It was around this time last year that I stared in disbelief at the pregnancy test. The vibrant blue lines forever imprinted on my memory. I can laugh about it now, but at the time I was shitting my pants. Now its funny because I look at my small angelic human and think how absolutely un-terrifying she actually is. Its sounds incredibly cliché that parenthood comes naturally and as you awkwardly wipe that first lot of poo from your infants bum, the term natural doesn’t enter into your brain-but eventually you become a pro. I titled this post A year in colour because thats exactly what it has been. I look at my daughter and I see the bluest eyes, the pinkest cheeks, and the yellowest poos known to man. No but really, as I reflected on this time last year, post-baby, I can honestly say that it seems much duller. As if, life before Belle was just a bit greyer.
Its one of the reasons I started to paint again. And at first I was hesitant. I used to consider myself a painter..until art school yanked the brush out of my hand, stomped on my canvases and gave me a camera (not literally). Now I feel like a born again virgin when it comes to holding a brush. But i’ve blown the cobwebs from my easel because I feel like I need to. I was at a loss with my camera, torn between wanting to create images that explore ideas of the maternal but at the same time not wanting to exploit my daughter, or subject her in ways I have myself. And theres only so many times in a woman’s life that she wants to strip off and pose in front of a camera.
Nesting 