Let me tell you a story
It’s quite engrossing… With moments of pathos: And drama: Moments of humour: And scenes that take your breath away: I suspect that Theresa read an entirely different story though: Hmmm…. Ooooh… Gasp!
It’s quite engrossing… With moments of pathos: And drama: Moments of humour: And scenes that take your breath away: I suspect that Theresa read an entirely different story though: Hmmm…. Ooooh… Gasp!
In the last half hour of my crinolines photoshoot with Theresa (of Existimatio), the sun began to set over the hills of Wellington and lit up the rather spectacular cloud formations in glowing azure and gold. Theresa was madly snapping away, capturing me and the sky, and the gorgeous, glowing light over the city. Suddenly she had an idea. “Stand right there and let me get your profile against the sun!” So she snapped away, making “Ooooh” noises and telling me to move just a wee bit forward or a wee bit back,* until I became envious and said “Me, Me, Me! My turn! I want to try it on you!” But all I got were photos where Theresa’s hair looked like it was on fire: Then I had an idea. “Raise your hand…no…the far one…yep, that’s just right..now click your fingers” “Perfect! Now LET THERE BE LIGHT!” And there was. When Theresa saw the pictures she said “Oh my god, you’re such a dork!” Yep, and a happy one at that! These pictures particularly …
Our first photo location for last week’s hoopskirt photoshoot with Theresa was a big park on the edge of the green belt in Wellington – the same park I used for the pet-en-l’aire photoshoot. I’ve long thought that the park, with it’s long, sloping green lawn interspersed with pohutakawa and eucalyptus trees, had distinct English pastoral possibilities. If Capability Brown had had access to pohutakawa he would have planted in them. They are the perfect representation of 19th century New Zealand’s complicated relationship with identity. For 11 months of the year they are elegant faux English oak trees, and then for one month of the year they break out in flaming red SOUTH PACIFIC WONDERLAND! colours. This is pretty much how New Zealand was for a good century: torn between being more English than the English, immensely proud of not being English and their new national culture, and not sure what to do with the Polynesian culture they were living side by side with. In any case, the pohutakawa lawn was perfect for a hoopskirt …