Meg Roe Laughs
Wednesday, October 29, 2014
Last night, my
Rosemary and I went to the Arts Club Theatre Company opening night presentation of George
Bernard Shaw’s St. Joan, directed by Kim Collier. It was held at the Stanley
Industrial Alliance Theatre. I went prepared for a sombre evening. Somehow it wasn't.
Often memory fails me.
I see it as a red carpet behind me that is rolled up as the section in front is
rolled out. I have little memory
of the two St. Joan films I have seen in my distant past. One was the 1957 film St. Joan
with Jean Seberg directed by Otto
Preminger with screenplay by Graham Greene, John Gilgud as the Earl of Warwick,
Felix Aylmer as the Inquisitor and Richard Widmark (I wish I could remember
that performance!) as the Dauphin, Charles VII. The other was director Victor
Fleming’s 1948 Joan of Arc with Ingrid Bergman. Only the Preminger version was
based on George Bernard Shaw’s 1924 play.
In both of those films
the two St. Joan protagonists had infamy/fame
as accompany baggage which clouded for many the initial perception of the films. Of
the latter film, the one with Ingrid Bergman, noted and now retired theatrical
critic Christopher Dafoe (there he was (!), on opening night with his son Christopher,
former arts critic for the Globe & Mail and now a busy lawyer) told me that in a
recent viewing he thought it was more awful than before. On anything about the
Arts Club/Kim Collier St. Joan he kept his cards close to his chest which he accompanied
with a delightful and most pleasant smile.
I could cite the
excellent performances by Dean Paul Gibson as the Earl of Warwick, of Scott
Bellis as the English leaning French cleric, Bishop Cauchon (Costume Designer Christine Reimer, plagued with her actors weating bad theatrical armour, designed a beautiful red bishop's outfit that was spectacular)
and Tom McBeath as
the Enquisitor. I do.
I was particularly
surprised that in the whole play nobody stood out as an out and out villain. It
seemed that events simply happened in a sort of momentum of history. In his
preface to the play GBS (he was that many years before John F. Kennedy was JFK)
There are no villains in the piece. Crime, like
disease, is not interesting: it is something to be done away with by general
consent, and that is all [there is] about it. It is what men do at their best,
with good intentions, and what normal men and women find that they must and
will do in spite of their intentions, that really concern us.
His best known
biographer Michael Holroyd wrote:
“St. Joan is a tragedy
without villains and it is Shaw’s only tragedy.”
Interesting to me is the fact that while the
Dauphin was crowned on 17 July, 1429, King of France (Charles VII) at Reims (thanks to Joan), on 16 December, 1429, Henry VI of England, was
crowned King of France at Notre Dame in Paris. It also seems that Henry VI may have been
present to some of the sittings of Joan’s trial.
Aside from all the fascinating stories
behind Shaw’s play I managed to have a short chat with Christopher Gaze,
Artistic Director of Bard on the Beach, who having been Shakespeare’s Henry V many
times, happens to know more than a little about the Hundred Year’s War (It was
Henry V who won at Agincourt before the advent of Joan when things began to
sour for the les goddams English). He asked me about the play and I told him, “Your
man and that second act were the best.” I did not have to explain that “his man”
was Dean Paul Gibson. Gaze called the part of the second act (our mutual favourite) in which you have
the Earl of Warwick (Gibson), Bishop Cauchon (Bellis) and Chaplain DeStogumber
discussing Joan at a banquet table “the tent scene.” It is here where Shaw
mentions subjects with linked together in importance in our 21st century,
Christianity, “Mohammedanism”, Protestantism and nationalism. The second part
of Act II is where things begin to go against Roe's Joan.
Since I am not a theatre critic I cannot
begin to write opinions here that are beyond my basic expertise of clicking shutters.
But since I am not a theatre critic I can venture into other areas without
having to delve in that journalistic rule of when, where and how.
Sometime in the 80s I listened in my car to
a recording of Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto No. 2 (the one with that most
impossible part for a clarino trumpet). I had to stop the car to see what was
wrong with my tape deck. The concerto directed by Pablo Casals was much too
fast. Nothing was wrong. It was just a startlingly new approach to the music by
Casals. I soon got used to it. Now most other recordings or the many live performances
have attended have all seemed agonizingly slow.
