I’ve not really mentioned before why I started The Lens Lounge and I’d like to share it with you as it’s actually quite important to me, and the reason why all the hours of hard work are so worth it.
I was 4 and I was standing on a stool at the kitchen counter next to my most favorite woman, my mother, learning how to crack eggs. I’d already dropped one on the floor and was trying another. It was so big in my little hand and I was struggling with the fineries of just cracking the shell without whacking it in half. The second egg exploded onto the floor. My mother patiently reached for another egg to demonstrate the technique again. But something went wrong. Her egg slipped from her hand and smashed to the floor in the middle of my mess. We started to laugh. Out of control, tears streaming and the stool wobbling beneath me. My mom swooped me up in her arms and we laughed until our bellies ached.
This is my first memory. I don’t know why it was so funny, especially as I know now that money was tight back then. But that was my mother, my best friend. I call her Mogs. After a character in a book she gave me when I was 14.
I can’t count how many times we laughed like nothing ever mattered over the next 41 years. Over the smallest, probably not funny, things. I can’t count the number of long heart wrenching discussions at the kitchen table over best friend break ups, then boyfriend break ups, then later my marriage break up. Daily dog walks after school discussing life, dreams, fashion, upcoming school discos and all the other really important stuff. Then regular coffee meet ups where we talked work, life, philosophy, politics, more dreams and swapped really bad jokes. Like her favourite – Where did Napoleon keep his armies? Up his sleevies!
On 25 August 2015 I lost my Mogs to cancer. I won’t go into detail about how awful it was as I think these days we all know somebody who has it or who has lost somebody to it. We know what an horrific experience it is.
By the end Mogs didn’t look like Mogs anymore. She’d lost so much weight. After she passed, the image of her in the last month was the only one I could see in my mind. I couldn’t see all the wonderful healthy years. Her laugh, her unique expressions, the way she looked at me. All I could remember was how she looked at the end.
That’s when I realised how lucky I am. I have so many photos of my Mogs, because I’ve been mad keen on photography from the age of 7. But also, my dad’s interest in photography started when he was young. My parents met when they were children and started dating when they were teens, so we have loads of photos of her whole life.
I put her photo on my computer desktop. Every time I opened Lightroom, a photo I took of her in my studio was the image that greeted me. It was in the folder that Lightroom automatically opened on startup.
Gradually, the version of Mogs that she wouldn’t want me to remember faded. Now, when I think of her, which is several times a day, I see all the good stuff. I remember everything, and the shared secrets and giggles she took with her come back to me.
When you look at a photo you’ve taken you remember what was happening, maybe even the conversation and why you were there. Briefly, you’re transferred back to that moment.
This is why I started The Lens Lounge.
My wish is that The Lens Lounge helps you to create a treasure trove of images of the people you love, the places you’ve been and the moments you’ll never let go.
Many of these images are scanned from slides, so the quality is not reflected here, but I still love them.