway.<br />
<br />
Some of the photographs ended up looking fairly similar with just small changes, but some looked entirely different. So I thought that I would put together some comparisons and see what other people think.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIpOQZUCAitq_dOU46yc0Kh3K1h9UX6pElP4B-arsqXykwUzXfUWk-mgjNkorIDW5d0HoBgfHzO0wBSuiK1cRqqvoSamMUxxLlQhV_H5l3wUBk9NafzdMUcca3g1NEf5lrRBVQOCI8YVs/s1600/Comparison+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIpOQZUCAitq_dOU46yc0Kh3K1h9UX6pElP4B-arsqXykwUzXfUWk-mgjNkorIDW5d0HoBgfHzO0wBSuiK1cRqqvoSamMUxxLlQhV_H5l3wUBk9NafzdMUcca3g1NEf5lrRBVQOCI8YVs/s640/Comparison+2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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From left to right, this picture shows the original image, the first edit and the second edit. I have focussed on the bride's face throughout, though the second edit does show the full photograph.</div>
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Once again, I found that the biggest difference was with the skin tone that came out in a far more flattering manner in my second edit. The white balance was also more appropriate and the whole image felt more natural and less edited than my initial edit.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5xiE4xiHOTbmZJIsPI_UKDL7jVkzlHui2Kz86vIk0DWZgUM6NCVVkvu8bnhoIEwLIWr_KyOBW_ik-seZ3oqclmEa3hhV7InLWG_ObgtGDGCV_ygdvgopTw1vHAjsFim_NFmfere4cZjE/s1600/Comparison+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5xiE4xiHOTbmZJIsPI_UKDL7jVkzlHui2Kz86vIk0DWZgUM6NCVVkvu8bnhoIEwLIWr_KyOBW_ik-seZ3oqclmEa3hhV7InLWG_ObgtGDGCV_ygdvgopTw1vHAjsFim_NFmfere4cZjE/s640/Comparison+1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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The picture above shows (going clockwise from the top left) the original photograph, the first edit, an edit with a Lightroom Aged Photo preset and the second edit without any presets. I added the Aged Photo preset to a number of the shots to form a separate collection as I felt that it worked well with the style of the wedding,<br />
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I felt that the most noticable changes in the second edit were with the colour of the dress and the skin tones which I felt ended up being more flattering.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2QWlg0YbpDZiqXNn3xx1bfBLJ-TmfbvaNbjDii8MK1rF3CRmNeuFgaSXTrMRj69MFdKav9R_q7sS9ryTdZaVSubLtSLHCZW6595Z2fYfAY4PbLRlOYzE3WOtaapvO8sHLukXdt9GU3zE/s1600/Comparison+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2QWlg0YbpDZiqXNn3xx1bfBLJ-TmfbvaNbjDii8MK1rF3CRmNeuFgaSXTrMRj69MFdKav9R_q7sS9ryTdZaVSubLtSLHCZW6595Z2fYfAY4PbLRlOYzE3WOtaapvO8sHLukXdt9GU3zE/s640/Comparison+3.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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This comparison has the same structure as above (original, initial edit, Aged Photo, second edit), and while I feel that the colour in the second edit is better in terms of the dress and the skin tones, it did lead to the sky being washed out more than I would have been happy with.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxo89BzlOcRzv8GSHNa7FCN0lmGxhtsU87FWcv97lW8px2gJm8PYvN63s5cnGip5gHRnjq5BW9g2xR2eJdSItrEzTQKFFLnlbRoo1V6gv9m-f2dxpx_e6sHikLajtoQ4qDoFB6T6uGGoU/s1600/Comparison+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxo89BzlOcRzv8GSHNa7FCN0lmGxhtsU87FWcv97lW8px2gJm8PYvN63s5cnGip5gHRnjq5BW9g2xR2eJdSItrEzTQKFFLnlbRoo1V6gv9m-f2dxpx_e6sHikLajtoQ4qDoFB6T6uGGoU/s640/Comparison+4.jpg" width="406" /></a></div>
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As with the first picture, this one shows a portion from the original, the first edit and the second edit. In this edit, the dress and the sky show the most significant change. For the second edit I chose to use a graduated filter which I felt brought out the storminess of the clouds providing a nice contrast to the image. But, at the same time, I'm not sure if it worked in the way that I had hoped.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTm9tfvJgoI8pRsWEW3cual6byNT0f6nSsfoS0fre4kZo30pGg3D-_FW50ohHqRXe3XkeF5HOdAFOHkfgFItBSFKapEt3Pgk9Zbheyr7wBBssiDzMx6If7v0N7a8hR_GQCLajKXQHaL1E/s1600/Comparison+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTm9tfvJgoI8pRsWEW3cual6byNT0f6nSsfoS0fre4kZo30pGg3D-_FW50ohHqRXe3XkeF5HOdAFOHkfgFItBSFKapEt3Pgk9Zbheyr7wBBssiDzMx6If7v0N7a8hR_GQCLajKXQHaL1E/s640/Comparison+5.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Finally, we come to the images from the ceremony. I had the biggest pain with the ceremony because it was outdoors on a shady day under the cover of trees with no way to get the proper flash lighting that I would have hoped for. So, when it came to editing the ceremony photographs, I was underwhelmed with what came out of it and ended up providing the couple with few photos of the ceremony itself. With the second edit, I adjusted the clarity which I felt worked better for the situation, as did the Aged Photo look (in my mind anyway). So the above picture is a comparison of (from top left going clockwise) the original, the first edit, the second edit and the Aged Photo preset.</div>
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So these are just a couple of comparisons that I put together. All in all, though 738 photographs were taken on the day of the event itself, I ended up with 956 photographs including the preset edits, which I thought was a nice haul.</div>
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What do you think of the edits? Would you have done anything differently?</div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10568613927703995624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7866689284221265055.post-62421403394153576002013-05-06T18:41:00.000+02:002013-05-06T18:42:12.515+02:00Dum Di Dee Dum<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8_UGGUNpo9dsBy1gWtJAqBdgWcQ8bSL0Dp273SxJwQp71ELA0XVm9WR-3cXAuiOVpD77Dzr3bNy7tXl6J_eOU0S1LQ6WasnTWItJjBu28FEELLKnaqycO5FyzR79bjMCoMIzltG_3tK0/s1600/IMG_0400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8_UGGUNpo9dsBy1gWtJAqBdgWcQ8bSL0Dp273SxJwQp71ELA0XVm9WR-3cXAuiOVpD77Dzr3bNy7tXl6J_eOU0S1LQ6WasnTWItJjBu28FEELLKnaqycO5FyzR79bjMCoMIzltG_3tK0/s640/IMG_0400.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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<b>Dee Ellis</b><br />
<b>22</b><br />
<b>Grahamstown</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlbgEcJX0tfLlIyDUcn-RLfk0JIdATaaGRowAaJf7B4BiQJMVyTSZN0Nw5VY-REyz-eDfNMO3b17mspDAgx19GhVUQDT35HSydlNvWA5Fi42o20fobdDreu_pxjUYCDR-cmuOg6AyPC0M/s1600/Funny+Face.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="624" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlbgEcJX0tfLlIyDUcn-RLfk0JIdATaaGRowAaJf7B4BiQJMVyTSZN0Nw5VY-REyz-eDfNMO3b17mspDAgx19GhVUQDT35HSydlNvWA5Fi42o20fobdDreu_pxjUYCDR-cmuOg6AyPC0M/s640/Funny+Face.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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By far the best photography sessions that I have done have always been
