The mystery photographer
Her studio was on the second floor of the old red brick shoe factory. The space was large and light but icy cold. Heaters dotted around the room valiantly attempting to warm it but the building won.
She had gone to work at the same time every day for three weeks now. She was dressed in as many layers as it were possible to move around in. Fashion and style were definitely not the priorities.
Her task stood before her in a line. The three large rectangular canvasses were colourful but lacked any theme, focus or connection with each other. She had had an idea to work with time as a thread and maybe just maybe, a beginning, a middle and an end. This theme quickly faded as too predictable and the work had lost its way.
They had become more than a work in progress. They were an obsession. She had delivered her last commission piece to the client and taken the cheque. She always felt a little cheap expecting money for her art but that feeling passed rapidly nowadays. The two were not incompatible.
The bright sun began to hide behind a turbulent sky of white and grey clouds, rolling high above the valley towards the town. The winter months had passed and spring was trying to make an appearance in the valley. Trees were in bud and the daffodils had come and gone. The evenings were getting lighter but the temperature still dropped dramatically as the sun disappeared behind the hills.
She had stayed at the studio working till late on several occasions. Working though had become a daily exercise in staring at each canvas in turn then reaching for another colour to apply. She had experimented with shape and looked for shape emerging from the brush strokes but she now just felt at a loss.
This particular Thursday afternoon was going nowhere. She grabbed her coat and keys, switched the heaters off and walked out. She said hello to a couple of other artists working in the shoe factory. One woman asked her what she was on with but she gave a vague summation in reply of her inactivity.
She walked out of the main door and off towards the river path. The factory lay at the back of town above the lively river. She decided to walk towards the woods and away from town. The sun was still battling to shine through the bank of cumulus clouds, often edging them dramatically. She had no idea why she was walking towards the woods but it kind of felt better to be somewhere without people. People and buildings had featured heavily in her recent work and frankly she as bored of them. She had a reputation for her interpretations of industrial buildings, townscapes and also her portraits of locals. Her last exhibition in the gallery had been a success but not a happy one. It was a commercial success but she knew she was tired of the subject area by the time the exhibition was assembled. The talk about her pieces had failed to ignite the passion within her for those paintings. It was metronomic in production.
She walked briskly along the scruffy, uneven riverside path. The trees began to crowd around her so she took the path that led up out of the trees to the hillside and the rocks. The birds chattered loudly and distant sound of curlew and lapwing could be heard as she began to emerge from the tree line.
She clambered up onto the rocky outcrop and sat down on the large flat top stone. The view down the valley was breathtaking in a very Pennine sort of way. Little hamlets were scattered on the valley sides with larger villages dotted down the valley road. She could see figures dressed in fluorescent clothing walking up the hillside to the open moors. Birds circled lazily above her calling out in mournful voice. She kept thinking about the three canvasses back at the studio. Maybe she should put them away and come back to them? Maybe she should paint over them with white and start again. She then tried to block the image of the three out of her mind completely which didn't work. She looked again at the valley before her. The light was hitting parts of the valley in shafts which burst through the clouds.
The effect was incredible. Where the light hit the valley, the colours were vivid, made even more so by the spaces not in sunlight.
She took her phone out and took several pictures of the valley, the shafts of light and the contrast between light and dark. A seed began to germinate, an idea was being born. What if the focus was the light and not the town? She lay back on the flat stone and shut her eyes. The faint sound of cars winding their way down to town and the moorland birds calling were her only accompaniment.
She lay very still. She could feel the heat of the sun on her face and the gentle breeze brushing her cheeks. She began to drift off to sleep. It was as if the rock was beginning to suck her down into its core. She allowed her body to relax and be taken.
She awoke twenty minutes later to sporadic drops of rain landing on her. She sat up and stretched. The shafts of light had travelled down the valley away from the town and surrounding hills. She stood up and stretched again before walking back off the rock and down onto the footpath below. She stopped to take another few shots before putting her phone away and descending into the trees.
That twenty minutes of sleep had seemed like the first incident in three weeks that she had not thought about the paintings. She walked back feeling lighter and more cheerful. She decided not to return to the studio but go for some tea in her favourite cafe with her favourite chair in the window. Surely no one would dare sit in her chair!
The town was busy but not packed. The drops of rain accelerated the foot traffic. She arrived at her cafe and sure enough, her spot in the window was empty. She took off her coat and laid it on her chair. The young woman with blue hair smiled and took her order. She sat in her chair and took out her phone. She opened the photo gallery and scanned the contents. The pictures of the valley had come out very well. She had managed to capture the shafts of light and the contrast between the clouded and lit spaces.
Then she noticed some pictures which startled her. There amongst the landscape photos, were a dozen pictures of her asleep. Two were taken directly above her and of her sleeping face. The others were of her lying asleep with the valley beyond her from different angles. She checked to see if there were any pictures of the mystery photographer but not even a shadow.
The blue haired woman brought her cup, teapot and milk jug over to her table.
"I like that picture. Sorry I hope you don't mind me saying so" she said.
"The thing is, I don't know who took it" she replied.
The blue haired woman couldn't follow that up and just looked concerned.
She sat in her favourite chair looking out on the darkening street whilst sipping her hot tea. She should feel slightly violated by this stranger but something about the photos excited her. She looked at the people in the cafe dotted around at various tables. None were looking back at her. She looked out of the cafe window onto the street. No one looked back in the window at her as they passed. But someone had picked up her phone, taken several pictures of her asleep and then returned the phone to where it had been. She put her phone back in her pocket and sat drinking the tea. Her phone buzzed.
She took it out to read the message.
