There are times when my mind wanders into luxurious areas, it drags my imagination along for company and both entice my will with boundless possibilities.
This weekend was no exception and it all began quite innocently, right here on the blog site.
Perusing the home page list of recently published blogs there was one entitled “Manchester Boudoir Photography”. Imagining it to be someone’s blog about their experience of such a shoot I clicked to read as such photography is interesting and evocative, and intrigues a much locked away alter ego aspect of myself. I admire the confidence of the people who decide on such an expressive experience and find the photographs evocative of past modest risquéness and enchanting. The post was in fact a photographers blog of shoots she takes of numerous people and the “Before and After” gallery is astounding at displaying her skills with light, texture, pose, and so forth, true artistry. Don’t take my word for it, have a look for yourself.
Standing at the sink doing the dishes my mind went off on a jolly jaunt. It pondered on the possibilities, the styles of pose my twisted broken frame could manage in order to achieve the necessary result, the attire to encase myself in that masked the severity of my deformity, whether the photos would capture the person that could have been or had the potential to be. I had left a comment on the blog and the photographer replied that she had done such shoot for a paralysed person at her home. Recalling that as I began the next mundane chore my mind took a side road, it began organising, hmm, if the photographer could visit when my friend could visit and then my friend could help with the pre-shoot preening and on the day with getting my self into position. How exciting such an adventure would be, an experience of something completely different. I speculated about the photographic outcome, would they look like ‘me’, which in curious style by definition shouldn’t but look like an altogether ‘other’ me. My friend used me as a guinea pig one time, she did my make-up and put a wig on me and the outcome was quite awe-striking, how much finer would a professional achieve.
Then the sensible me caught up with my mind and imagination and reigned them in. The chances of my friend being able to visit at the same time the photographer were somewhere between slim and never. What ever attire was chosen would not fit my form because clothing just does not sit on my frame properly. The photos despite the photographers astounding skills to my eye would not look as I would want them to portray, a minds eye flaw, or by hypocritical balance they would show someone I want to be that I am physically and mentally unable to be, a depressing prospect. Who would these photographs be for. Why spend money on such extravagance when the results would be put in a draw and thrown away after my demise.
I filed away such foolish thoughts, but there is still a corner peeking out.