those were the subjects are having fun. And by a long way, the person
who's had the most fun in front of my camera (with Mike & Vicky
coming a close joint second) has been Dee.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyKmSK-6AKHjepo0lhtyl_lv7dMmApPWyGmQUsr1V0pwOGmfAMO2HZsrPjdRQhJxT1_qVsx320MzFuICVLgdKXPO5MBytHqcEuSkIs0xNoU8DGlNuiAfhsA8Hd_t_C03cKcTNsq0AifOs/s1600/Smiling.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyKmSK-6AKHjepo0lhtyl_lv7dMmApPWyGmQUsr1V0pwOGmfAMO2HZsrPjdRQhJxT1_qVsx320MzFuICVLgdKXPO5MBytHqcEuSkIs0xNoU8DGlNuiAfhsA8Hd_t_C03cKcTNsq0AifOs/s640/Smiling.jpg" width="560" /></a></div>
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Someone who is far from shy, Dee lit up underneath the lights in more
ways than one. From the first click of the shutter, it was fun and
giggling, funny faces and rock star poses. I was head banging and
Gangnam-Styling and non-stop smiling from start to finish. Even the
attempts at serious poses were short-lived, and the photos came out all
the better for it. Looking at them brings a smile to my face, and
hopefully to those of others.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS2JtqyVCpsgoxEu92X-tpU-ataEliOxycXw7WX6_P3EwfzI2Nj4cwi0uqxq_hifXVcRJmNtWM9xK7w6KM1AliSW8vxHyNtT6wN5X5ETKmIe-02UrK-5ZhyphenhyphenYmTDHG62Py_BnsgLXnyY0E/s1600/Faces.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="548" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS2JtqyVCpsgoxEu92X-tpU-ataEliOxycXw7WX6_P3EwfzI2Nj4cwi0uqxq_hifXVcRJmNtWM9xK7w6KM1AliSW8vxHyNtT6wN5X5ETKmIe-02UrK-5ZhyphenhyphenYmTDHG62Py_BnsgLXnyY0E/s640/Faces.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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And the studio session was just the beginning. It was quickly followed
by drinking games galore as the fun and laughter spilled over into the
rest of the house, truly making it an evening to remember (or forget, depending on one's alcohol tolerance.)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizjjg49GkQ6HNqziVo5k3nsic6_rTxr_tjT2W6doCSzDv5JwR0GiwNZWbnvbgJMXfFIIiFFxzNBVS3KpjnFKGV8RBFMHflgkx_5BE71OlIN17TmmG16XcG8vz_zzWqnjJVwspmUZIGuWA/s1600/Portraits.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizjjg49GkQ6HNqziVo5k3nsic6_rTxr_tjT2W6doCSzDv5JwR0GiwNZWbnvbgJMXfFIIiFFxzNBVS3KpjnFKGV8RBFMHflgkx_5BE71OlIN17TmmG16XcG8vz_zzWqnjJVwspmUZIGuWA/s640/Portraits.jpg" width="560" /></a></div>
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So I want to say a giant THANK YOU to Dee this time around for helping me have a most memorable photo shoot and a fantastic Saturday night.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJIEWgs1ihYTe3ggUAm_OMxigw4YXWXt3PuyAs4PxQb8NrLompXPgMyM1RXFuly8DYmP8vUbN9CvobaakaF2KAiOGMAXSdEB64ylbG0MWlff5YcTLJWrUnttkopYebadPkNuPkuZFZbhs/s1600/Poses+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="324" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJIEWgs1ihYTe3ggUAm_OMxigw4YXWXt3PuyAs4PxQb8NrLompXPgMyM1RXFuly8DYmP8vUbN9CvobaakaF2KAiOGMAXSdEB64ylbG0MWlff5YcTLJWrUnttkopYebadPkNuPkuZFZbhs/s640/Poses+1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10568613927703995624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7866689284221265055.post-39337882336053050142013-04-19T20:00:00.000+02:002013-04-19T20:00:08.069+02:00Flashes and Flashbacks<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIkDlcEGUhQMpoexHLXoYn7z7BuBo5yEH_-OxRlSBPTumPuORqsWsV57XV_i92n2zyEsylmSL2yA3MwfyAdlL36uo16qBBCstmrG7XKXzcN1-qcWPhKJZsw-G2cYOPgaSZfPW6E_JaqZs/s1600/Amy+(33).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIkDlcEGUhQMpoexHLXoYn7z7BuBo5yEH_-OxRlSBPTumPuORqsWsV57XV_i92n2zyEsylmSL2yA3MwfyAdlL36uo16qBBCstmrG7XKXzcN1-qcWPhKJZsw-G2cYOPgaSZfPW6E_JaqZs/s640/Amy+(33).jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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<b>Amy van Wyk</b><br />
<b>26</b><br />
<b>Grahamstown</b><br />
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A bright flash lights up the darkness, and I'm pretty sure that the neighbours must be getting more than a little concerned about the lightning that appears to the eminating from the garage. The fact that it is followed by thunderclaps of giggling fits can't be helping much. But if I'm being honest, I'm not too concerned by what the neighbours might think. I'm too busy having a blast with Amy<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMWG1fnkKfypb04WF0RR43p8cogNmVHPDAVFUEGq7RQ59F1DbHPZ7R7gc5VjNBpr4GER8TO8udV2Rp2-pFlbqXnwdUCoFEVncqZR6ZuzXDK8Vn04YXFyQY_9aK7qxOHPziMe9Fbs6Bgpo/s1600/Fun.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMWG1fnkKfypb04WF0RR43p8cogNmVHPDAVFUEGq7RQ59F1DbHPZ7R7gc5VjNBpr4GER8TO8udV2Rp2-pFlbqXnwdUCoFEVncqZR6ZuzXDK8Vn04YXFyQY_9aK7qxOHPziMe9Fbs6Bgpo/s640/Fun.jpg" width="560" /></a></div>
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Since unwrapping the gift on the morning of my birthday, I've been dying to test out the new lighting for my studio and have been looking for any good reason to play around. And what better reason could there be than an eager volunteer and a good catch-up session.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvwTqWPSTbK-4OpRexp9wYkIXrzqfxgRXKQgAxLC2nR6gszHbp0oMWOCB4b7l0PKQUok4ZYarJKkNUua9Pu-SGqQZ7O9xD0v21P8AGzUJ2AioAVS05Egcoxdzk6jGKIVEeOBuWiWxlkrc/s1600/Profile+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="324" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvwTqWPSTbK-4OpRexp9wYkIXrzqfxgRXKQgAxLC2nR6gszHbp0oMWOCB4b7l0PKQUok4ZYarJKkNUua9Pu-SGqQZ7O9xD0v21P8AGzUJ2AioAVS05Egcoxdzk6jGKIVEeOBuWiWxlkrc/s640/Profile+1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Amy was one of my first friends in Grahamstown, and during my first year of varsity we spent many a night staying up together, talking late into the night, drinking and wandering down streets singing our own renditions of Kelly Clarkson or Gnarls Barkley tunes at the top of our lungs. She introduced me to the wanders of varsity life and she was beside me every step of the way. So, when I heard that she was back in town, my heart jumped for joy. It couldn't have come at a better time either - barely a month after Kath left me to start on her Korean adventure.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil534Gc48qKT0UxXQeEbBvx6acZjp8L0wBVkmKknY477hoUn7SYscPYczvyOggsShIX22dQpmMs97MhH08DHCzPbqcXfBdMVqLwX1FQjADzpdAbywIDRkB5HoODlyF7EnC75XLsgAHKdY/s1600/Profile+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="548" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil534Gc48qKT0UxXQeEbBvx6acZjp8L0wBVkmKknY477hoUn7SYscPYczvyOggsShIX22dQpmMs97MhH08DHCzPbqcXfBdMVqLwX1FQjADzpdAbywIDRkB5HoODlyF7EnC75XLsgAHKdY/s640/Profile+4.