With the performance of Jean Seberg as Joan
somewhere in my hidden neurons I was completely taken off guard by Meg Roe’s
take on Joan in the first act. She laughed, she giggled and she did more
laughing and more giggling. I was taken aback. Was this in Shaw’s script
(perhaps in pencil, laugh, giggle, laugh)? Was this a crazed conspiracy between the
one female actor Roe (there were two female singers in the play, Christine Quintana
and Shannon Chan-Kent) and the female director Kim Collier?
I thought about this and immediately went
back to the memory of the relationship that actress Molly Parker had with
director Lynne Stopkewich in Kissed, 1996, and Suspicious River, 2000, films,
intense films, that were made possible, I believe, only because of that special relationship that
only two women can have as I wrote here?
Gaze told me that Collier instructed Dean
Paul Gibson to speak with a marked English accent (I liked that!). Did Collier
tell Roe to laugh and giggle?
After the shock of that first act
reinforced by the several occasions in which Rowe (not a tall woman) stood next
to Captain Robert de Baudricourt played by Bob Frazer, a tall man, which made the
result one that almost made me giggle, I realized I was watching something akin
to Casal’s Brandenburg. This was a performance that was going to grow on me with time. This was another Roe Whose Afraid of Virginia Woolfe? ,The Penelopiad , Toronto, Mississippi kind of performance.
By the third act Roe came back to familiar
territory and was the actress I have been used to savouring. Roe was
devastating as the suffering Joan about to be burned at the stake.
In the middle of the night after I had
returned home it dawned on me that as a frequent theatre goer I can assert here
that if there is any play in which Meg Roe is in the cast that is enough
justification to go and see it. And one must trust, as I now trust, her
judgment on how she will interpret her part. It comes from someone who exceeds
the high standards that our city imposes on its actors.
There is a word for this in Spanish. We
call such people fenómenos. I have
used it to describe the dancing of Evelyn Hart. We have Evelyn Hart. We have
Meg Roe. We are so lucky.
Addendum: Sometimes my Rosemary has trouble hearing an actor who speaks away from where we might be sitting. The Stanley has had a problem here for us for some time. I am happy to report that she tried the special sound enhancing earphones, available (at the coat check), and that they were a success.
David Pay's PEP Rally For New Music
Tuesday, October 28, 2014
|Nicole Li - October 27 2014|
Fortunately I do not
believe in a local cultural conspiracy theory that would suggest that at any
concert presentation of New Music, be it the Turning Point Ensemble or David
Pay's ambitious and edgy Modulus Festival (from October 23 to 29) a would-be a cultural terrorist could be out terminate with extreme prejudice all the
contemporary composers of our city. That would be easy since at these events
many of those composers are present.
Our would-be cultural
terrorist would be one who would have reverse views to Gavrilo Princip who in
his assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria and his wife, Sophie,
Duchess of Hohenberg, in Sarajevo on 28 June 1914, wanted to destroy the old
order. Our would-be Vancouver
cultural terrorist would be wanting to do the opposite which is to leave our
music scene as it is or was recently. And that would be a music scene that would remain boring and tried.
Five of those
composers (noted in the program of PEP or Piano and Erhu Project) with Corey
Hamm on piano and Nicole Li on erhu were present last night. These were Edward
Top, Jocelyn Morlock, Jared Miller, Dorothy Chang and Keith Hamel. Without
looking too far I noticed two more, John Oliver and Owen Underhill.
A smart bomb
consisting of a loud recording of any Tchaikovsky symphony with some extras
like any song by Neil Diamond and a Vivaldi Four Seasons would, in one fell sweep, terminate our
new music composers.
Last night I was not
there to listen to predictable music. This would have been impossible to begin
with as al five compositions on the program were world premieres. Pianist Cory Hamm and Erhudist (is that correct?) Nicole Li decided together a couple of years ago that our city was ripe for musical melding of cultures. Judging by this amateur's reaction last night to PEP, it was a felicitous success. I cannot wait for a possible composition my Mark Armanini for Erhu and Cello (Nicole Li and Marina Hasselberg).
Listening to all five
of the brand-new compositions I noted three things. The most “Chinese sounding”, an appraisal by this
musical amateur was Edward Top’s Lamentation. Edward Top was the VSO’s Composer
in Residence last year. This year’s VSO Composer in Residence, Jocelyn Morlock,
was the least “Chinese sounding”. 'Her Vespertine - II Verdegris was lyrical and after just a few seconds
of listening to it, Li’s Erhu sounded very much like the bowed string
instrument that it is.
