Grannymar: Old and New
Belfast on a Sunny Friday Morning
Now after a dander, I’ll be back at LBC time.
You are currently browsing the Grannymar category
Grannymar: Door Handles
Some simple door handles provide colour
Pattern
Or a puzzle
Now that should keep you busy until LBC time
Grannymar: Horsepower
I wouldn’t fancy that fellow standing on my toes.
Will I see you later? I’ll be here at three for LBC
Grannymar: Oops!
My car is booked in for a pre MOT service this morning
I hope the guy does not go this far!
or this
I’m hoping it will be all systems go in time for a good read at 3pm GMT, see you then
Grannymar: Double Dare
At the end of my post Conversation on Tuesday, I finished with:
The moral of the story is never dare me to do something!
Well you know what happened…..
Don’t dare you to do anything? Ooh, I should dare you to kiss me, but that isn’t a hard challenge.
I’ll like to dare you do a portrait. Sit and have someone take a portrait of you, and you do the same to someone else. I’m not talking about a snap, I’m talking about a portrait. A picture which shows an aspect of the sitter.
Accept?
Well how could I resist… back I came with the following comment:
Will - You are on! This idea might take off….. If enough people took up the idea (not all portraits of me, no way, but of others) Mulley might allow us to have them displayed at the Irish Blog Awards in March.
So where do we start?
Who in their right mind would want to have me as a subject of a portrait? ‘A picture which shows an aspect of the sitter’. I am curious to see how exactly someone else sees me. Really!
Do I use ‘my portrait taker’ as my subject or work on the ‘pay it forward’ idea and choose somebody else?
Is this one for the photo bloggers or Flickr group?
Come on readers, I DARE YOU! Have a go.
Grannymar: For sale
A Collection of Canes, I wonder if that is the correct term.
See you at 3pm GMT! That can mean Greenwich Mean Time or Grannymar time!
Well it is Friday, and the LBC are busy preparing for your visit.
Grannymar: It was cold
Christmas dawned one cold and frosty morning!
That looks like Elly’s handiwork!
The view behind the car
Silent beauty of the fruit garden
No snow. we had -11°C frost!
Looking down the Avenue from the house, watching for the children to arrive.
Grannymar: A Big Flash
It was daylight when he arrived.
If I had charged Ryanair rates for the luggage, I’d be in no need of a pension. He left it all over the hall. We were stepping over bags and bundles to beat the band.
“Is this your bedroom? he inquired as he slipped out of his coat. Suddenly shy, I nodded my answer. “Are you sure you want to go through with it?” he asked.
“In for a penny, in for a pound!” I announced cheerfully. He smiled and pushed open the door.
The bed was turned down and ready. As he crossed the floor to the bed the sun was streaming in the window. “I think we should close the blinds.” he said more as a suggestion than an order. I tilted the blinds and closed the curtains. As I turned, the zips were open and he was fiddling with his gear.
Cameras both digital and the real stuff, a light meter, laptop, arc lights umbrellas, you name it he had it. RIGHT HERE IN MY BEDROOM!
I had been warned… it was a slow process. Like all good things in life, slow and steady is the way to go. I wanted my evidence but: every time I took a photo my flash killed the arc lights and we were in darkness for a few seconds. It was like a flash in reverse.
My new found friend with the shoe fetish wanted to see where and how I stored my shoes. It was supposed to tell him a little about my personality :!: Boy, was I glad I emptied the bath.
I did it in a hurry so some of the shoes were in a heap on the floor of the cupboard.
It must have taken about an hour to set the whole thing up. Three tripods to unlock and place at the correct distance and height, the white umbrella positioned on one of them; then there was a large hooded light and finally the digital camera on the lowest one. The little silver spirit level that had belonged to Elly’s granddad, was just the right size to sit on the camera when it was on the tripod.
You thought we were ready! We had not even begun. The next stage was connecting the laptop so that the photos went straight to it from the camera so we would see each shot as soon as it was taken.
Then it was down to business….
You didn’t believe me, go on admit it!
The shots of the shoes and boots in the wardrobe, the boxes in to the sides and the clothes hanging above all gave the image he wanted. A couple of hangers were moved this way or that if they cast shadows. The actual shots used were not much higher than my knees. Some were taken at different light levels and exposure. It was fascinating to watch. Announcing that the first part was finished, I sighed and offered to make coffee.
Over our coffee we chatted about the project, I had some questions to answer. They were the same questions no matter whether you were a 20year old or an old biddy like me.
- Which were my ‘Killer’ heels
- Did I have Love shoes
- My favourite pair of shoes
- My Sexy shoes
- Which pair did I want included and why
I suppose you want my answers. Was that a yes? OK. Here we go.
Killer heels are those awful impulse buys that are comfortable in the shop for about five minutes and then become implements of torture. Out on the town; late at night any weekend you will see so called young ladies with legs half way to heaven, a top that fits where it touches and the shoes being carried as they pick their way round puddles and rough pavement with bare feet. Thankfully it was a stage I managed to miss in life. We picked my navy courts with the highest heels. They are in fact very comfortable, but only worn on special occasions.
Apparently some of the earlier subjects of this project had Love Shoes. They were bought as presents by a Fiancé or a husband. Most of them ended up like a brooch or a scarf, back in the box, only taken out to daydream. I bought all my own shoes to wear for comfort and because they matched an outfit.
My favourites? The low heeled dark green pair, bought to go with a suit for a wedding in 1998.
My Sexy shoes? Well you have seen the footwear I feel most sexy in already on the blog. What do you mean you don’t remember? Be patient I will show you in a minute…!
The pair of shoes I wished to include might be a surprise… They were not my usual style, colour or shape. They were tomato red. Are you with me? The red shoes I wore post-op since September. Soft wide and secure when testing a new hip and relearning to trust my right leg. They are the shoes that got me to where I am today. Steady as a rock on my pins and once more able to wear my usual footwear.
MY Sexy Boots
Then it was on to the next and final stage Five pairs of shoes each in their box.
Now this was a surprise, all my boxed shoes were covered with tissue. So a new idea developed. Several shots of each stage of uncovering with the digital camera and then finally with the REAL camera with film in.
Another stage of uncovering.
So the five pairs of shoes chosen were:
Working clockwise: The red shoes - my choice, The navy courts - with the highest heels. Blue dolly shoes with surface stitching and a leather beige flower - these were chosen as the surprise elements to my character - the outside the box GM. Brown Mock Crocks - the shoes I wore the first day we met for coffee. and the dark green low courts with mixed textures - my favourites.
All the photos above were mine, The professional version will go towards a degree project. Perhaps when all is finished I might cadge an odd copy.
Four and a half hours in my bedroom with a strange man was fun, we laughed plenty and I learned plenty of tricks. Thank you Jim for inviting me to take part. I hope when you graduate that you keep me a Strawberry!
This is the follow up post to More Shoes
Grannymar: Locked out
The gates are locked.
The old and rusting double gates remain locked. On the right a single gate allows pedestrians and cyclists pass through to the grounds of Clotworthy House, Co Antrim.
I was very late last night playing with my friends, now I need to rest a little longer.
See you at 3pm.