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Since her return, there has been a lot of catching up to do with Amy - finding our what's happened in the years that we missed out on and reminiscing about the good old days when the dawnie was the biggest problem that we faced. So, when I had the chance to photograph and spend time with Amy in amidst our two very busy scheduled, I jumped at the opportunity.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje0TpTndy18lLx3KxJR8UmQjTUtytgNZYAyYqQSvK1PsM8NaS8EXMU_58aDhu25MOz-UHELU-6rTv36ZRsY4SyuyNxkVD69zR6MX-QX3SfpiGnxBdGYseAZ64caGLfn81s-qJm5Gx6dRQ/s1600/Profile+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="324" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje0TpTndy18lLx3KxJR8UmQjTUtytgNZYAyYqQSvK1PsM8NaS8EXMU_58aDhu25MOz-UHELU-6rTv36ZRsY4SyuyNxkVD69zR6MX-QX3SfpiGnxBdGYseAZ64caGLfn81s-qJm5Gx6dRQ/s640/Profile+2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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It was the first time that I was properly able to test out the lighting, and it certainly did take some getting used to. There was a lot of fumbling and more than a little hmming and haa'ing taking place, but the photos that came out of the session brought such a smile to my face.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNgjeHZG0fGp2j8vdWT-Vj2_l_KjEz8IqFfsHGmOOr5NAezPrUQSUHQhyWp8V7kwdFsU7zmfrGYURp4kUgxgoPSafTWLHiWTRDIQ-cafT7ppr49XtXUDBJj_FzEu_HJIZ51fVcGGtI4yc/s1600/Black+and+White.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="624" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNgjeHZG0fGp2j8vdWT-Vj2_l_KjEz8IqFfsHGmOOr5NAezPrUQSUHQhyWp8V7kwdFsU7zmfrGYURp4kUgxgoPSafTWLHiWTRDIQ-cafT7ppr49XtXUDBJj_FzEu_HJIZ51fVcGGtI4yc/s640/Black+and+White.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br />
I have never been happier with the photographs that I have taken in my studio, and I have Grant, Jono, Robert and Sharon to thank for the beautiful lights. But it would have all been for nothing without a subject. So I have got to thank Amy for the amazing experience.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh08cLbclWcJ5sIIPTDBcJ5EJXy26jiqJww6gtBTjVgkgCt8InDx032-i7PmKxhs2tbJRgU4W6eAH-N7NNX3F6PiNl25ZQJXUnp3LJWo4aLqJ1cpcq5KKWrE-TnQg7wbmB8tDKSoQBmrvM/s1600/Profile+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="324" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh08cLbclWcJ5sIIPTDBcJ5EJXy26jiqJww6gtBTjVgkgCt8InDx032-i7PmKxhs2tbJRgU4W6eAH-N7NNX3F6PiNl25ZQJXUnp3LJWo4aLqJ1cpcq5KKWrE-TnQg7wbmB8tDKSoQBmrvM/s640/Profile+3.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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THANK YOU ALL!</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10568613927703995624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7866689284221265055.post-56666125452826228082013-04-18T19:32:00.000+02:002013-04-18T20:45:24.329+02:00Sprinkling of Magic<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlY_0UsyRu83jLQbnySPn6qeUOA4XHPf_Y8D0a0gAjc_bqkiTWwBEATYCHrz4DktjR4jsRSLR1dIC_CCoRlGg3ZhGZLj2rFv2bvxZ6IyigchHrlXC4f15XuaWZX-QChqx51GBueqbRTS4/s1600/Opener.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlY_0UsyRu83jLQbnySPn6qeUOA4XHPf_Y8D0a0gAjc_bqkiTWwBEATYCHrz4DktjR4jsRSLR1dIC_CCoRlGg3ZhGZLj2rFv2bvxZ6IyigchHrlXC4f15XuaWZX-QChqx51GBueqbRTS4/s640/Opener.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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<b>Erica Wertlen</b><br />
<b>Grahamstown</b><br />
<br />
“You
know you’re still shining, right?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I
turn to my housemate, confused for a few moments and he just stares at me, a
giggle hidden behind his lips. For a minute I think he’s finally lost it, an
evitability when residing in the same house as me. And then it all comes back
to me as I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the window, the small dots of
glitter reflecting in the light.<o:p></o:p><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheYp2Va_GAX6tBWv8tNnUgALeUOUCU5kuayQ_ZRu99y0HzCmDHIBIA31xLqy0dZHso5DoDE-Z34xYQMfA7WWI1RkansiSB9s4x3ZsoPVvL809x5qqC1L7k2Z0DFVcScK4qL9SwnF0XNgs/s1600/Scene.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheYp2Va_GAX6tBWv8tNnUgALeUOUCU5kuayQ_ZRu99y0HzCmDHIBIA31xLqy0dZHso5DoDE-Z34xYQMfA7WWI1RkansiSB9s4x3ZsoPVvL809x5qqC1L7k2Z0DFVcScK4qL9SwnF0XNgs/s640/Scene.jpg" width="560" /></a></div>
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How
it didn’t dawn on me earlier, I don’t know. The stuff is everywhere – adorning my
bedroom, my car and my camera bag; refusing to be contained by the laundry
basket that houses my glitter-stained clothing. It only makes sense that a
speck or two would have clung on harder than the rest despite my best efforts.
After all, I’m practically sleeping in glitter-soaked bedding. If anything, I’m
surprised there isn’t more of the stuff on me.<o:p></o:p><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTxuWi7sZoeSVZQQv1APdGlreKaR1_s2KpUotBK3zSAyzqts-8q2NWoNd3g3hwHJHieM7qcVHfFN6oacR7GryODCVRCj2HZYqLrA-cxoQ4TRUsP9wpKJY29S75i7DUmHmE2syw0t1Rzpg/s1600/Friends+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="548" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTxuWi7sZoeSVZQQv1APdGlreKaR1_s2KpUotBK3zSAyzqts-8q2NWoNd3g3hwHJHieM7qcVHfFN6oacR7GryODCVRCj2HZYqLrA-cxoQ4TRUsP9wpKJY29S75i7DUmHmE2syw0t1Rzpg/s640/Friends+1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
But
what is a party without glitter? One that doesn’t doesn’t involve Erika, of
that I’m fairly certain. Which is why it was felt by all involved that a party
celebrating her growing a year older, a year wiser, and celebrating another
year that we get to spend in her presence, HAD to involve glitter and tons of
it.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxwdCnn3QlTHTRebEDFkSr27CsPy2Y1TsTSImAV4EVbrXH4jOs-2A1-SjFKs6iAoEpJL8FPa9-mhzTSyyCIw9Zaw01RgJFDlXrkfkQDswZ8cOadACikxc8B9LCarhx9CgCL9EaIdeAOHA/s1600/Glitter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="324" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxwdCnn3QlTHTRebEDFkSr27CsPy2Y1TsTSImAV4EVbrXH4jOs-2A1-SjFKs6iAoEpJL8FPa9-mhzTSyyCIw9Zaw01RgJFDlXrkfkQDswZ8cOadACikxc8B9LCarhx9CgCL9EaIdeAOHA/s640/Glitter.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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So,
when Erika arrived at her party expecting nothing more than a quiet night in
with her friends, the surpise kicked off with a glitter bomb hidden above the
door, with friends waiting behind it to welcome her into her latest year of
life. Friends who were dressed to the nines for the carnival theme and friends
who all wanted nothing more than to see the look of pure, unadulterated love,
joy and awe on her face when she saw the gift that awaited her.</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVPXc37urCvc8SSUQ4buGlxPo3XdZUnJlJSpz3Wy72CtqTICBLwTwm2-uljl9HeYWzldSSvAb8tLlxCpMl4Zq5b7dj6USeT_hqd2cysMZnMqiFOlbLeeCJA33LEYEIxu0q7ZxnTSIcc5E/s1600/Reaction.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="624" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVPXc37urCvc8SSUQ4buGlxPo3XdZUnJlJSpz3Wy72CtqTICBLwTwm2-uljl9HeYWzldSSvAb8tLlxCpMl4Zq5b7dj6USeT_hqd2cysMZnMqiFOlbLeeCJA33LEYEIxu0q7ZxnTSIcc5E/s640/Reaction.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Being