Dorothy Chang’s Four
Short Poems of Fancy were whimsical and funny at times. The fourth movement, green sheep tango, was indeed a tango to this Argentine. Keith Hamel’s Homage to
Liu Wenjin (a recently departed Chinese composer) shifted between soft him to
soft Hamel. It was satisfying, respectful and if you happened to have seen
Hamel in the audience and noticed his soft smile you would have known why. He
is a gentle man who plays the lute. I first met up with Hamel’s music here.
It was Jared Miller
(born in 1988 which makes him three years younger than Nicole Li whose work, Captive,
with lots of complex banging on the piano and bowing on the Erhu that made me
sit up. I could have been listening to a meeting between Thelonius Monk and
Eric Dolphy. It felt primal and like the other four pieces I can quote Liz
Hamel (singer, recorder player and partner to Keith Hamel) “This was one
concert that was much too short.” I could have stayed for more.
In my musical
ignorance I can imagine Bach on a keyboard, plunking tentative notes while his
wife notes them down. I can imagine Beethoven sitting at the piano composing a
bagatelle and being flummoxed by having to imagine the sounds. In both cases
the composers were experts in knowing the capabilities of the instruments being
composed for. There is no record of Adolphe
Sax (he would have been 13 when Beethoven died) asking the master “Would you be
willing to compose something for my new instrument?”
How did these five
composers write the music for Hamm
and Li? One answer was forthcoming and immediate from Morlock who told me that
her Vespertine II Verdegris had been composed 11 years before for piano and
harp. I can only guess that Hamm,
Li and Morlock got together one day and adapted it. Of Top's "Chinese sounding" composition, she said, "He probably wanted to make it so."
It was Jared Miller’s
piece that led me to think that the act of composition of anything for a brand
new instrument (in this case the erhu, pronounced R-who, an instrument known in
for a millennium) must entail intimate knowledge of the instrument. I can
imagine Miller showing up a Li’s house and saying, “Show me what you can do
with that.” I wonder if there are any
places in Miller’s composition where Li might have needed to learn a new
All in all the evening
was one of big surprises in small packages in which the warm demeanor of Cory
Hamm’s face while he played made me think that had he been the principal at a
school I would not have been afraid to be sent to his office. It made the music, startling at times, much more reachable to me.
As for Nicole Li, a
very different young girl from the one I photographed with cellist Marina
Hasselberg for the Georgia Straight, I was amazed. In the photo session she was
a younger girl (I could swear she was wearing pigtails even if she wasn’t). At
the concert, long hair down, she was the Oriental femme fatale, an authentic
one that would have been played in the 50s in Hollywood by Gene Tierney. Li was wearing a
very tight long, black dress with a slit (a very long slit) on the left side. Her
shoes were beautiful, just right, and her bright red lipstick was reminiscent of
the Jazz, Red, Hot & Cool by Revlon worn by model on Dave Brubeck Quartet Cover by Richard
Nicole Li playing her
erhu was grown up, determined and playing her instrument (difficult not to note
here that she has lovely hands with long fingers) with an assurance of one who
has been at it for a long time. I have always been amazed at the sound and complexity that can come out of that four-stringed instrument, the violin. It is thus amzing the Li's erhu has only two.
It was most pleasant
to observe that in dressing up Li showed how important this debut was (including
the release of a CD with two more to come) and that those New Music Composers
and Corey Hamm himself (who did wear a suit) might have followed Li's elegant cue.
What is new music?
Addendum: As I stood with my ticket waiting to get into the concert hall of the Roundhouse I was hit by a nostalgic wave from my built-in GPS. I realized that on the very spot where I was standing, there were remnants of the tracks used by locomotives, in a not so distant past, as they were pushed to the outside where they were turned around as their bottom innards were inspected for repairs. It was in that spot where in the late 80s I was dispatched by Canadian Pacific Limited (I worked for them on contract) to photograph the Royal Hudson which was being repaired at what at the time was called the Drake Street Yard. While the memory makes me feel older it also makes me marvel at some of the marvelous opportunities that my camera was a passport for.
A Small Window Of Opportunity
Monday, October 27, 2014
|Rebecca Anne Stewart, 17, October 26 2014|
On October 26 Rebecca
asked me to photograph her. I took advantage of the small window of opportunity.
I was able to shoot two Fuji
3200 ISO instant film prints and a few, exactly 10, with my Fuji X-E1 before my
session was terminated.
Pray Gather Me, Anemone!
