Telling stories in your head

Well my studies with the Open University (OU) commenced a couple of weeks ago however despite the good intentions there was no ‘commencing’ on my part – deciding instead to go on holiday and completely ignore the books.  I refuse to be stressed about it and will just apply myself to catching up.

I might look stressed, but I refuse to actually be stressed!

Part of the reason I’m not too stressed about my current study predicament is that over the summer, while I was waiting to get back to full on study, with a nudge from my husband I took a creative writing class.  Never done anything like that before and despite my anxiety I continued to turn up every Thursday and spend two hours feeling panic that I have nothing to write and surprising myself with what popped into my head.  Plus, to top it all, despite life being incredibly busy I even managed to turn up with my homework done each week(here’s hoping I can keep up this track record with the OU). This class enlightened me somewhat and I discovered that the process of writing, whatever I write, was a positive experience.  It has kept me focussed and instilled a discipline that I would have long since lost over the study free summer months.

One of the tasks our happy wee glass were given one week were two photographs, with no other instructions other than to write whatever these images prompted in our head. I was pleasantly surprised to find that this didn’t present itself  as a difficult task for me.  I’ve discovered that images are clearly something that click with me.  Of course I should have learned this as, when it comes to study, mind maps have come to be my thing.  I can store oodles of these in my head – far more than if I read over pages of notes.

Our wee creative writing class was by all accounts a fairly odd group (meant in the nicest possible way of course).  I was staggered, although I clearly shouldn’t have been, to discover how differently we all see and translate the world into our writing.  There was certainly no shortage of emotion shared and this was clearly a mark of how we gelled as a group. There was also much humour – even in the pieces that people wrote about the tough stuff in life.

And we all have interesting stories, don't we.....

Humour is really important to me.  My son and I share the same kind of humour.  I don’t know what label I would put on it, but my husband will frequently shake his head at our antics and banter (although I will confess to see his mouth turning up at the corners – so I think we’re winning him over).

Glasgow humour, you've just got to love it.

Anyhow these images and what they prompt within us brought to mind a photograph I took recently in Paris on a visit to the Pere Lachaise cemetery.  OK not a cheery place to visit, but I’d always wanted to go – so thats we did.

Now I wouldn’t call myself a photographer, but images stand out for me – this one particularly.

Pere Lachaise - July 2011

I think this is probably the saddest photograph I’ve ever seen.  I think one day maybe I’ll write about it.

I was just wondering though, what images speak to you and why?