the presence of pole-dancing in this small town, it was felt that little could
capture the essence of Erika more than giving her her very own pole to light up
the stage with. Well, nothing material would have matched it in any case. The
box filled with photographs and messages of love from all those around her came
pretty close as well. But an evening spent with those that she cares about was
the icing on top of the birthday cake of celebrations.<o:p></o:p><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlKKx2j6mav-V3Iu3TpGmyto6MbeN8J3agXAr3lm4PJRUBHIWTZdtVEuy_q068vEN8qul3WwHjkk-wbw1ac-JBbfDmhbYTYg8T5oYzt7LAHjX0n3JsfSpru4UVAr2i1PpcQJRobv7tD6Y/s1600/Pole.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="324" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlKKx2j6mav-V3Iu3TpGmyto6MbeN8J3agXAr3lm4PJRUBHIWTZdtVEuy_q068vEN8qul3WwHjkk-wbw1ac-JBbfDmhbYTYg8T5oYzt7LAHjX0n3JsfSpru4UVAr2i1PpcQJRobv7tD6Y/s640/Pole.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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So,
when I catch my reflection, the thoughts that come back to me are of an evening
of fun, friends and freedom filled with beauty and dancing and sprinkled with
the little bit of magic that glitter provides.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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“Oh
well,” I announce in response, and turn away, the glitter sparkling in the
light and bringing a smile to my face.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiru9OjO8kGratWK3GOhqMwX3q2Bg03QALAyqx-53JngoduUupiTrnab7L55y66B-9MyvDX-G9I_dpFADYfDgqh2wIyaDXLMG1GfRo7ul4YeDJJWNFU-GqX-C4tVxrmAFgOt-NZ4_8oueA/s1600/Friends+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="548" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiru9OjO8kGratWK3GOhqMwX3q2Bg03QALAyqx-53JngoduUupiTrnab7L55y66B-9MyvDX-G9I_dpFADYfDgqh2wIyaDXLMG1GfRo7ul4YeDJJWNFU-GqX-C4tVxrmAFgOt-NZ4_8oueA/s640/Friends+2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10568613927703995624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7866689284221265055.post-46323181695215695292013-04-08T22:19:00.002+02:002013-04-08T22:19:57.462+02:00Grad Ball 2013<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDXbgbOVJsP2Jt-rFRbI-3byxFsTGa-RHK2m_MtRmLn1o7-wbFLPxNHkOJWVHbADCwPk0ooU38JbFD9nj7TauR4LSN3-7yHDdV4YVAcp_poYkDgU8FcrA55sbG2Nawwg71Dtr7HWVd-x8/s1600/IMG_9456.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDXbgbOVJsP2Jt-rFRbI-3byxFsTGa-RHK2m_MtRmLn1o7-wbFLPxNHkOJWVHbADCwPk0ooU38JbFD9nj7TauR4LSN3-7yHDdV4YVAcp_poYkDgU8FcrA55sbG2Nawwg71Dtr7HWVd-x8/s640/IMG_9456.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
An 8am wakeup call on a Saturday should never be the way that you start a weekend. But it is the way that mine started.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6CgaFQs-52l0qdd6lo2gudSuN-78C5dtuTT8YHVjKo3N6LDOATCjxNdAOfqecy2-IuZdibzTNueCq-YPDDanLkDbgJ9nXkgQmGuvgANPmPu2vdzpGlec5Z9UecpEMZPmnjXlrFr_fw0E/s1600/IMG_9417.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6CgaFQs-52l0qdd6lo2gudSuN-78C5dtuTT8YHVjKo3N6LDOATCjxNdAOfqecy2-IuZdibzTNueCq-YPDDanLkDbgJ9nXkgQmGuvgANPmPu2vdzpGlec5Z9UecpEMZPmnjXlrFr_fw0E/s320/IMG_9417.jpg" width="213" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtvVEJ5X5pb0lvVPvLENTiWwaPyHYyEHE5bizOuwmx3BctPLu503YvxZZhKfyN5_S2pO3blDe_bN-TQKK-36ocHI0amc07dS_gD5fjdHP_udS1mbPoN6CqPfUGROOmT0axmq3SLvcJTkY/s1600/IMG_9422.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtvVEJ5X5pb0lvVPvLENTiWwaPyHYyEHE5bizOuwmx3BctPLu503YvxZZhKfyN5_S2pO3blDe_bN-TQKK-36ocHI0amc07dS_gD5fjdHP_udS1mbPoN6CqPfUGROOmT0axmq3SLvcJTkY/s320/IMG_9422.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
It was quickly followed by a 9am trip into town which lasted a lot longer than I expected, which in turn was followed by a rushed lunch before kissing Grant goodbye and making my way to the Monument for what was to be a very, very long day.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiniQt3_xdmvw0NLf3nkPV-tY3VtiOHvDEVohyphenhyphen0CbPQjQtY6Rl5wB-sRyGWppfeZU2JJUGJyuV9AEXVqG0vrLOKsxwI6hvakS3hWSNFCCUk4VPmGEN76dP0nk5pcmhVPhY3zwJcjq20vyI/s1600/IMG_9452.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiniQt3_xdmvw0NLf3nkPV-tY3VtiOHvDEVohyphenhyphen0CbPQjQtY6Rl5wB-sRyGWppfeZU2JJUGJyuV9AEXVqG0vrLOKsxwI6hvakS3hWSNFCCUk4VPmGEN76dP0nk5pcmhVPhY3zwJcjq20vyI/s320/IMG_9452.jpg" width="213" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOHSLr6RH7YMclsOHLfsTFsXWHXIORe93TLah-6FrGyMlCX6bjCgfPCffOpYanUzTALC1hGFkmActmD-mNYVC57EfuQUEY-MKMTgj-vanLBDUZBpA7BVQkun5DGVbHASPxEbKa6OmFYEA/s1600/IMG_9510.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOHSLr6RH7YMclsOHLfsTFsXWHXIORe93TLah-6FrGyMlCX6bjCgfPCffOpYanUzTALC1hGFkmActmD-mNYVC57EfuQUEY-MKMTgj-vanLBDUZBpA7BVQkun5DGVbHASPxEbKa6OmFYEA/s320/IMG_9510.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<span style="text-align: center;">And yet, I soldiered on to the point where I found myself, without quite recalling how I got to be there, sitting behind a laptop at a desk, checking people into their Graduation Ball. The streams of people flew past me in a blur of glamour, beauty and alcohol as I assigned tables and passed along wine to those who were celebrating growing up while I was trying to slow down as fast as possible, my 25th birthday having just rolled around.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrr3SDk5tXimWDnU-8RnnPK58McmI8vfGUacfNO5lNM65OmH9MpdgX2XgxXjThmsFQz-KBdr6mIh9QUSW8i25gOvof_4z8WShIxVNXr5kf5nXGvB8Ji3eE2JByEWjijNNAgt3XsHqnj7A/s1600/IMG_9508.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrr3SDk5tXimWDnU-8RnnPK58McmI8vfGUacfNO5lNM65OmH9MpdgX2XgxXjThmsFQz-KBdr6mIh9QUSW8i25gOvof_4z8WShIxVNXr5kf5nXGvB8Ji3eE2JByEWjijNNAgt3XsHqnj7A/s320/IMG_9508.jpg" width="213" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_-9pUae4qgaZm-FX2_OCe6cUq9_Ap5HPIGzL0AME7XTP0UkvUs8rU-nwPCwl5ws_ePmMdAZ36UjEdrkeSmUHFH3F984Wxq45uO2EN2shsYbITrjba1lDBmT-2Or8tn0HocNvN404ge0U/s1600/IMG_9453.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_-9pUae4qgaZm-FX2_OCe6cUq9_Ap5HPIGzL0AME7XTP0UkvUs8rU-nwPCwl5ws_ePmMdAZ36UjEdrkeSmUHFH3F984Wxq45uO2EN2shsYbITrjba1lDBmT-2Or8tn0HocNvN404ge0U/s320/IMG_9453.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