Sunday, October 26, 2014
|Anemone hupihensis October 24 2014|
A bout of insomnia
this Friday night (but now early Saturday morning ) has me at my computer
writing a blog about yesterday (Friday) and the flowers I found in the garden
so that I can post it today Saturday for Sunday’s blog tomorrow.
I did not know that I
have been pushing a self-propelled lawn mower (new last spring) for months not
knowing that the belt connecting the motor to the wheels had come off. When I
had to mow the long boulevard (it is at an incline) I was huffing and puffing
it. After a few minutes I would go inside and have a glass of orange juice and
waiting for my heart to slow down and for my lungs to fill with air. Today I
discovered the loose pulley and suddenly mowing the lawn (and using it as a
vacuum to suck up all the debris that came down in the windstorm a few days
ago) was not so much of a chore. But it still took me four hours so exhaustion
might be the reason for the insomnia.
Two plants showed off
today. One was the lowly (in some quarters but not in mine) Anemone hupihensis
which does flower in late summer. The other was a startling light yellow
English Rose called Rosa ‘Crocus Rose’. I
could not resist sniffing it. Sniffing a wonderfully fragrant rose at this time
of the year is a pleasure that rarely happens in my shady garden. Of the anemone
I did not think anybody of note might have written a poem about it. I was
(1830–86). Complete Poems. 1924.
Part Three: Love
SUMMER for thee grant
I may be
When summer days are flown!
Thy music still when
And oriole are done!
For thee to bloom, I’ll
skip the tomb 5
And sow my blossoms o’er!
Pray gather me,
Thy flower forevermore!
And of course I have
known for years that Jorge Luís Borges wrote a very short story featuring a yellow
rose (the English version follows the Spanish one):
|Rosa Çrocus Rose' October 24 2014|
tarde ni la otra murió el ilustre Giambattista Marino, que las bocas unánimes
de la Fama (para usar la imagen que le fue cara) proclamaron el nuevo Homero y
el nuevo Dante, pero el hecho inmóvil y silencioso que entonces ocurrió fue en
verdad el último de su vida. Colmado de años y de gloria, el hombre moría en un
vasto lecho español de columnas labradas. Nada cuesta imaginar a unos pasos un
sereno balcón que mira al poniente y, más abajo, mármoles y laureles y un
jardín que duplica sus graderías en una agua rectangular. Una mujer ha puesto
en una copa una rosa amarilla; el hombre murmura los versos inevitables que a
él mismo, para hablar con sinceridad, ya lo hastían un poco:
jardín, pompa del prado, gema de primavera,
ocurrió la revelación. Marino vio la rosa, como Adán pudo verla en el Paraíso,
y sintió que ella estaba en su eternidad y no en sus palabras y que podemos
mencionar o aludir pero no expresar y que los altos y soberbios volúmenes que
formaban un ángulo de la sala una penumbra de oro no eran (como en vanidad
soñó) un espejo del mundo, sino una cosa más agregada al mundo.
iluminación alcanzó Marino en la víspera de su muerte, y Homero y Dante acaso
la alcanzaron también.
Luis Jorge. El hacedor. Ed. Debolsillo. 1ra edición en México en agosto del
A Yellow Rose
J. L. Borges
Neither that afternoon
nor the next did the illustrious Giambattista Marino die, he whom the unanimous
mouths of Fame — to use an image dear to him — proclaimed as the new Homer and
the new Dante. But still, the noiseless fact that took place then was in
reality the last event of his life. Laden with years and with glory, he lay
dying in a huge Spanish bed with carved bedposts. It is not hard to imagine a
serene balcony a few steps away, facing the west, and, below, marble and
laurels and a garden whose various levels are duplicated in a rectangle of
water. A woman has placed in a goblet a yellow rose. The man murmurs the
inevitable lines that now, to tell the truth, bore even him a little:
Purple of the garden,
pomp of the meadow,
Gem of the spring,
April’s eye . . .
Then the revelation
occured: Marino saw the rose as Adam might have seen it in Paradise, and he
thought that the rose was to be found in its own eternity and not in his words;
and that we may mention or allude to a thing, but not express it; and that the
tall, proud volumes casting a golden shadow in a corner were not — as his
vanity had dreamed — a mirror of the world, but rather one thing more added to
Marino achieved this
illumination on the eve of his death, and Homer and Dante may have achieved it
[From Dreamtigers, by
Jorge Luis Borges, translated by Mildred Boyer]
Cuernos De Chivo (AK-47s) & Richard the Lionheart At Acre
Saturday, October 25, 2014
Because I have a good
memory I remember that in 17 March of 1992 the Israeli Embassy in Buenos Aires suffered a terrorism attack, a suicide
bombing, later attributed to Iran.
