Ella Rose Muse: the story

Saturday, 14 January 2012

In which I bang at the door

Although I've been lucky enough to have been featured in photographic displays and art exhibtions, in and on photography and fine art coffee books, in calendars, on websites, billboards and promotional material, on a CD cover, in newspapers, magazines and commercial catalogues, I'd never managed to grace the front cover of a novel...

... Until now!!!

I'm very happy about this as you can probably imagine!

Holly of Jewelled Earth fame has only gone and done it again and come through on her mission to get me on a book cover - a first for her as a photographer too, so we're both very pleased (I could hear Holly's squeals of excitement via email!). Of her submission to an agent last year, two of her images of me were selected for two different novels, and both images were taken during one session in Oxford during which I flitted around, ran across a courtyard as though being chased, lay on the floor dreamily (or as though dead, depending on interpretation, and most amusingly to passersby) and posed tragically against the imposingly huge doors of the city's much-celebrated architecture. The latter was evidently the chosen narrative!

We only have one of the covers available to see at the moment, 'Gospa Od Sedam Brezuljaka' by Jean Plaidy (Croatia), which seems to translate roughly to 'Our Lady of the Seven Hills'. Image below:

The other cover is 'Les larmes des innocentes' by Joachim S Valdez in France, and mainly involves my feet (yes, taken during my enthusiastic efforts at playing dead)..! Will show that one when I see it.

Wednesday, 11 January 2012

Mosquito nets, Metaphysics and Mississippi Mud Pie

Is there anything more delicious in a pot than Mississippi Mud Pie crunch corner yoghurt? (No, is the answer.) I think all my future blog posts should have a foodie theme; it's only right. Anyway, today has been rather indulgent; I spent most of it writing, updating online places, trying on my beautiful new wedding skirt to go with a shiny matching corset for bridal shoots (more to arrive in the post very soon!), taking photographs of my cat and dog as they lounged together (a rare sight; usually the cat tries to kill the dog) on my handmade crochet blanket, flicking through my new Spanish AS/A-level revision guide, looking at my new books on Nothing (a philosophy/science book crucial for a headstart on being able to delve into my new physicist-character's brain) and Aldous Huxley's The Doors of Perception, reading Ian McEwan's Solar and listening to Shakira's Sale el Sol. Ah, I love it when parcels arrive from amazon; I go through my wishlist periodically and create mini Christmasses for myself all year round... I recommend this habit greatly.

OK, moving on with some imagery...

These next few images are from Mel Brackstone (another Australian, yes!). These were all shot using a lensbaby. I flippin' love them. So soft and dreamy and I had a great time pretending to be up in the clouds ordering thunder, etc. Do check out her work if you don't know it; every time I look I find something new to admire. There's a lot of creativity there, and I particularly love the quirky compositions and narratives, plus some really accomplished and interesting self portraits.

Sunday, 8 January 2012

Rich Caramel Chocolate

I've just come home from watching El Espinazo del Diablo ('The Devil's Backbone). Not as scary as I thought it would be (actually not scary at all, mostly just very sad; it's set in an orphanage during the Spanish civil war. I felt very sorry for the ghost), but the spanish rustic hues made me feel like posting these, somehow...

No fewer than 178 files arrived on my computer via the magic of dropbox, from Brisbane-based photographer Cam Attree. As I told him in my email, he is a ridiculously and insanely good photographer. I would happily have used any of the 178 images from our shoot in my portfolio, so you can imagine how difficult it is to choose favourites to post here and elsewhere. I'm simplifying the matter tonight by showing just one of the locations we shot at; these chocolatey hued delights were taken in and around the bar at one of our hotels in the land of tequila and cacti.

Cam has just started a new business venture, 'The Model Experience'. Lucky models! Also, you can (and must) check out more of his incredible work at http://www.nudephotographer.com.au/

Without further ado:

Some similar poses towards the end, but so hard to choose the best ones; I just adore that lighting.

Saturday, 7 January 2012

The House of Zebra

I love these shots by Aussie photographer Malcolm Grant, taken in the fabulously legendary and historic sugar cane plantation house, dubbed 'Casa Dracula' by the Mexican locals.

More brightly, a yellow wall we found...

And two of my snapshots from this quirkily-decorated old house:

Every house needs a zebra watching over things.

Thursday, 5 January 2012

Delicious

Mmmm, my friend bought me chai flavoured almonds from the Christmas markets of Vancouver. Heaven!!!

I'm back from walking my two long-haired chihuahuas (well, one is my bro's girlfriend's, on loan and on heat... her male doggy friends can't handle it) and am now looking online for beautiful new updates to my bridal collection for shoots with a wedding theme. (I often model for wedding photography masterclasses as well as for individual photographers wanting to make their wedding portfolio the best it can be). I'm not a mad wedding fantasist, personally, but wow, this stuff is pretty. :) I've been updating my shoot collection a lot recently, especially with a few items that will drastically alter my look and style, for those imaginative shoots full of drama and theatrics. Can't wait to see if I can match these items to suitable shoots!

