#307: HOW I AM CLOTHING RETARDED, FOLLOWED BY SOME PHOTOGRAPHS
Before I show you some more of my recent photographs, I have to confess that I am clothing retarded. It's true. Here's the facts:
I am going to require an intervention soon.
Brunch is brunch is brunch is brunch. It is a semi-traditional affair most Sunday mornings attended by the Fiery One, myself, and a handful of other somewhat regulars. This person, who shall remain anonymous for the time being, has come along for the ride on a few occasions. I took this photograph because the light behind her was so bright, and the soft bits of it that outlined the features of her face were doing such a fabulous job of it.
The next photograph is a close-up of a lamp in our living room. I bought the lamp for the Fiery One about four years ago, and I remember thinking at the time that a lamp, especially and squeezable plastic one, was a strange gift for a lover. He has had the good graces to never admit to this. I colourized the photo, because the lamp itself is actually white and made of opaque plastic beads fused together. Orange just seemed so much more lively, and the colour also saved the picture from looking like a biology slide under a microscope.
The ceramic praying girl is something I have carried with me for at least thirty years. She was given to me when I was an infant. Originally, she had a cord with a small lightbulb on the end that clipped to the inside of her body, but around the age of four or five, I removed the lightbulb. I felt bad, as though she would feel forever cold without it, but the glow through her cheeks below her eyes creeped me out. She seemed more bent toward evil intent than child-like prayer in 1976-77.
This last one I'm just throwing in because of this red kick I'm on. A coffee shop I go to left some of its Valentine's Day decorations up for well over a month afterward. They were red. The candle holder it's hanging on and the wall are within the red to yellow spectrum. Mmmmm, red. With love.