Twenty-nine civilians were killed in the attack and 242 additional civilians
|A Federal in Acapulco with his cuerno de chivo|
When lots more
terrorism began to unfold in the new century my Argentine artist friend Juan
Manuel Sánchez discussed that a safe heaven far from it all would be the
Argentine Patagonia. Since then wealth Americans have discovered it and
property would now be at a premium.
One of the more
onerous by-products of social media these days are the ambulance chasers who
clamour to be first with the “This is my favourite song (video, film) by so and
so.” It is interesting to note that none of my social media friends noted the
death of Ben Bradlee. He spoke good French but didn’t sing.
Then there is that
picture of one of those American women with I believe an Armenian background
that appears with the heading that fewer people have died of Ebola than married
her or one of her sisters.
TV news, social media,
newspapers, the on line ones and the hard copy ones, all tell us of relevant
but mostly irrelevant details about disasters, kidnappings, and war. But most
recently it was all about the terrorist tragedy in Ottawa. The me-tooers are reverently placing
their ten cent opinions on the matter as if I would be interested on the
opinion of an eminent local actor’s opinion on the matter. I would be most
interested in noting that the terrorist, Michael Zehaf-Bibeau when he ran from
the first assassination to his car I was sure he had no gun. Did he leave it behind?
Did he have more guns in that car?
After a few years of
watching MSNBC and particularly Rachel Maddow I have come to the conclusion
that American politicians are either Democrats or idiots. One of them
Republican Representative from Alaska,
Don Young (81 in spite of his name) said a few things in a recent debate that
he had to apologize for. One of them I thought was funny:
Dismissing same sex
marriage he asked, “What do you get with two bulls?”
But this other
statement made me think:
He offended some high
school students who recently lost a classmate to suicide by suggesting that
suicide was result of a lack of support from friends and family.
That made me think of dead
terrorist Michael Zehaf-Bibeau’s mother in her apology to the murdered soldier
Cpl Nathan Cirillo’s family that she had not seen her son in five years and she
hated him. How off the mark is that idiot from Alaska?
In 1191, after the
fall of fall of Acre (in the Holy land),
during the Third Crusade, Richard the Lionheart attempted to negotiate terms of
surrender with the Saracens. Richard wanted to exchange over 3,000 captured
prisoners for the True Cross, as well as a hefty ransom and imprisoned
After much delay by
Saladin and the Muslims, Richard, became impatient so he personally marched his
prisoners to a hill called Ayyadieh. There, in full view of the nearby Muslim
army encampment, Richard ordered the slaughter of the over 3,000 prisoners,
women and children included. They were all mercilessly beaten to death, axed
and cut down by swords and lances. A Muslim force, so enraged by this act,
attempted to charge the crusader lines but was repeatedly beaten back, allowing
Richard and his army to retire in good order. It would seem that terrorism in
the name of the True God does not differentiate from one God or the Other.
While I never met a terrorist
in person I did meet Alfredo Astiz as a young and handsome (clean cut, too)
Argentine Navy Lieutenant. I wrote about him here. And in related blogs here and here.
How could I have foreseen
that this man would perform unspeakable crimes against humanity?
|Not a terrorist in Acapulco|
It is know but
forgotten that when the Brazilian government was attempting to unite the vast
landmass with highways into the Amazon interior that small airplanes were sent
that dropped dynamite to help depopulate Native Brazilian villages that were in
the way. There was never a confirmation that deadly spores were also thrown
It would seem to me
that terrorism has always been with us and that it has been universal and that
it has not respected any skin colour. The Japanese massacred the Chinese in
Nanking and Generals Julio A Rocca and Bartolomé Mitre in Argentina pacified the natives dead much in the same way as in the United States. Is there any difference between massacre and terrorism? We know that in WWII the Luftwaffe installed specialized air brakes and sirens that made the dive bombing runs of their Stukas fill those in the ground with terror.
At this date the 42 young Mexican students (to be teachers) that disappeared in Iguala, Guerrero have yet to be found. This will be probably seen as narco-terrorism associated with dishonest Mexican police.
My friend Trans-Link
driver Paul came to visit me on Wednesday afternoon and I told him, “Watch for
men, or women with bulky midriffs who board your bus.” I then added that Patagonia was looking pretty good.