Once all were in, it was time to capture some of that magic, which I managed to do as best as I could without a flash and without the low-light saviour of my lens collection, which decided to give up the ghost when I needed it most.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpbFwuTwd93yhsVYLYqepNa6YwAzGrBN73iAxX0eLsOCDAsXy_iyOccA6uX-EG9cQm_OGTweLvADzxKZ7E8yBIk__I7ECs_tZpPZ3AahuW30bLp6zQAQGbG2N9PyC9jgrIkmkKLbToN_4/s1600/IMG_9469.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpbFwuTwd93yhsVYLYqepNa6YwAzGrBN73iAxX0eLsOCDAsXy_iyOccA6uX-EG9cQm_OGTweLvADzxKZ7E8yBIk__I7ECs_tZpPZ3AahuW30bLp6zQAQGbG2N9PyC9jgrIkmkKLbToN_4/s320/IMG_9469.jpg" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6B6j01wJOvu55CC0i3dofWCLQ0BWWpILvX8r-Rvy3Zk-sg-I349uhJ2wE0PH-znb8ZCKrP_kxgI5qBwbEsw6hIKy9PACXtwcS28l271m6w3FwjT2yDxfNH87DkJgQmj3w-z3IRYXdhkI/s1600/IMG_9449.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6B6j01wJOvu55CC0i3dofWCLQ0BWWpILvX8r-Rvy3Zk-sg-I349uhJ2wE0PH-znb8ZCKrP_kxgI5qBwbEsw6hIKy9PACXtwcS28l271m6w3FwjT2yDxfNH87DkJgQmj3w-z3IRYXdhkI/s200/IMG_9449.jpg" width="200" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirt1N4Hb82E0KxI4SfhyphenhyphenmhVn_Se0qM5mkbKRCMHbZGsnlq45Z5ABhlp2MFHx5rJKO3Hz7eNKb99XsYOIiNqz9ce2j7wCSDQ5IBHPiiGvTvBI_ntVjhCvVg70NxS8tgKzBW2MiGo03r0J4/s1600/IMG_9542.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirt1N4Hb82E0KxI4SfhyphenhyphenmhVn_Se0qM5mkbKRCMHbZGsnlq45Z5ABhlp2MFHx5rJKO3Hz7eNKb99XsYOIiNqz9ce2j7wCSDQ5IBHPiiGvTvBI_ntVjhCvVg70NxS8tgKzBW2MiGo03r0J4/s200/IMG_9542.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWfK4hZNmQRuDDsYlYzjsXSopPLfv6CDQjFcR4C3t21rFSJfCGX4Mo6HjE6v-fnBHglFsKoAVEXPWSqWp_KMPeyCz7krk-9V6T20I3nK3JpKQr8PoJa2N6Rev4jFsxxurRWicsdc13YZA/s1600/IMG_9516.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWfK4hZNmQRuDDsYlYzjsXSopPLfv6CDQjFcR4C3t21rFSJfCGX4Mo6HjE6v-fnBHglFsKoAVEXPWSqWp_KMPeyCz7krk-9V6T20I3nK3JpKQr8PoJa2N6Rev4jFsxxurRWicsdc13YZA/s320/IMG_9516.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I ended up experiencing my second graduation in a very different way to my first, from a behind the scenes vantage point. And it really made me see my own graduation in a different light. For once, I was seeing what went into making the night magical and spectacular rather than just accepting it as being that way. And so, even though I am not officially part of them, and probably because I am not, I think that the Round Table of Grahamstown deserves a giant THANK YOU for the effort that they put into making the night as special as it is for all of those involved, from helping out to taking part.<br />
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Thank you, on behalf of the year of 2009 who didn't have a chance to, and the year of 2013 who have yet to realise what it means.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10568613927703995624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7866689284221265055.post-29649540236370861932013-04-03T20:59:00.001+02:002013-04-03T21:23:22.517+02:00What's In The Bag??<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I read a <a href="http://www.expertphotography.com/whats-in-my-camera-bag/" target="_blank"><b>blog post</b></a> today by one of the <a href="http://www.expertphotography.com/" target="_blank"><b>bloggers</b></a> that I follow, and it was about what he carries in his camera bag. It was a long list, and it definitely got me thinking about things that I'd like to have, but also about what I have in my own camera bag, so I thought I would go ahead and give a little breakdown to show what I carry around with me. All photographs, by the way (with the exception of my business card), courtesy of Google searches for the products being described and none of which were taken by me I am sorry to say.</div>
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<a href="http://img121.imageshack.us/img121/1580/loweproex180.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="211" src="http://img121.imageshack.us/img121/1580/loweproex180.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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First of all, when talking about what I have in my camera bag, I suppose I should start off by talking about the bag itself. Until recently I have been carrying my gear in the stock standard Canon bag that came with my lens, which managed to fit my camera, the flash that I have been borrowing and three lenses (one on camera) at a squeeze. On my recent trip to Cape Town, my Dad offered to let me take his older <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Lowepro-EX-180-Digital-Black/dp/B002CJ9SU0/ref=pd_sxp_f_pt" target="_blank"><b>Lowepro EX 180</b></a>, and it has proven to be the best bag for me (for the moment anyway). It comfortably fits my camera, four lenses, the flash and all of the extra bits and bobs like batteries, charger, cable release, business cards and more. I have yet to find myself short on space, and it is barely larger than the bag I was using before and infinitely more comfortable. I am sure that in the years to come, I will be looking at getting something bigger, but for where I am now it is a perfect fit for me.<br />
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<a href="http://www.psychomelody.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/03/cameralensright.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="179" src="http://www.psychomelody.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/03/cameralensright.jpg" width="320" /></a>Next I'd better talk about the camera itself. I only have one DSLR that I carry with me everywhere, and that is my <b><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Canon-T2i-Processor-Body-Only/dp/B0035FZJI0/ref=sr_1_2?s=electronics&ie=UTF8&qid=1365010738&sr=1-2&keywords=canon+550d" target="_blank">Canon Kiss X4</a></b>, also known as the Rebel T2i and the 550D. It is a pretty mid-range, beginner DSLR, and it is the camera that introduced me to photography. I bought it back in 2010 while I was in Korea, and it has grown on me to the extent where I never want to put it down. It is one of the loves of my life, along with Grant and Puddims, and though there are better cameras out there, I am not looking at getting a new one anytime soon. My Kiss X4 is my baby for now.<br />
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<a href="http://photocrati.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/04/canon-ef-24-85mm-f35-45-usm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://photocrati.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/04/canon-ef-24-85mm-f35-45-usm.jpg" width="200" /></a>On to the lenses! First of all, the lens that I use most often is my <b><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Canon-24-85mm-3-5-4-5-Standard-Cameras/dp/B000053HHD/ref=sr_1_1?s=electronics&ie=UTF8&qid=1365011136&sr=1-1&keywords=24-85mm+Ultrasonic" target="_blank">Canon EF 24-85mm f/3.5-4.5 USM</a></b> zoom lens. It is a lens that was given to me by a good friend of mine in Grahamstown (or someone that I consider to be a good friend, though he may think of me as more of a leach on his talent), Mr. Paul Mills. The lens itself is not in top notch condition, the reason he gave it to me being that it fell at some point, breaking the manual focus ring. It still works, but with difficulty, and I have managed to master it in my own way to make it work for me. It has replaced my original 28-80mm lens, and I have never really looked back.<br />