To balance things out, I gave half (really half; people who know me well will be amazed at this; I am a hoarder) of my long-sleeved tees and jumpers to the NSPCC charity-bag collectors yesterday. I can now open and close my drawers with ease. Turns out I don't need to keep old school jumpers, as much as I enjoyed my education, and the only time I actually wear 'smart office clothes' is for commercial photoshoots and potentially for TV/film extra work. I'm already on my way with the 'have less stuff' resolution!!

In other news, here's a shot by Drew Smith which won the MM picture of the day competition on New Year's Day. It was taken at a wonderful location near where I live in Oxfordshire, which I've used many times with various and creative results. I'd say it's due another visit!

Sunday, 1 January 2012

Happy New Year!

Happy New Year everyone! Hope things get better and better and reality is aligned with your bestest dreams (and certainly not the creepy dream I had last night about my poor cat being attacked... a little too much NYE wine, I think...) Hope everyone had fun last night, whether it was a big party for you or a quiet night in. I definitely invented some new dance moves with my friends in their lounge, and have now finally recovered. Felt ill all day (well, it's only once a year, isn't it?). :(

Here are some more shots from Ron Skei - somehow I'd lost the email he'd sent them to me in (ooops!!), and so I'm rediscovering them now. The prop in the first set is a chair/basket thingy. Cool huh?

...I'm off now to watch Adele (who reaches into my brain for her lyrics) on TV.

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Walter De La Mare, 'The Listeners'

‘Is there anybody there?’ said the Traveller,

Knocking on the moonlit door;

And his horse in the silence champed the grasses

Of the forest’s ferny floor:

And a bird flew up out of the turret,

Above the Traveller’s head:

And he smote upon the door again a second time;

‘Is there anybody there?’ he said.

But no one descended to the Traveller;

No head from the leaf-fringed sill

Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,

Where he stood perplexed and still.

But only a host of phantom listeners

That dwelt in the lone house then

Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight

To that voice from the world of men:

Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,

That goes down to the empty hall,

Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken

By the lonely Traveller’s call.

And he felt in his heart their strangeness,

Their stillness answering his cry,

While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,

’Neath the starred and leafy sky;

For he suddenly smote on the door, even

Louder, and lifted his head:—

‘Tell them I came, and no one answered,

That I kept my word,’ he said.

Never the least stir made the listeners,

Though every word he spake

Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house

From the one man left awake:

Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,

And the sound of iron on stone,

And how the silence surged softly backward,

When the plunging hoofs were gone.

Natasha Khan/Bat for Lashes, 'Horse and I'

Got woken in the night,
by a mystic golden light.
My head soaked in river water.
I had been dressed in a coat of armor. They called
a horse out of the woodland.
"Take her there, through the desert shores."
They sang to me, "This is yours to wear.
You're the chosen one, there's no turning back now."

The smell of redwood giants.
The banquet for the shadows.
Horse and I, we're dancers in the dark.
Came upon the headdress.
It was gilded, dark and golden.
The children sang.
I was so afraid I took it to my head and prayed.
They sang to me, "This is yours to wear. You're the chosen one, there's no turning back."
They sang to me, "This is yours to wear. You're the chosen one, there's no turning back."

Mark Doty, 'A Display of Mackerel'

They lie in parallel rows,

on ice, head to tail,

each a foot of luminosity

barred with black bands,

which divide the scales’

radiant sections

like seams of lead

in a Tiffany window.

Iridescent, watery

prismatics: think abalone,

the wildly rainbowed

mirror of a soapbubble sphere,

think sun on gasoline.

Splendor, and splendor,

and not a one in any way

distinguished from the other

—nothing about them

of individuality. Instead

they’re all exact expressions

of the one soul,

each a perfect fulfilment

of heaven’s template,

mackerel essence. As if,

after a lifetime arriving

at this enameling, the jeweler’s

made uncountable examples,

each as intricate

in its oily fabulation

as the one before

Suppose we could iridesce,

like these, and lose ourselves

entirely in the universe

of shimmer—would you want

to be yourself only,

unduplicatable, doomed

to be lost? They’d prefer,

plainly, to be flashing participants,

multitudinous. Even now

they seem to be bolting

forward, heedless of stasis.

They don’t care they’re dead

and nearly frozen,

just as, presumably,

they didn’t care that they were living:

all, all for all,

the rainbowed school

and its acres of brilliant classrooms,

in which no verb is singular,

or every one is. How happy they seem,

even on ice, to be together, selfless,

which is the price of gleaming.

Kate Clanchy, 'Poem for a Man with No Sense of Smell'

This is simply to inform you:

that the thickest line in the kink of my hand
smells like the feel of an old school desk,
the deep carved names worn sleek with sweat;

that beneath the spray of my expensive scent
my armpits sound a bass note strong
as the boom of a palm on a kettle drum;

that the wet flush of my fear is sharp
as the taste of an iron pipe, midwinter,
on a child's hot tongue; and that sometimes,

in a breeze, the delicate hairs on the nape
of my neck, just where you might bend
your head, might hesitate and brush your lips,

hold a scent frail and precise as a fleet
of tiny origami ships, just setting out to sea.

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