On The Instantaneous
Friday, October 24, 2014
My first book purchase
when Rosemary, Alexandra, Hilary and I arrived in Vancouver
from Mexico City
in 1975 was The Random House Dictionary of the English Language – The
Unabridged Edition – 1966
I don’t open it much
these days with the ready availability of on-line dictionaries. I chose to do
so today as a form of illustrating today’s blog on the theme of the over use
(in my books) of the word still.
For anybody not
acquainted with photography you might not know that the photographer, who
shoots (non-moving) photographs when films (the moving kind) are being made, is
called the stills photographer.
If you know a bit
about art you might recognize the name of the New York-based photographer Cindy
Sherman. She achieved international fame with her series Untitled Film Stills, 1977–1980, which consists of 69
black-and-white photographs. The artist poses (they are self-portraits in
different roles and settings (streets, yards, pools, beaches, and interiors), producing
a result reminiscent of stills typical of Italian neorealist or American film
noir of the 1940s, 1950s and 1960s.
I shot stills of CBC
variety and drama series at the CBC from 1977 until the early 80s. I always
argued (for fun) with the crews that stills came before moving pictures and
thus they should be called moves photographers.
Another romantic use
of still is to attach it to the idea of making illicit booze in the Deep South
of the United States.
So far so good. But I
started noticing by the early 90s that people I had not seen for a while would
start conversations with, “Alex are you still…” I knew what they were driving
at. They did not consider photography a relevant (much as it in fact is not
relevant now) profession and they wanted to know if I had moved to a better and
more established mode for making money. I particularly got miffed when the
questioners were lawyers, I usually responded, “Are you still lawyering?”
Another awful use of
still is in connection with the proliferation of female selfies in facebook
(note that the style of the logo means it should be in lower case). Because I
have few acquaintances under 40, most of these selfies are of women over 40. Many
of the pictures are terrible phone selfies or dark with light backgrounds, or
in a merciless flash situation at a restaurant or party. Friends will comment, “You
are still beautiful.” Since I don’t rant or complain on facebook I do not put
stuff like, “Wow, what an active and incisive brain!”
The other side of the
coin is that nobody comments on man selfies, “You are still handsome.”
If I were a woman over
40 and someone wrote about my perceived beauty with still, I would
immediately go to the Hudson’s
Bay and purchase a large jar of Oil of Olay.
And yes I am still
taking photographs. On a sadder note I remember the many times my mother told me as a young boy, "Your sister, Vicky had red hair. She was still-born."
The Virgin Floozy In The Tub
Thursday, October 23, 2014
|Joelle - 1989|
One of the most
pleasing aspects in my ever diminishing profession as a photographer is to be
able to photograph someone more than once. It especially interesting when time
has transpired between the sittings.
Sometime in 1989 as I
was planning my show of women photographed in tubs I went through the people I
knew and asked them, “Would you pose for me in tub?” Without mentioning that I
wanted them unclothed the idea of them being in a tub of water precluded
clothing as such except for two of them who wore bikini bottoms. I found out
quickly that the easiest way to have a woman take off all her clothes was to
suggest a bathtub.
In my search for
subjects once I exhausted my list of friends I went to Emily Carr to have lunch
with my friend Derrick Carter, who at the time was teaching design at the
former institute but know university. I asked him if he knew of any
possibilities. He coincidentally pointed at young red-haired woman on the cafeteria
line-up and said, “She would do it.”
In retrospect, I know
realize that this whole procedure would now be deemed inappropriate by any
education institution. But things were definitely different in that past century.
I got up and without any
kind of introduction I went to the red haired woman and quickly told her of my
project. I finished it with, “If I were you I would not do this.” To which she
said, ‘I’ll do it.”
When my 21 year-old
daughter Alexandra insisted in being photographed in the tub and I found it a
bit uncomfortable I wavered but she was insistent. I decided that the safe
route was to get her to pose at the same time as the red-haired Joelle who
was also 21. They helped each other in the process and I was delighted with the
results. I was particularly impressed by her delightful smile and that sparkle in her eyes.
I have no memory on
how it was that in June 2003 a visibly pregnant Joelle again posed in my
|Joelle - 2003|
Just a few days I
posted a blog about my daughter’s tub photograph here. In facebook Joelle
commented on the title of that blog in this way:
makes me laugh! That must have made me the ‘The Virgin Floozy’".
I talked to Joelle today and so that is
the explanation for this day’s blog title.