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<a href="http://martybugs.net/blog/images/50mm_16306_300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://martybugs.net/blog/images/50mm_16306_300.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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One of my favourite lenses is my <b><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Canon-50mm-1-8-Camera-Lens/dp/B00007E7JU/ref=sr_1_1?s=electronics&ie=UTF8&qid=1365011446&sr=1-1&keywords=canon+ef+50mm+f+1.8+ii+camera+lens" target="_blank">Canon EF 50mm 1.8 ii</a> </b>Prime lens which I bought while I was in Korea. I was a little silly when I got it, because I should have splurged the extra cash and bought it new, but instead I chose to get it second hand, and over time the lens itself has started to give me problems. But that does not stop it from being one of the most fun lenses that I own, and one that I use to give me a new perspective on life. It is wonderful in low-light situations and a lot of fun to play with, a good reminder that feet are the best zoom that a person can have.<br />
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<a href="http://www.colinbate.com/i/u/2009/0111-sigma-10-20mm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="145" src="http://www.colinbate.com/i/u/2009/0111-sigma-10-20mm.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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My new baby (when it comes to lenses) is the birthday present that my parents got me this year, which is my <b><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Sigma-10-20mm-4-5-6-Digital-Cameras/dp/B0007U00X0/ref=sr_1_2?s=electronics&ie=UTF8&qid=1365011521&sr=1-2&keywords=sigma+10-20" target="_blank">Sigma 10-20mm f/4.0-5.6</a></b> Wide Angle which I am looking forward to having lots of adventures with! A wide angle has been one of my wishes for so long that it feels as though a world of possibilities has opened up before me, and I can't wait to take a nice long trip just so that I can test it out the way that it should be tested, on the open road.<br />
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<a href="http://whatdigitalcamera.media.ipcdigital.co.uk/11133/000002b1c/82ae/Sigma70-300mm2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://whatdigitalcamera.media.ipcdigital.co.uk/11133/000002b1c/82ae/Sigma70-300mm2.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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My fourth lens, and the one used least often these days, is my <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Sigma-70-300mm-4-5-6-Telephoto-Cameras/dp/B000AM7CJ0/ref=sr_1_1?s=electronics&ie=UTF8&qid=1365011806&sr=1-1&keywords=sigma+telephoto" target="_blank"><b>Sigma 70-300mm f/4-5.6</b></a> Telephoto lens... although technically I can't call it mine since it is still on indefinite loan from my father. This is the joy of having a dad who understands photography and the costs of starting out - lenses on loan. Though I do find this lens to be good for a bit of Macro photography, I don't get a chance to use it often considering that I take portraits for the most part. And though a telephoto can give you the advantage of being able to take photographs from a distance, giving your subject the space that can so often let them be more themselves, I find that I haven't had a chance to use it in my photo shoots... yet. I still carry it with me should the need arise, and I look forward to the day when it will come in handy to capture that perfect moment from a distance.<br />
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<a href="http://www.fotodiox.com/e/Macro%20Photography/macro-ext-tube/eos-extension-tube-v2/eos-extension-tube-02.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://www.fotodiox.com/e/Macro%20Photography/macro-ext-tube/eos-extension-tube-v2/eos-extension-tube-02.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
To add a little spice and a little fun to my lens collection, while I was in Korea, I bought a set of <b><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Fotodiox-Canon-Extension-Extreme-Close-up/dp/B003Y60DZO/ref=sr_1_1?s=electronics&ie=UTF8&qid=1365016767&sr=1-1&keywords=extension+tube+canon" target="_blank">extension rings</a></b> to add to my collection. Though I don't use them nearly as often as I used to, with it being so much easier to flick the switch to Macro on my telephoto lens than dismantling the rings and changing, taking off and putting lenses onto the rings, I still find them a lot of fun to play around with and I've written a few blogs about them. I still carry them in my bag because, as I found out at a wedding last year, they can definitely come in handy.<br />
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<a href="http://www.half.com.bn/wp-content/uploads/2012/10/580-exii.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="181" src="http://www.half.com.bn/wp-content/uploads/2012/10/580-exii.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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With the lenses out of the way, it is time to get down to my other gear, or at least the gear that I carry with me. First of all is the flash that I have on loan as well (have you noticed how I have amassed most of my gear through borrowing, loaning and just pure luck? Because going over this, I have!) It is a beautiful <b><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Canon-Speedlite-580EX-Digital-Cameras/dp/B000NP3DJW/ref=sr_1_1?s=electronics&ie=UTF8&qid=1365013229&sr=1-1&keywords=canon+speedlite+580ex" target="_blank">Canon Speedlite 580EX</a></b> which is on loan from my boss at work, and which works particularly wonderfully together with my new studio lighting (another birthday gift that I am looking forward to practicing with). With a tilt range that is practically perfect, it is the ideal on and off camera flash, and is an item that I would love to own for myself one day. For the moment though, I am just happy to get to use it on occasion and keep it in my camera bag until Dianne needs it.<br />
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<a href="http://www.photopoint.ee/images/products/l/elinchrom-el-skyport-transmitter-speed-19350-29025.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://www.photopoint.ee/images/products/l/elinchrom-el-skyport-transmitter-speed-19350-29025.jpg" width="153" /></a>Speaking of my birthday present, part of it is my new <b><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Elinchrom-EL-19350-Transmitter-Receivers/dp/B003L11DQU/ref=sr_1_1?s=electronics&ie=UTF8&qid=1365013518&sr=1-1&keywords=elinchrom+el-skyport+transmitter+speed" target="_blank">Elinchrom EL-Skyport Speed Transmitter</a></b> which will live in my camera bag from now on rather than in the studio itself. It is what ties the flash to the new lighting system, and ties the new lighting system together overall, and though I have only played around with it so far, it is what is going to bring my studio photography to the next level. I can just tell.<br />