'You looked so peaceful, I had to take your picture. Hope they inspire you'.
No name, just a number.
She had gone to work at the same time every day for three weeks now. She was dressed in as many layers as it were possible to move around in. Fashion and style were definitely not the priorities.
Her task stood before her in a line. The three large rectangular canvasses were colourful but lacked any theme, focus or connection with each other. She had had an idea to work with time as a thread and maybe just maybe, a beginning, a middle and an end. This theme quickly faded as too predictable and the work had lost its way.
They had become more than a work in progress. They were an obsession. She had delivered her last commission piece to the client and taken the cheque. She always felt a little cheap expecting money for her art but that feeling passed rapidly nowadays. The two were not incompatible.
The bright sun began to hide behind a turbulent sky of white and grey clouds, rolling high above the valley towards the town. The winter months had passed and spring was trying to make an appearance in the valley. Trees were in bud and the daffodils had come and gone. The evenings were getting lighter but the temperature still dropped dramatically as the sun disappeared behind the hills.
She had stayed at the studio working till late on several occasions. Working though had become a daily exercise in staring at each canvas in turn then reaching for another colour to apply. She had experimented with shape and looked for shape emerging from the brush strokes but she now just felt at a loss.
This particular Thursday afternoon was going nowhere. She grabbed her coat and keys, switched the heaters off and walked out. She said hello to a couple of other artists working in the shoe factory. One woman asked her what she was on with but she gave a vague summation in reply of her inactivity.
She walked out of the main door and off towards the river path. The factory lay at the back of town above the lively river. She decided to walk towards the woods and away from town. The sun was still battling to shine through the bank of cumulus clouds, often edging them dramatically. She had no idea why she was walking towards the woods but it kind of felt better to be somewhere without people. People and buildings had featured heavily in her recent work and frankly she as bored of them. She had a reputation for her interpretations of industrial buildings, townscapes and also her portraits of locals. Her last exhibition in the gallery had been a success but not a happy one. It was a commercial success but she knew she was tired of the subject area by the time the exhibition was assembled. The talk about her pieces had failed to ignite the passion within her for those paintings. It was metronomic in production.
She walked briskly along the scruffy, uneven riverside path. The trees began to crowd around her so she took the path that led up out of the trees to the hillside and the rocks. The birds chattered loudly and distant sound of curlew and lapwing could be heard as she began to emerge from the tree line.
She clambered up onto the rocky outcrop and sat down on the large flat top stone. The view down the valley was breathtaking in a very Pennine sort of way. Little hamlets were scattered on the valley sides with larger villages dotted down the valley road. She could see figures dressed in fluorescent clothing walking up the hillside to the open moors. Birds circled lazily above her calling out in mournful voice. She kept thinking about the three canvasses back at the studio. Maybe she should put them away and come back to them? Maybe she should paint over them with white and start again. She then tried to block the image of the three out of her mind completely which didn't work. She looked again at the valley before her. The light was hitting parts of the valley in shafts which burst through the clouds.
The effect was incredible. Where the light hit the valley, the colours were vivid, made even more so by the spaces not in sunlight.
She took her phone out and took several pictures of the valley, the shafts of light and the contrast between light and dark. A seed began to germinate, an idea was being born. What if the focus was the light and not the town? She lay back on the flat stone and shut her eyes. The faint sound of cars winding their way down to town and the moorland birds calling were her only accompaniment.
She lay very still. She could feel the heat of the sun on her face and the gentle breeze brushing her cheeks. She began to drift off to sleep. It was as if the rock was beginning to suck her down into its core. She allowed her body to relax and be taken.
She awoke twenty minutes later to sporadic drops of rain landing on her. She sat up and stretched. The shafts of light had travelled down the valley away from the town and surrounding hills. She stood up and stretched again before walking back off the rock and down onto the footpath below. She stopped to take another few shots before putting her phone away and descending into the trees.
That twenty minutes of sleep had seemed like the first incident in three weeks that she had not thought about the paintings. She walked back feeling lighter and more cheerful. She decided not to return to the studio but go for some tea in her favourite cafe with her favourite chair in the window. Surely no one would dare sit in her chair!
The town was busy but not packed. The drops of rain accelerated the foot traffic. She arrived at her cafe and sure enough, her spot in the window was empty. She took off her coat and laid it on her chair. The young woman with blue hair smiled and took her order. She sat in her chair and took out her phone. She opened the photo gallery and scanned the contents. The pictures of the valley had come out very well. She had managed to capture the shafts of light and the contrast between the clouded and lit spaces.
Then she noticed some pictures which startled her. There amongst the landscape photos, were a dozen pictures of her asleep. Two were taken directly above her and of her sleeping face. The others were of her lying asleep with the valley beyond her from different angles. She checked to see if there were any pictures of the mystery photographer but not even a shadow.
The blue haired woman brought her cup, teapot and milk jug over to her table.
"I like that picture. Sorry I hope you don't mind me saying so" she said.
"The thing is, I don't know who took it" she replied.
The blue haired woman couldn't follow that up and just looked concerned.
She sat in her favourite chair looking out on the darkening street whilst sipping her hot tea. She should feel slightly violated by this stranger but something about the photos excited her. She looked at the people in the cafe dotted around at various tables. None were looking back at her. She looked out of the cafe window onto the street. No one looked back in the window at her as they passed. But someone had picked up her phone, taken several pictures of her asleep and then returned the phone to where it had been. She put her phone back in her pocket and sat drinking the tea. Her phone buzzed.
She took it out to read the message.
'You looked so peaceful, I had to take your picture. Hope they inspire you'.
No name, just a number.
Comments
Post a Comment