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<a href="http://www.mediaresort.de/shop/images/product_images/popup_images/Art18209.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://www.mediaresort.de/shop/images/product_images/popup_images/Art18209.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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Next up is my <b><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Aputure-Shutter-Release-Powershot-Compatible/dp/B003Y35N48/ref=sr_1_5?s=electronics&ie=UTF8&qid=1365013652&sr=1-5&keywords=aputure+shutter+release" target="_blank">Aputure Shutter Release Cable</a></b> that I bought for myself to try and attempt some astral photography, which I have only gotten around to once since the purchase. But this little device has been used for self-portraits and random odd-jobs that I would never have expected, and is one of the cheaper, but more useful purchases that I have made.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWtfD3JvzosygBGYn2CMvsJCK8xh_cf40rdBMgNtM8cEYwMs_7K2VqgMyP5uUY9cwJhJy_67J_Z3OFT3v1w9_Dlfl1vxpumvcvvhhX6i5EY5dpSgdZHvcGwQIdwa1xnV0u9yD-knxOwg0/s1600/Business+Card.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWtfD3JvzosygBGYn2CMvsJCK8xh_cf40rdBMgNtM8cEYwMs_7K2VqgMyP5uUY9cwJhJy_67J_Z3OFT3v1w9_Dlfl1vxpumvcvvhhX6i5EY5dpSgdZHvcGwQIdwa1xnV0u9yD-knxOwg0/s320/Business+Card.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Along with the pieces of equipment, there are one or two other bits and bobs that I store in my camera bag, and this includes 3x memory cards, a second camera battery, a charger (not going to be caught without with that again!), camera and lens covers and, finally, some business cards (which I am also now storing in my wallet and my handbag since being stuck one too many times without them and looking a real fool talking about being a photographer and not having a card to give out.</div>
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And that is it! That is the gear that I have on me at all times, and next time I may go into talking about the equipment in my studio, particularly once I have given the new lighting system a real try instead of the playing around that I did on Sunday.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10568613927703995624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7866689284221265055.post-71405158125020551222013-04-02T21:52:00.001+02:002013-04-02T21:52:51.927+02:00Teasing and Timid<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxPeBWABKCDsviTqObBp_OMl9AtR2-ll8xlAUd-WO0_2312S_75dRiujYO7-zM_KvgVmk0t_WxSeH9MOigEQLgO6y42ILnVafheXJz1dSizqS2_oyktZZjNV9mpot-lyawVJXS1Yjg0GE/s1600/Collage+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxPeBWABKCDsviTqObBp_OMl9AtR2-ll8xlAUd-WO0_2312S_75dRiujYO7-zM_KvgVmk0t_WxSeH9MOigEQLgO6y42ILnVafheXJz1dSizqS2_oyktZZjNV9mpot-lyawVJXS1Yjg0GE/s640/Collage+2.jpg" width="448" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><b>Rudi Gerber and Roxanne Delport</b></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><b>Grahamstown</b></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">“Look
forward, man! Cross your arms. Don’t look at me, look at her! Now look at me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Rudi looks
at me as he issues the instruction, a wide smile plastered across his face and
a sparkle in his eye. His good mood is infectious, and Roxy takes his teasing
in her step as we giggle away in the studio under the hot lights. She seemed
nervous when she first arrived at the doorstep for the shoot, quiet and shy as
always, but those nerves are gone within the first few minutes as Rudi’s
teasing commences. He has that effect on people, and it’s only gotten stronger
since he met Roxy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1NCghCdfnXsOnlL_ryqThJT9pRTmOa99SQNQp5QLbGmYe6L7t79CHj8twl_quEkBYiWVoyktrCZkjdYx0-pPAif7pxDuSS50QjBYB6E4lcG2agGOLvmVHqi3O3NmvGOJWaRYZk7NnycQ/s1600/Collage+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="325" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1NCghCdfnXsOnlL_ryqThJT9pRTmOa99SQNQp5QLbGmYe6L7t79CHj8twl_quEkBYiWVoyktrCZkjdYx0-pPAif7pxDuSS50QjBYB6E4lcG2agGOLvmVHqi3O3NmvGOJWaRYZk7NnycQ/s640/Collage+1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">I still
can’t think of Roxy without the words “lady friend” popping into my mind. It
was the way that I was first introduced to her, before I met her in person –
mentions around the office of a mysterious lady friend and hints that she might
end up being more than just a “friend”. From the moment she started being
mentioned, I could see a change in Rudi. It wasn’t anything too big or
noticeable to begin with – a skip in his step and a goofy grin crossing his
face when he thought no one was looking. But as the months passed, the little
things stuck around, and the “lady friend” would be slipped into conversations
more often. I would often catch him staring at his cellphone, waiting for an SMS
or staring at the computer screen waiting for an IM from this as yet unmet
friend of his. We all teased him a little for being so smitten, but none of us
knew just how right we were.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3_Clh91HJJxPoSY9GsZsk3dkR_psDh3MWAMos9c-CGQCYQ_q8CQ0aw4tGT91j14nI2o8ux1OPYnOY7i6nYZN4LOJgOd4DkOO2mpPn2aBPjMEXvw0-VRJMWeVc6IugQ8ab8DAckR6dyI4/s1600/Collage+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3_Clh91HJJxPoSY9GsZsk3dkR_psDh3MWAMos9c-CGQCYQ_q8CQ0aw4tGT91j14nI2o8ux1OPYnOY7i6nYZN4LOJgOd4DkOO2mpPn2aBPjMEXvw0-VRJMWeVc6IugQ8ab8DAckR6dyI4/s640/Collage+3.jpg" width="448" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">As they
walk hand in hand through the Botanical Gardens, I can’t help but think what a
perfect couple they make – loud, teasing, fun Rudi and quiet, shy Roxy bringing
out the best in each other. Whenever I have spent time with Roxy without Rudi
around, I have been shocked by how reserved she is, maybe a little nervous
around new people. But when she is with Rudi, she comes to life and I can see
her fun side shining. And with Roxy around, that goofy smile never leaves
Rudi’s face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeIi9Yzz6fgCccSMz9uuyk2eZGrTf17gLPenVAtE0Dkvkej8kCjnOVTM4F-BT3185FA89mlJyI_QdFEdlMaP0JHBggWuWcc1lA8mm-nxhTqhiH8xeL31FJWKc9U3Jw-CCXeGqMqTJS4os/s1600/Collage+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="328" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeIi9Yzz6fgCccSMz9uuyk2eZGrTf17gLPenVAtE0Dkvkej8kCjnOVTM4F-BT3185FA89mlJyI_QdFEdlMaP0JHBggWuWcc1lA8mm-nxhTqhiH8xeL31FJWKc9U3Jw-CCXeGqMqTJS4os/s640/Collage+4.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Let’s try
the bridge,” I suggest, starting off at my usual spot, my go-to for garden
portraits. But it doesn’t take long before the three of us are exploring
elsewhere, finding spots more suited to the couple that Rudi and Roxy are. They
aren’t the kind who likes to pose for the cameras or to put on a smile.
Instead, they are comfortable sitting on a bench, climbing onto branches and
walking hand in hand. They are most comfortable being together, doing everyday
things with each other, and that’s the kind of love that tends to last.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0zgczo3n0z-8Z8NgCX-1eqzVkLYFWPJ-ZKyrvC0kARa2lzK3D_HkJEf_l4lDfI9Hd2VuUNEs6rvxOrNWN93FEPk7l3wupaTXDBFaxCu5SPGxqdz-YvlX-SaEHRhldWUpsGV6xkwZoh1A/s1600/Collage+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="590" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0zgczo3n0z-8Z8NgCX-1eqzVkLYFWPJ-ZKyrvC0kARa2lzK3D_HkJEf_l4lDfI9Hd2VuUNEs6rvxOrNWN93FEPk7l3wupaTXDBFaxCu5SPGxqdz-YvlX-SaEHRhldWUpsGV6xkwZoh1A/s640/Collage+5.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">As I watch
the two of them walking ahead, I smile to myself and start looking forward to
my next session with them, or a couple just like them.</span></div>
<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10568613927703995624noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7866689284221265055.post-66646994609071704212012-12-13T23:25:00.000+02:002013-01-18T16:00:43.551+02:00Lightning in the Dark<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAkz1oBblGRvQsaTA5mH-996cNUtlEmrfyH_gG1_sRpJczYPht5wbk7zps4zO1z2NaU8ivGjbMgi8dXP8SOuXgwbVjcOEsco69DfKpTfqz4GsN0E_nQXJkGW8W9JMKLKkmvAl9T1tC3SU/s1600/IMG_6034.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAkz1oBblGRvQsaTA5mH-996cNUtlEmrfyH_gG1_sRpJczYPht5wbk7zps4zO1z2NaU8ivGjbMgi8dXP8SOuXgwbVjcOEsco69DfKpTfqz4GsN0E_nQXJkGW8W9JMKLKkmvAl9T1tC3SU/s400/IMG_6034.jpg" width="265" /></a><br />
<div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNtzfqz3P4HpRrgpVSMmedC5MHVjm269DJk9aLrqqEsOSqdPaz4g9Ut9q5A1Zhi4u8G1rthNf-1_7FiUprRAijIgYidA8CSX3MlNsdsV_ZIudNK47uhWM0FGZOidB7F98zBXymtvlU9gQ/s1600/IMG_6007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><br /></a></div>
<div>
</div>
"Please?"<br />
<div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAkz1oBblGRvQsaTA5mH-996cNUtlEmrfyH_gG1_sRpJczYPht5wbk7zps4zO1z2NaU8ivGjbMgi8dXP8SOuXgwbVjcOEsco69DfKpTfqz4GsN0E_nQXJkGW8W9JMKLKkmvAl9T1tC3SU/s1600/IMG_6034.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><br /></a>"No."</div>
<div>
"Why not?"</div>
<div>
"Because."</div>
<div>
"But Cherie got to do it."</div>
<div>
"And she gave it up because she had to get up too early."</div>
<div>
"I already get up early."</div>
<div>
"The answer is no, Lara. And that's final."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The battle was lost, but the war was far from over. I never did get over the fact that I had been denied the right of all children to learn to ride a horse. What it did mean though was that I started to hold a special place for horses in my heart, a place of awe and reverence. Horses to me were always animals to be respected and, at times, feared. Beautiful creatures that I could look at, but not touch. Until Lightning.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Can I," I ask Kim without taking my eyes off him. His coat is gleaming in the afternoon sunlight, and all I want to do is reach out and touch it, but not knowing how he will react, I am hesitant.</div>
<div>
"Of course!" It is as though I have asked if I can breathe. "They need all the attention they can get," Kim announces as she explains that a number of the horses at Grahamstown's paddocks have owners who are not able to come and ride them nearly as often as they would like. </div>
<div>
"Horses are meant to be ridden," she says matter-of-factly. And I can see it in their legs, the muscles bulging, in the flow of their manes that whispers of a will to be running, to be galloping, to be free. Horses <b>are</b> meant to be ridden, not to be cooped up in pens out of the sunlight.</div>
<div>
I reach out a hand slowly towards him, half expecting him to buck or to shake his head as though swatting away a pest. But instead, he continues with his meal of as much grass as he can get, and my hand runs over his velvet coat. It is as soft as it looks, softer in fact, and my fingers tingle under the touch.</div>
<div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaBY7jaoZeyA0j2ScvsIZfin_Rb6ENlH5V0Zt4pahijw4zQi__2lCoD5SsVvGK2WzpJtI-40mhJMuM4iV20Y74FVtnGPO0VlFxE40QsoVj-ts9ELsR8tDYHnHz6CiGyEEWo4kBM9Vhtk0/s1600/IMG_5908.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaBY7jaoZeyA0j2ScvsIZfin_Rb6ENlH5V0Zt4pahijw4zQi__2lCoD5SsVvGK2WzpJtI-40mhJMuM4iV20Y74FVtnGPO0VlFxE40QsoVj-ts9ELsR8tDYHnHz6CiGyEEWo4kBM9Vhtk0/s200/IMG_5908.jpg" width="133" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgis3F1ZNlqziCOc_q6rYx2JNWG6TT1nI3RSR2NVgymHjDNKmDnfQYF24re2mqflVtSBYJmcotNj5WcuYbpfdBicAAIrGqeFrFjoso3Tfup12_6jAesWFroLmYtENZfxeRIL7NynG9vXK8/s1600/IMG_5934.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgis3F1ZNlqziCOc_q6rYx2JNWG6TT1nI3RSR2NVgymHjDNKmDnfQYF24re2mqflVtSBYJmcotNj5WcuYbpfdBicAAIrGqeFrFjoso3Tfup12_6jAesWFroLmYtENZfxeRIL7NynG9vXK8/s320/IMG_5934.jpg" width="212" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw0vEnzmxR0fu2kWWSiHBNaC48_TbW4JQphyphenhyphend8ePNmBkJzCyxakcXrYPSGhw4rc54uAKVlAh0yKkHziNZjMI1mYiHe2obAtM03MALlX-UI4yBcfI2IlWuiDRh0GpFa2g2-GMWO9OGLFYE/s1600/IMG_5959.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw0vEnzmxR0fu2kWWSiHBNaC48_TbW4JQphyphenhyphend8ePNmBkJzCyxakcXrYPSGhw4rc54uAKVlAh0yKkHziNZjMI1mYiHe2obAtM03MALlX-UI4yBcfI2IlWuiDRh0GpFa2g2-GMWO9OGLFYE/s320/IMG_5959.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The weather is refusing to cooperate with us, the sun hiding behind clouds rather than providing the golden light that I had been hoping for. But the clouds set a peaceful mood which suits our needs as we make our way to one of the paddocks.</div>
<div>
"Lightning," Kim warns as she sees him head straight for the grass that lines the fence. She leads him instead to the solitary tree in the middle of the field, and here he stands, awaiting instructions, for all of three seconds before making his way back over to the fence.</div>
<div>
"He's still young," Kim offers as an explanation. Like a typical teenager, I think to myself. Learning how the world works and marvelling at its every offering.</div>
<div>
"Maybe he will be better in the other field," I offer as a suggestion, and we take him next door where there are no trees and less long grass to offer distraction. Just emptiness, with me on the sidelines trying to capture it. </div>
<div>
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<div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Come on, boy," Kim announces with a clap, trying to get him to run. And run he does, straight towards me. I duck instinctively as he passes, and the camera clicks just a second too late every time, impossible to catch his full frame in a single shot as he races past like his namesake. He reaches one side of the paddock and turns to run in the opposite direction. His eyes are wild with joy and confusion at the freedom.</div>
<div>
"He's never been told to run before," Kim explains, as her own eyes fill with concern. "He doesn't know what's happening."</div>
<div>
As he reaches the fence, he tries to go further and finds himself blocked in at every corner, the only way out is forward and he tries his best to make his way out, running into the fence before scaring himself.</div>
<div>
"It's okay", Kim coos, as I stare wide-eyed, not knowing how to react, not knowing what it is that I have done. Her voice calms him almost instantly, and he stops running and lets himself be comforted by her words, her soft touch.</div>
<div>
"Good," she says, resting her head on his chest, running her hand down his back. "Is it okay if we head back now," she asks, and I nod happily, not wanting to frighten him any more than I already have.</div>
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<br />
<div>
As we make our way back to the stables, Lightning returns to his normal self, stopping to eat as much grass as he can manage along the way, his stride slowing as his heart rate lowers. Kim walks him back to his stall, and it is back to the darkness, but suddenly the cool of the stall seems more inviting, the pen offering a soothing familiarity. I take one last shot, and I know that it is not going to be perfect, but I love it anyway. I have captured the Lightning in the dark, and it feels right.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfvi6vjaCh5CMaUjroapKwiaZVxVsfsTpa3D3Q5sjKo0u3mV3tooRV5FE4G2cRxbOXWUJzz5x_1lexCjGVekXEhp65T6yK5VAjMRiRXRjr41qMsdpzqq8Ud25QsklEDZvDaKxqKG3TZJA/s1600/IMG_6041.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfvi6vjaCh5CMaUjroapKwiaZVxVsfsTpa3D3Q5sjKo0u3mV3tooRV5FE4G2cRxbOXWUJzz5x_1lexCjGVekXEhp65T6yK5VAjMRiRXRjr41qMsdpzqq8Ud25QsklEDZvDaKxqKG3TZJA/s640/IMG_6041.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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